Wabi Sabi Words

Conversations With the Dead: 2/283 Seabrook, Texas (1307 Bellgrove - Letter from Mom to Charlotte)

2011-08-21T12:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlotte,

Just thought I'd drop a line or two, to prove I do write once in a while.

I think Teresa is coming up there this coming weekend.

I'm going to group therapy every Monday night and the head doctor has put me on a medication like you're taking (it's safe). I feel a lot better taking it. I don't have those weird mood changes. Kind of levels me out. He thinks I have a chemical imbalance of something. And I sure can see a difference. Been taking it right, too. (You couldn't get high if you took the whole thing!).

Hope you'll take Teresa to the health place so she can get her birth certificate (or get it from Jay). And she's so excited about her new car she's getting. I'm excited for her.

P.S. I've tried to call you several times. Line busy or no answer.

Love,
Mom

~~~

"You couldn't get high if you took the whole thing!" Which Mom did. The bottle was empty.

This is the last of anything Mom wrote to anyone. It is written on stationary with a little girl on the front wearing a bonnet, prairie dress and patchwork apron. It is raining and her umbrella has a patch sewn on it. The girl is pulling a small cart behind her filled with bread, vegetables and daisies. I imagine she'll eat the daisies, smoke the bread, and throw the vegetables at her enemies.

Conversations With the Dead: 6/24/82 Seabrook, Texas (Letter from Mom to Charlotte)

2011-08-21T12:10:00.000-07:00

Charlotte & Mike,

Here's your picture of the "crew" and one of David.

We're going to get our blood test Saturday and will be married at 7:00 PM, 7th month, 7th day, at Bay Area Park, in the "Oriental Gardens". It'll just be family and maybe Sally and Dan.

Let me hear.

Love,
Mother

~~~

I can't remember if Charlotte came to the wedding. I'll find out but I'm guessing not.

Mom tossed the bouquet over her shoulder and it came in my direction. I let it fall into a small pond. No effort at all. Scotty gave me a disparaging look and said, "Teresa..." He was right. I should have made an attempt.

Conversations With the Dead: 1982 Letter from Charlotte to Nanny

2011-08-21T12:06:00.000-07:00

Dear Nanny & Wendy,

Here's school pictures of the kids. Thought you might like to have them. They really did a lousy job on L's. Not centered.

Got a letter from Teresa today, says everything is fine. Coming down for Christmas. Mother's mad because I want her a week and because Teresa wants to come down for a week including Christmas Eve. She says we're ganging up on her. She's so paranoid. Why can't we have normal parents like most kids?! Just the thought of her makes me mad.

Guess I'll go for now.

Love you,
Charlotte & Gang

~~~

I can't remember if I spent Christmas in Fort Worth with Charlotte or not. I probably did. Sadly it was our mother's last Christmas. Maybe she knew this somehow.

Conversations With the Dead: 4/19/82 Indio, California (from David)

2011-08-21T11:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,

How are you Im fine todays the 19th I got 27 days left until I get out Gonna be nice to see the world again really nice. Not much going on in here just eating sleeping and watching TV Thank you for the money and everything else Well not much to say be good

Love,
David

~~~

Dear Charlotte,

How are you. I'm fine today's the 19th I got 17 days left until I get out. Gonna be nice to see the world again really nice. I thought Id write mom and let you mail it to her OK. Not much going on in here just eating slepping and watching TV havent heard from you what happend mom hasent written eather well any way 27 days left really 25 because todays over and my realease day I go home at 5:30 in the morning so its Cool Well see ya

Love,
David

~~~

I don't usually get upset about the letters but these really hurt. Again, I typed them with their original mistakes. David dropped out of school in either ninth or tenth grade. He, Dad and Charlotte always struggled with spelling, but David was also dyslexic and along with the schizophrenia and medication or the lack thereof...

I don't know if he's writing from jail or a mental health ward. Could be either. I have nothing else from him.

We spent a few months together once I moved in with Mom in September, 1980 then I never saw him again.

They are buried side by side in Rosehill Cemetary, Fort Worth, Texas.

Conversations With the Dead: 4/12/82 Indio, California (from David)

2011-08-21T11:48:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,

Hi Mom how are you I'm fine. Good to hear from you Say hi to Treasa and your Boy friend. Mom I dont even know how old you are. Well mom I spent about 2 years in the dessert and mountains living cooking it is nice water falls all kinds of animals really nice. up in Town I worked part time and later full time I found 2 gold Bracelets got $100 for each one Bought 2 Buckles and really had fun. Well got go By

Love,
David

~~~

I typed the letter as it was written in pencil, mistakes and all. He had just turned twenty-four. I don't know if he was taking his medication for Schizophrenia. Doubtful.

Two years in the dessert. He makes it sound like a vacation. I hope he was happy. I can't remember ever seeing him truly sad except when you and Dad divorced. That was the turning point in his mental health. He was never the same.

Conversations With the Dead: 8/13/80 Seabrook, Texas (1307 Bellgrove)

2011-08-21T10:59:00.001-07:00

Dear Teresa,

You may still be gone with your girlfriend but thought I'd write anyway. Wanted to send you these pictures of Brandy. Red built her a scratching post with a wide top so she can have her food and water on it and the dogs can't get to it. It's got a hole in the top so she can get up there easily. She just loves it! And you won't believe this, but Charles and Puddin' both play with her now. In fact, Puddin' has gotten so playful lately. She just romps and plays with Charles all the time, and she never did that before. I think she's just calmed down a lot and decided she's "at home".

Scotty's doing real good. He finally told Liz that they'd have to break it off, and last weekend he and Bob went up to Lake Whitney for a NA & AA convention (a lot of young people go) and he really had a good time. He's been making a lot of meetings with Bob and it sure has helped him. His attitude is a lot better. Nancy and her mother were promoting this Liz thing but it didn't work. When you get time, why don't you write him? It would make him feel real good. Elizabeth's husband is going to fix my car and then Scotty wants to buy it from me because Red is going to get me one. Elizabeth goes on vacation in about a week, so I'll have it fixed by then. I've been using Bob's old truck when I need it.

Red got me a washer and dryer the other day. When I told him I went to the laundromat every week for seventeen years with Jay, he nearly croaked, and the next day, I had a washer and dryer! Isn't he something?

Sure thought we might be in trouble with hurricane Allen, but it missed us. Sure am glad too! Just get the house fixed up and have a hurricane!

Charlotte called me last week to talk to me about Nanny. Sure sounds to me like she had a stroke. Really worries me. so I called her and gave her my phone number. She was real nice. I'm going to work at it, and see if we can't get things "right" again. Maybe it's time. It would just kill me if anything happened to her and we still were on bad terms. Just not right.

What did everyone think of you taking a plane back? I bet Charlene thought you were "brave". What did Jan and Charlotte think? I can't wait until Christmas so you can come down. That will really be neat.

Well, guess this is all for now. Write when you can and fill me in. We all love you.

Love,
Mother, Red, Scotty, Puddin', Charles, Brandy & Sam

~~~

Brandy is my tortoiseshell Manx cat. One day Red will dip the dogs for fleas, then he will start to dip Brandy and I will question the safety of putting a small cat in dog dip. He'll look at me like I'm stupid and dip the cat anyway. Later that night she will wake me up with a paw on my arm, as if to let me know she is in some kind of trouble. She will hide under my bed and give birth. We hadn't known she was pregnant. The babies were stillborn.

Since the return address on this letter is Red's address and the only place you could possibly put a washer and dryer, he did not buy it for you, Mother. He bought it for you to wash his socks and underwear.

You're calling Dad "Jay", like you did when ya'll were married. I think this means that you are feeling the same security you felt with him now, that you see a long future ahead of you with Red. You hope you can make seventeen plus years with Red, too. You won't, despite choosing a 7/7 wedding date at 7:00 PM in 1982. I'm sad because I wanted you to be happy, but I never could imagine you with any other man as long as you were with Dad, and I knew Red didn't love you, despite what he would tell us later at Jack Rowe Funeral Home as Charlotte, not Red, foot the bill for your funeral.

Nanny is a little over a year away from her own death. She will call for you when it's time.

It is difficult to close this letter because it is the last from you. It's like saying goodbye again. It feels a bit like when I turned forty-six last year and we stopped sharing ages. I am traveling without you. These are years I never watched you live, ages you never made.

The next two posts will be letters from David to both you and Charlotte. There will be a letter from Charlotte to Nanny. The last two posts will be a note from you to Charlotte giving her the date/time of your wedding to Red, then a final letter to Charlotte, the last of your letters to anyone. You will tell her all about the "safe" medication Dr. Faust put you on to help you with mood swings. Seven months later the medication will prove itself "unsafe".

Conversations With the Dead: 6/18/80 Seabrook, Texas (Nasa Rd I)

2011-08-21T10:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter Saturday but been so busy, just now answering. Found me a dining room set for $50 (six chairs with it, too) so all I need now is a chair for the living room. And a TV. Doc's sister's TV went out so he gave her his and is keeping the one he got me. But I'll have one by the time you get here. He can get me one anytime.

I'm "babysitting" for Red's dog, Puddin'. She's a little Yorkshire Terrier and as cute as a bug. In fact, Charles is madly in love with her, but she won't give him the time of day! We gave both of them a bath the other night and I laughed my head off at Charles. Have you seen some birds do their courting dance? Well, Charles was acting like that and I nearly cracked up! I've never seen him act that way before. It was so cute.

I think I'm going to take off the Saturday I come and get you so I can leave early and get there in time to go to Carswell and pick up some stuff before they close. Everything's about half price there, including cigarettes. So I may be there about 10:00 AM. So be ready and we'll boogy!

Well honey, guess this is all for now. I'm washing and I need to go downstairs and put them in the dryer. (We have an elevator here so we don't have to use the stairs! We're on the 2nd floor). Be sweet and let me hear. And Red and Scotty both said Hi.

Love you gobs,
Mother

~~~

Oh goody, another man to tell me Hi.

Your description of the dogs' relationship reminds me of the dynamic between you and Red. Only you're the needy Mr. Charles, and Red is the aloof (in time) Puddin'. I wish it weren't so.

You won't write to me again from this address. So much for independence. So much for being on the right track.

Conversations With the Dead: 6/11/80 Seabrook, Texas (Nasa Rd I)

2011-08-21T10:41:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Well, I finally got moved in! Can't believe it. Still don't have a dining room set or a chair for the living room but I'll have them before you get here. Need a lot of little odds and ends too, that I'll get slowly but surely. It'll be fun fixing it like I want it. Red and Scotty (his son) moved me, poor guys. I'm on the second floor so they had fun!

I think I moved three blocks from work just in time. The old gray goose is acting strange and there's no way I can afford any work done on it right now. But the grocery store and everything is within walking distance thank goodness. I think it's brake shoes or something to do with the brakes.

Mr. Charles doesn't know what to think. And he's so spoiled after being at Sally's and having someone around all the time. I don't know what I'm going to do with him. He throws a fit every time I leave.

How's Granny doing now? She may end up moving in with you all if she gets too bad.

Well honey, guess this is all my news. Just wanted you to know I got moved in and give you the address. Since I don't have a phone now, if you ever need to call me, call me at work anytime between 1:00 PM and 6:00 PM during the week, and from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM on Saturdays.

Write me soon and I love you gobs!

Love,
Mother

~~~

Dad will put Granny in a home soon. She will live outlive you by almost a decade. You were right.

Conversations With the Dead: 6/5/80 Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-21T10:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter and I'm real glad Charlene said Yes to the dates. I'm real excited about it too. Just three more days until I can move in. I have all my furniture except for a dining room set and a living room chair, but I can get them next. And there will be a lot of little things you can help me pick out after you get here. So hang in there. It's just three weeks until you can come.

I hate to hear that about Granny. But honey, don't feel too bad towards your dad. The truth is, at this point, he's doing good to even take care of himself much less anyone else.

You remember me telling you about a guy I've dated named Red? (That's 'cause he's redheaded!). Well, he's got an eighteen year old son that's come to live with him for a while from Miami. His name is Scotty and he's redheaded too! He's not a bad looking kid, but his hair's too durn long. Red's about as ugly on the outside as anyone can get, but he sure is a nice, sensitive guy. And he loves animals. His folks used to raise dogs and he said he was so used to always sleeping with a dog that when he went into the service and they started issuing him his uniforms and all, he kept waiting for them to issue him his dog! he's a real cut-up. You'll like him.

I've been sick for over a week now with a real bad cold. I sure have felt bad. But I haven't missed any work. Can't afford to! I really do like my job, too, and my boss. You'll like her. Her name's Elizabeth. I can hardly wait till you get here. We'll go down to Galveston and go through the Bishop's Palace and to the beach and to Astroworld. And we can go through Johnson Space Center. We'll find plenty to do.

Well, guess this is all for now. Be sweet and let me hear.

I love you gobs!

Love,
Mother

~~~

Lots of exclamation points in this letter. This is the last one from Sally and Dan's house. There will only be two letters sent from the new apartment preceding my visit.

Then there will be one more letter to me after that. It will be mailed from Red's address which will be your last.

Conversations With the Dead: 5/27/80 Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-21T09:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter and I figured you were busy finishing up at school. Won't be but a few days till you'll be through.

I've got all my furniture (it's all paid for too!) except for dining room chairs and a living room chair but I'll have those by the time you come down. But I need a part for my record player and I may not have it yet when you get here, so go ahead and bring your stereo. And your records. I don't have any yet. But if you ever run across a record called "Green Onions" by Floyd Cramer, or an album with it on it, grab it! I'll pay you back. I've been trying to find it forever.

Got twelve more days before I can move into the apartment. I know a guy named Red that's going to help me move. You'll probably meet him while you're here. He's ugly as a mud fence, but just as nice as he can be. Kind of nice like Phil. But we're just good friends. I don't want any "he" for a long time. But he takes me out to eat oysters and to meetings.

Have you ever been to Astroworld? I want us to go while you're here. And to the beach in Galveston. I can hardly wait.

Well, guess that's all for now. I'm going to spend this Friday night at Toni's and babysit the girls for Micki (she's manager like I was) so she can go to her daughter's graduation in Arizona. So write me when you can and maybe while you're here you and I can have a picture made at Olan Mills. Love you a bunch.

Love,
Mother

~~~

Well here we go again. Red. Another AA guy. The fact that you mention him at all in this letter then elaborate is bad. Bad.

You may not realize it yet, but Red is not nice like Phil. He's a completely different animal. And though you call him your friend he will, in the end, be your worst enemy. He will be your ending.

And that question you asked about who you love most? The answer was Red. The man who will soon marry you "out of pity". Then leave you in the dust.

Conversations With the Dead: 5/17/80 Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Don't know what I'm going to do with you, Bug, if you don't start writing me. It's been two weeks since I wrote you last and I haven't heard a word. How come?

I've been busy since I got back, trying to get some furniture bought. I got a black and white TV, a stereo, two end tables, a coffee table and a bedroom suite. Not bad, huh? All I need now is a dinette set, a couch and chair.

Of course I'll need odds and ends like lamps and stuff, but I should have all of it by the time you get here. And it'll all be paid for and mine, that's the good part. No payments every month. I got some real bargains, too. What I don't have when you get here you can help me pick out. That'll be fun. I've got three more weeks before I get to move in. I can hardly wait. Sally's kids are about to drive me nuts! They're so spoiled. Just brats, period. But it won't be long now. That's about the time you get out of school, isn't it?

Well, guess that's really all my news for now. Just working and going to meetings and getting things ready to move. Please write soon and let me know how you are, okay?

Love,
Mother

~~~

It doesn't feel like you need me as a daughter as much as a friend. Now the tables are turned and you are the one hurting to be closer. There's no man in your life to distract you.

In a few years you will list questions in a spiral notebook regarding how you've lived your life, what your dreams are, who and what are most important. One of the questions will be: Who do I love most?

The answer won't be me. The answer won't be any of your children.

Conversations With the Dead: 5/8/80 Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-21T08:07:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Well, made it safe and sound with no car trouble. Went back and got my car, got a motel room and left the next morning. Real proud of the "ole gray goose".

Paid down on my apartment Monday and I can move in June 7th. It's the one three blocks from my job. I think I'm going to be able to have all my furniture bought and paid for by the time I move in. And I'll have three or four more weeks to get it all ready before you get here. It sure will be nice. I can hardly wait to move it.

Took a picture of Charles tonight to send you. I thought I'd sent you one. His hair still will grow more, about two or three more inches. And it'll grow down over his eyes.

My boss is real nice. She gave me a vacuum cleaner today. And when I get my furniture, her daughter's boyfriend is going to move it for me.

Well, guess that's all my news. I bought some pyrex cookware today. Trying to slowly get all I'll need for the apartment together. Write me when you can and be sweet.

Love,
Mother

~~~

I don't know where you traveled to in the Ole Gray Goose, maybe to see me? I remember that car well.

I am happy to read of your excitement about the new apartment, but I feel sad that Salvation Army is your version of "nice". After Dad, you would never own a new car or house. Your clothes would usually come from garage sales, discount stores or resale shops like Baubles & Beads and Nearly New. I guess it doesn't matter as long as you were happy, but it makes me wonder if you set the bar way too low in every area of your life. What did you believe you deserved? Not nearly enough.

Conversations With the Dead: 4/11/80 Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-21T07:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Just had to drop you a quick line to tell you the news. I got a new job and it's a whole lot better! It's at Pilgrim cleaners and I work in the front, tagging the clothes brought in, getting clothes for people, etc. It pays $3.50/hr and it's not hard work at all. I get off at 6:00 PM and Elizabeth (the boss) said that while you're here in July you can come to work with my anytime you want to. I work half a day on Saturday, but while you're here I won't have to.

We have a TV and radio there for when it's slow, so you wouldn't just be staring at the walls, and it'd just be you and me there except from 4:00 PM to 6:00 PM, when she'd be there. Summer months are kind of slow for cleaners, so it'll be a good time to learn my job. I'm real tickled about it.

And Elizabeth is real nice. I had talked to her a few weeks ago about it and she didn't need anyone right then, but said she'd call if she did. And I'm glad, because it was getting slow where I worked and I wasn't making as much in tips. So it worked out just perfect. Just about the time I was going to quit that other job, she called and wanted me to go to work. So you won't have to be by yourself at night.

Well honey, that's all really. Just wanted you to know the good news. Let me hear and be sweet.

Love,
Mother

~~~

I still remember the smell of dry cleaning solvent.

Conversations With the Dead: April 4, 1980, Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-18T15:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter and really, I'm glad Feisty is out of his misery. It's really cruel to let a dog live like that.

I took Charlie to the vet and he's fine except for allergies (like his momma, I guess!).

I'll get to move into my apartment June 1st so I'll be all set up by the time you come down. It's an all adult complex and it's next to a lake. It has a pool so we'll both get us a suntan. (They consider a 15 year old an adult). So I'll drive up and get you July 1st 'cause I'll be off that day, and the next. So be ready! I hope to buy my own furniture too.

I got my contact lenses and I sure do like them. I tried to wear them back in '59 but they make them a lot better now.

I've started going to the Catholic church again. I went to mass Easter, and even bought me an Easter dress! I'm so grateful that everything is going like it is. God's been good to me.

Have you ever written David? I haven't heard anymore from him. Don't know if he's still there or not. Let me know if you hear.

I'm going on a diet this week. Sally lost fifteen pounds in one month! I'm going to start going to the spa with her, and work out, too. I gained too much weight at Toni's.

Well honey, guess this is all for now. Be sweet and let me hear. This picture was taken one night when I went over to a friend's house for hamburgers.

Love you gobs!
Mother

~~~

Feisty was Granny's Chihuahua. He was 21 years old. Poor thing was going blind, had arthritis. We laughed about it, saying Granny was so obsessed with that dog she probably put him in a bag and kept his corpse under her bed. In his last few years he was anything but feisty.

The Catholic church you're attending is St. Paul in Nassau Bay. I will be confirmed there in 2003. So will your first two grandchildren not long after me. I will attend one service there with you, a Christmas Eve midnight mass. Back then I had nothing against the religion. Times change.

David is most likely in a commune or living in the streets. The only letters I have from him are dated 1982.

The photo of you with friends was lost I guess. I can't find it anywhere.

Conversations With the Dead: 5/24/80 Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-18T15:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlene & Pat,

Hope you don't mind my weird paper. I'm at work and it was all I could find handy. I guess Teresa told you I'm working at a cleaners, and it's slow today because it's Memorial Day weekend. but that's okay with me.

I needed to ask you all a favor, about Teresa staying with me for the month of July. Because of getting my apartment and my furniture, I need to work all the hours I can, and I work on Saturday from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM (While she's here, I won't work Saturdays). So in order not to have to take off work to come and get her, and not to be coming up t here over the July 4th weekend, could I come get her Saturday June 28th after I get off work? Then I could bring her back either Saturday July 26th or August 2nd, whichever is agreeable to you. It would really be nice if she could stay until August 2nd though, because I'd have my VA check then for the trip back up there (Hate to travel without a little extra money). So whatever you all say just let me know.

I have all my furniture now (and paid for! So glad I didn't rent it like I started to and have those payments), except for dining room chairs and a living room chair. Even got a TV. I'll be moving in June 7th so I'll be all settled when Teresa comes down. I just work three blocks from the apartment and since I won't have a phone for a while, I can give you my work number. I work from 1:00 - 6:00 pm weekdays, and 10:00 AM - 2:00 PM on Saturday. But like I said, I won't work Saturday while she's here.

Well, guess that's all for now. Write back and let me know what's agreeable.

Love,
Rogene

~~~

It must feel awful to have to negotiate time with your own child. You're Charlene's aunt. You're forty-two to her thirty-something. But you're probably so thrilled to be so close to independence and freedom that you aren't focusing on the little aggravations. I wouldn't be either.

Conversations With the Dead: 3/28/80, Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-09T14:49:00.000-07:00

Thursday

Dear Teresa,

Got your other letter finally. And I got the first one you wrote Tuesday night when I went to Toni's for a meeting. I'd put in a change of address card, but it still went there for some reason.

Honey, it's okay about you not wanting to come down, not remembering Sally and them, and not having traveled by yourself before. I just wish you'd told me that's what it was, because I would have understood. Remember how I told you I felt because we were always around someone else when we were together? I wouldn't have gotten half as upset if I'd known that was how you felt. So it's okay. Don't worry about it. It'll be better in July. And I'll have a phone by then, so there won't be any problem about me working nights. If you need me, all you'll have to do is pick up the phone. It'll all work out. I may even take a few days off, if I can. Play sick or something. I'm really looking forward to it. And I'll drive up and get you, and take you home. Okay? Mr. Charles will be glad to see you, too. You'll love him to death. He's so sweet and loving. And I hope I can get an apartment where there's a pool so you can go swimming when you want to.

Well, guess this is all for now. I can't believe Charlotte has done it again! I think she's nuts. So be sweet, and I love you gobs too.

Love,
Mother

~~~

Charlotte must be pregnant again, and she will do it once more after this baby is born which will make four. She is only twenty-three.

You will find a job at a Pilgrims cleaners and will move into an apartment complex about a block away. There will be a pool with a view of Galveston Bay. About thirty-one years into the future, your grandson (my second child) whom you will never meet, will move into these same apartments, renamed Encore. His name is Justin and he will turn twenty-two next week. He will have a degree in music this time next year. He writes songs and plays guitar, loves to fish, makes me laugh. You would love him. He would love you.

A part of me is glad my four children never knew you because they were spared the pain of losing you, of watching you self-destruct. But I wish you could see them, be as proud of them as I am. My little Victoria turned six last month. She wishes she had a grandmother. She asks me how you died. I tell her what I told my older two when they were little, that you took too many vitamins, then that you didn't take care of yourself. This must confuse her somewhat. When she is older I will explain suicide and she will read these letters to get to know you.

This letter is dated 3/28. Your youngest grandchild's birthday. He turned four this year. He is autistic. I can't decide how this would make you feel, what you would say to me as a comfort or if you would view Julian as a gift for having a unique perception of the world. His circumstances are both heartbreaking and breathtaking. Depends on the day, on my strength. But always I am crazy in love with him, the center of his universe, just as you were the center of mine.

Conversations With the Dead: 3/15/80 Seabrook, Texas

2011-08-09T14:38:00.000-07:00

Tuesday

Dear Teresa,

Well, I got moved into Sally's and I've been out job hunting today. I probably will find one this week. I've got my own room here at Sally's and I've got it fixed with my whatnots, etc. Mr. Charles likes it here too. They have two little puppies, but they stay outside all the time and in the garage at night. I've got all the rest of my stuff stored in the garage.

When do you get out for Easter and for how long? A round trip ticket costs $48 if you come and go back after 7:30 PM (That's with Southwest Airlines. They'll have to take you to Dallas Love Field to get that flight. And you'll come in here at Hobby Airport). When I find out when you can come, I'll get the exact time you leave, and let you know, and send you the money. It'd be best if you had Charlene call and make a reservation for you, a few days before you come. It just takes 50 minutes to get here. It'll be a new experience for you. And I'll be at the airport to pick you up. Let me know when you can come, as soon as you can. If you want, you can call me some night, and let me know. Sally's number is (713)--------. And her address is ---------. Let me know soon.

Have you heard from David or have you written him? I sent him a birthday card, but I haven't gotten a letter.

Well honey, that's all my news. Let me hear something soon. I love you.

Love,
Mother

~~~

Reading this, I have a horrible feeling you won't be there when I land.

Conversations With the Dead: 2/18/80 & 2/25/80, Houston, Texas

2011-08-02T06:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday

Dear Teresa,

Hadn't heard from you in a while, and I couldn't remember if I answered your last letter or not. I think I did, but I'm not sure. I usually try to do it as soon as I get yours. Anyway, I did write to David and got a letter back this past week. I'm so glad he answered, and that he hadn't left yet. From the way it sounds, he may stay there a while. I hope so. It sounds like a religious household which is what Sally and Dan were doing when I stayed with them years ago. A bunch of Christians (or several) live together and put all their earnings together to run the household. And there's a man who is head of the house and makes all the decisions. It is Biblical, and the Church of the Redeemer does it here in Houston on a lot bigger scale. They have a bunch of different households. They live like one big family. So maybe this is how God is answering my prayers for David because I've been praying that God would lead him to someone who could guide and direct him. So I for one am glad he's there. It will help him to make it later on. David's a whole lot like me, in that he's always had a big spiritual need, and yet he never could do anything halfway. He had to be all bad, or all good. He couldn't be a hypocrite. Which is good in a way. He'll find his balance some day.

I've really been sick this past week. That's why my writing is so bad. I've had a horrible cold and it's going down in my chest. Sally's mother is visiting her from Dallas so I couldn't go out there this weekend, so I just got me a motel room, so I could rest and have a little peace and quiet. I've been at the house for four months now and I really need the quiet. It's nice to go out to Sally's, but she does have three teenagers and a six year old and it's not ever quiet. So it's worth the money. I got me a bucket of chicken, and brought my books, and I'm just lying around reading and watching TV. I just hope I feel better next week.

Well, I've got Charlie now, and I'm going to keep him. Phil's drinking again and the people where he was staying made him leave, so he and Charlie had been living in the truck. So he called me one night last week, and he'd driven the durn truck off into a bayou, and the wrecker driver said if he'd gone 100 feet more he'd of drowned for sure. Anyway, they had Charlie in the truck when they towed it off, so I called them and asked them to keep him for me until the next morning. Then I went and got him and Toni is letting me keep him at the house. He's housebroken, and he stays up in my room during the day. But the poor little thing's hair was all matted up and so pitiful looking, so I took him and got him clipped. But Phil's still drunk and hasn't even missed the dog, and since he seems determined to kill himself, I'm not going to let him have Charlie back. (I'm trying to write this, half lying down, so it looks awful, but hope you can read it anyway!).

Well, I guess that's all my news for now. Hope everything's okay with you. Be sure and write, and let me know. I'm going to get me an apartment as soon as possible, so I'll have a place to go on the weekends. And I'll nave it all fixed up by this summer when you come down. I love you honey. Be sure and write.

Love,
Mother

~~~

2/25/80, Houston, Texas

Sunday

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter and since I'm not working today, thought I'd better write. I was supposed to be off yesterday too, but I worked so we could get the house and yard cleaned up real good. It's like raising a house full of kids, even though they're grown women. Have to stay on their case all the time.

This guy I know is working on my car this weekend. He's putting a new starter and carburetor in it. After I get some tires, and get my tailpipe fixed, it ought to be in good shape. So maybe after that, I can plan a trip up to see you over a weekend. We wouldn't have much time, but it beats nothing. I'll try to come up before school is out. Okay?

Yes, be sure and write David. He needs to know that we love him and miss him. I'm glad he's where he is though, and hope he stays there. I think it's good for him. I sure would like to see him though. It's been so long.

I've got my room all fixed up to suit me now that I got all of Pat's stuff packed and out of it. I'm the only one who has a room by myself. It looks real good now.

I finally got over my cold I had last weekend. I sure had felt bad.

I went to the Church of the Redeemer today. I just love that church. I'm going to start going every Sunday since I'm off on the weekends. It's been so long since I've really felt free enough to really serve God. There's always been some man in the picture to hold me back or I was messed up, and wouldn't go and be a hypocrite. I'm free at last, to do the things I've longed to do for so long.

We haven't had any snow down here, and this past week has been just like summertime. I hope it keeps it up.

Well honey, guess that's all my news. I'm still liking my job, and after I get my car paid off the 1st of March I ought to be able to save some money. I still plan on getting an apartment before you come down this summer. I ought to be able to save $600 a month starting in April. Be sweet and let me hear from you. I love you gobs!

Love,
Mother

~~~

This is the last letter you will write from the Dupont address and the job you say God led you to, the job you seem to like so much. You'll never explain why you left.

Conversations With the Dead: 2/4/80, Houston, Texas

2011-08-02T06:16:00.000-07:00

Saturday

Dear Teresa,

Hi baby. Got your letter, but I've been so darn busy, you wouldn't believe! Besides all the normal stuff, we got some new girls in, and we're having an inspection Tuesday, so we've been trying to get everything cleaned up and ready (and we had the house exterminated too, and had to get everything out of the kitchen, etc.). And I've had a bunch of paperwork to catch up on. So this will be short, 'cause I'm having to work this weekend to get everything done. I'll be off Monday, and maybe one more day later in the week.

I go back to the doctor Monday to get the rest of my tests done. I don't have a spot on my thyroid or my lung. I think that doctor I went to before is nuts. This is a good doctor, and a good hospital, and it's free. It's a woman doctor and I like that too. So I feel a lot better about it.

I'm having to pack up all of Pat's stuff so I can move into her room and that's a full time job in itself. But I'm going to write David tonight, and hope he's still there. I sure hope he is, and will write me back.

Hope you're doing okay. I'm very proud of you, ya know. And I love you gobs too. Sorry this is short. Maybe I can do better next time.

Love ya,
Mother

~~~

It's funny, but the last part of this letter sounds like what you might say to me today, the "this is short" being our very brief time together. Eighteen years was all we had, yet it feels longer. Maybe we can both do better "next time". Or maybe we can both keep doing better right now. You are still here. I can feel you, like a ghost who isn't finished. Maybe my understanding of our eighteen years works as a midwife, delivering us both into a shared state of grace, a greater peace, the heaven you would finally describe as "a state of mind".

Conversations With the Dead: 1/24/80 Houston, Texas

2011-08-02T04:57:00.000-07:00

Tuesday

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter and thought I'd write while I wasn't too busy because after today I will be! Pat took off for two weeks today and I'm not sure that she'll be back. Anyway, I'm now the manager (and I'll get a salary, too) for two weeks or forever, I don't know which. But I can use the extra money. I love Pat, and I really hope she comes back, for her sake, but I have a feeling she won't. God seems determined to have me manage this house so I guess I'd better give in. And it does pay $6,000 a year, and with my checks, I'd be making about $10,000 a year. So, we'll see.

Yes, I love Charlotte, but I have never understood her. But in the future I just won't put myself in a position to be put down. If I come, I'll come in my car, and will probably just go by for a few minutes. I suppose she can't help how she feels, but until she gets over it, I really don't need it. She doesn't believe that I really care, and I don't feel like trying to convince her. She'll get over it some day. In the meantime, I'll keep on getting better.

I'm happy that you're proud of me, but it really is God, not me. I'd have been down for the count a long time ago if He hadn't of helped me. But I really believe I'm on my way this time. I''m different somehow. I can't explain it, but I am. When ever I do leave here, I may try to get a job as an apartment manager of a complex. They furnish your apartment free, and pay a small salary. But that's a little far off to worry about. Just thinking about a few things that I might do. I'm still doing it a day at a time. And I've been sober three months now.

I need you to get David's last address from your daddy and send it to me. He may have already left but I want to write him anyway, if I can. And do me another favor. Call Blanche for me (451-0794) and tell her I'd already mailed her letter before I got the manager job so you can tell her for me. She's been real sweet, and she's proud of me too (makes me feel good, anyway). She and I were close, when I was young. She can tell you a lot about when I was a child. She remembers more than I do about it.

Well honey, I guess that's all for now. Have to get ready for a meeting. Keep up the good work, and congratulations on "handling men", ha.

Love,
Mother

~~~

I'm not sure how much $10,000 was over thirty years ago, but it reads like $1,000,000 in your handwriting. I can feel your pride, though your comment about your Aunt Blanche being proud made me sad, your voice blushing like a little girl who needs the approval of the world.

Charlotte is difficult to understand. She is a warrior at heart. She will fight for you, but if you cross her, or if she perceives even the slightest betrayal, she will excommunicate you from her kingdom. All these years later, her kingdom has shriveled and her heart is broken. Her heart is sick, weakened literally with thickened walls; they call this cardiomyopathy. She was only trying to protect herself, but walls are walls - they shut out the harm, but they also shut out the good. She struggles to forgive, to let things go.

In 1994 she will try to save another alcoholic, and to me she will write of this familiar pain:

"How many years did we struggle in vain with mom? We thought if we helped her, maybe if we loved her more... Perhaps if we punished her for some of the things she did by not speaking to her it would be a deterrent. Nothing helped. No one can do it but them. It seems no matter how far away we get, or how much we learn, our family and unfinished business keeps finding us."

Before you leave us for good she will forgive you enough to come back into your life for a while. And before she leaves this world she will have forgiven you completely. Somehow, I think you will sense this breath of forgiveness from wherever you are; maybe you will no longer need it, but she will.

You say I should credit God rather than you, that if He hadn't helped you'd be "down for the count" a long time ago. So you are saying that when you do good, it is God, and when you do bad, it is only a speck called Beverly. No wonder you have low self-esteem. And no wonder you fall so easily; there is always someone else to count on since you are too "weak".

What I would tell you now if you were here, is that you deserve all the credit for where you are. You got yourself help, earned the position of manager, and you have changed because deep down you can feel a sense of accomplishment, despite crediting a fairy tale vapor, but you are afraid of the weight of it all, the responsibility of being you. I would tell you that this is what we all live for, the feeling of movement, of knowing deep down that we worked hard to earn what makes us proud. You are not small and weak. You were never small or weak. You were just afraid. We are all afraid. It takes courage to move when we are afraid. It takes courage to accept that we move our own feet, choose our own paths, and engage whatever consequences on our own. That rush of freedom is what we live for, feeling our wings, surveying all we overcame of the world below.

You chose to fly again.

Conversations With the Dead: 1/16/80 Houston, Texas

2011-07-22T14:57:00.000-07:00

Tuesday

Dear Teresa,

How's your head? I felt so bad about bumping your head! I know it hurt. I'm so damn clumsy anymore.

It was good to see you honey, but I wish we could have had a chance to talk more. I always feel so uncomfortable when someone is always around that I can't really relax and be myself. Does it do you like that? Even if it's Charlotte and Mike. I guess it's because I feel that Charlotte is really resentful at me, and I can't relax much, too. I understand how she feels, but it still bothers me. But no matter who it is, I'd feel better if we could be alone more. But we will, this summer. I plan to come up there again before then, in the car. We'll get a motel room, and be able to get out and do some things. I want to discuss some things that we talked about while I was there. I'm very upset about what I heard. I really don't like it at all. But you and I need to talk about it alone, okay?

My plane ride back wasn't bad at all. I sat where I couldn't see out the window this time! Ha.

I'll be off Thursday and Friday, and I'm going out to Sally and Dan's. I have to get my Army ID renewed (so I can go to the base, etc.) and she's going to take me to get it finished. It's out by her house. And as soon as I get it I can go to get that physical I was supposed to get months ago. (They said I had a spot on my thyroid gland and on my lung). I can get it done free if I have my card. Slowly but surely I'm getting everything taken care of. I'm kind of proud of myself. And it's getting better all the time.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. Wanted you to know I was home safe and sound. I love you very much, and please hang in there. And please when things bug you, tell me. It helps to get it off your chest. I'm forty years old and I'm just now finding out how helpful it is to talk about things that bother you. Write me soon.

Love you!
Mother

I guess it feels like the world conspiring against us right now - eyes everywhere, going through my mail to read your letters. I don't know why. It's almost over, though. Charlene will receive some devastating news, just the platform I need to get away.

Conversation With the Dead: 1/7/80 Houston, Texas

2011-07-20T07:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

You are an absolute nut! I just love your drawings! I showed them to everyone and it just cracked them up.

I did write Nanny and Windy after Xmas and thanked her. I don't know if she'll write back or not, but it's okay if she doesn't.

Glad you had such a good Xmas. I'm happy for you. And real glad you got to go to Charlotte's. I sure wish I could see all of you. I'm working on something now, and if it works out I may get up there next Sunday. So tell Pat and Charlene, and keep Sunday free. I'm pretty sure I can arrange it, but I won't know for sure until tomorrow when Pat gets back from her days off. I'll just have that one day, but it sure beats nothing! I'll call you and let you know for sure next Saturday. If you're not there, I'll tell Charlene. Okay? I'll have to come back Sunday night but we'll have most of the day. I bought me a car the other day (a '72 Chevy) but I'm not going to try and drive it up there this time. And I'll have it paid off in March so by April, I ought to be able to drive up there for a few days. (I won't have enough money to come until April). I just don't want to chance driving up there, until I drive it a little more. And it's such a long drive. If I get to come, I'll take a plane. It just takes thirty minutes to get there, and I can get Blanche to pick me up. I've never ridden a plane before! I hope I don't die of fright! So keep Sunday open, and I'll call Saturday morning and let you know for sure.

Charlie doesn't have heart worms anymore. We finally got rid of them. I sure miss the little stinker. I've been here two and a half months now. I sure do like it though. But by next summer I may move back to Fort Worth, so I can be close to you all. We'll see. At any rate, we'll have our month together this summer. So don't worry about that.

What did you mean about Jennifer giving your daddy a hard time? Does he get to see her often?

Guess what happened two days after I got the car? I had a wreck! This damn Mexican ran out in front of me trying to cross a four lane street in one whack, and I threw on my breaks and swerved to the right, but there wasn't any way I could keep from hitting him. Anyway, it didn't even hurt my car, except for a little scratch on the left front fender, but it just tore his car all to hell! Busted his radiator and everything. He had to be towed off. That cop said he thought "somebody up there likes you". Isn't that something? But now I'll have to get liability insurance, which I wasn't going to bother with, but that's okay. I'm just grateful my car wasn't torn up.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. I sure hope I can work something out with Pat. But I'm pretty sure I can. So hopefully I'll see you next Sunday. I love you gobs and gobs and GOBS!

Love,
Mother

Jennifer, my half sister from Dad's marriage to Patty. I haven't seen her in twenty-two years now.

I don't know what sort of "hard time" I was referring to, but I know she stopped wanting to see Dad and it broke his heart. He just doesn't know how to reach out, connect. It's awkward and I'm sure Jennifer felt it, even though she's only five. Children have keen antennae.

There is a torn-off scrap of paper in this letter. Charlene had been reading your letters without my knowledge. Somehow I found out and left her a little note, "Stop reading my letters, you bitch!"

See you soon, Mom.

Conversations With the Dead: 12/31/79 Houston, Texas

2011-07-10T14:24:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter this morning and I hope you had a good Xmas and that you got everything you wanted. And I'm glad you're going to go over to Charlotte's. It's good for you all to be able to be together. You need that, and she does too. She was like a second mother to you, when you were a baby. And with David gone, you all need to be together, to keep a sense of family. Seems like we're spread out all over the place. and even if Charlotte is grown and married, she needs family too. I think that's why she goes to Nanny's a lot. and you don't take a guild trip from anyone. You're always thinking of other people, and it's about time you thought of Teresa. And I mean that. Don't you ever feel guilty about a damn thing!

I sure wish I could get David's address. Tell your daddy to be sure and let me have it, when he gets it. I sure would like to hear from him. It's been so long.

Your poor daddy! Seems like he just can't win, doesn't it. I'm just glad he wasn't hurt. That's something anyway.

You'll never guess who I got a letter from. Betty! I nearly fainted. She never writes letters. But I had written her, and I really didn't expect an answer, just wanted her to know I was doing okay. She was real glad that I'm here, and said she and Dorothy may come down to see me. I hope they can. And I hope to get my car real soon and I plan to come up there and see you as soon as I can. She said for you and me to be sure and come see her when I come up. So we will. and by this summer I'll have something figured out where we can spend our month together. So don't worry about it. But we'll get together before then, ad least over a weekend. And I can hardly wait! I miss you so. God will work it out for us. Just hang in there, okay?

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. Pat's been off sick for several days and I've been awful busy, but I still love working here. It's good for me. Pray that God will show me when the right time to leave comes. Tell Charlotte Hi, and write soon. I love you, very much.

Love,
Mother

~~~

I can't remember what I got for Christmas, unless it was the Christmas I got the stereo for which I paid half. Uncle Pat thought it would be a good lesson in working for the things I want. Can't argue, I guess.

I don't remember what I was guilt-tripping about but your words are applicable even now. I will go spend some time with Charlotte and she will call you to discuss my future. My life is about to change dramatically for the better.

I don't know where David is but we'll both see him soon.

I don't remember what happened to Dad. Maybe he wrecked his Mustang.

I'll pray, until many years later. I don't understand what prayer is except listening to your deepest self. For all the praying you did, you never learned to listen.

Conversations With the Dead: 12/27/79 Houston, Texas

2011-07-10T14:07:00.001-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Hope you had a wonderful Xmas. I sure did. We had a big Xmas dinner, and its so family-like here at the house. I wish I could have been there too, but since I couldn't this helped a lot to be here. But hopefully, I'll get my car the 1st and will be able to come up soon. I sure miss you. But I love working here. It's hectic, but I love working with the girls. And I even got an Xmas card and some money from Nanny. That was a surprise. I had sent her a card, but I really didn't expect to hear from her. And be sure and let me know what all you got for Xmas.

Phil's in the hospital. He was drinking and he drove off into a ditch full of water and almost drowned. He was in intensive care for a couple of days. Bless his heart. I hope he learns something from this. He damn near died. Pray for him. He's such a good person. I don't know if his truck is ruined or not. I got a girlfriend in AA to go get Charlie and take care of him until Phil gets out of the hospital.

Just keep on working on your algebra. You'll make it. And I hope you work at learning about homemaking. I didn't and I wish I had. I know you'll do good.

How's your daddy doing? Does he like his new car? I hope you understand honey, that you really are better off where you are. Your daddy does love you very much, but he has a lot of problems and he realized that you'd be better off at Charlene's. So don't ever be hurt at him. He did the best thing.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. Write me, and let me know about your Xmas. I love you gobs.

Love,
Mother

~~~

It's sad about Phil, and that you had to spend Christmas in a halfway house. But at least you tasted "family", even if you couldn't be with your own. You're in a good place. I guess we're both in halfway houses.

You're right about dad doing what was best for me. It's just difficult to grasp when you're 14. Parents are supposed to have their shit together, at least one of them. He loves his Mustang, though, and plays Crystal Gayle, Neil Diamond, and Glen Campbell cassette tapes when he drives. He will soon marry "Hog Woman", but I will never once visit their house until 1989.

I'll pass algebra. You were right, I made it. Homemaking? Not so much, not back then at least. I couldn't even sew on a button! I'll figure it out though. We survive everything but death.

Conversations With the Dead: 12/19/79 Houston, Texas

2011-07-10T13:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

My writing will probably look funny because I just did my nails and they're still wet.

I went out to Sally and Dan's on my days off last week (you remember them don't you?) and I'll go out there again this week. She's helping me make some Xmas stockings for all the girls here. I just couldn't afford to buy them all something but they'll like these. They each have their name on them, etc. I sure hope you got your Xmas card in time to spend your money on something you wanted. I wish I could have sent more and that I could have sent Charlotte some, but I just didn't have it. I'm having to really cut it close, if I get to get that car, because I just have my check to live on, so..... Maybe I'll have a little money to spend by the time I get to come up there. And I hope that's not too far off!

Things are working out real good for me. I went over to the apartment yesterday and got a few linens and dishes and my books and whatnots, for when I get an apartment. There was plenty for Phil and I both. I'll have to buy more, but it'll be a start anyway. He's going to move back to Fort Worth he says, so I wanted to get it before he left. I didn't get all of it, but I just wanted enough to be able to start. He's very unhappy with me because I won't come back. He's drinking again and he still doesn't understand that that's one of the reasons. Mainly because he doesn't want to. Maybe he can take that chance, but I can't. I've had enough. But he has to put the blame on someone, so it might as well be me. He'll get over it. I sure miss Charlie tho. But I'll get me a dog, when I get settled. We have too many animals around here now. Toni (the boss) has a little toy poodle, and we have a big Persian named BK in the house, and a solid black one that stays outside named Serenity. So I'll have to wait.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. Write soon, and be sweet. I love you, and thanks for the picture.

Love,
Mother

~~~~

You'll get Charlie back.

Conversations With the Dead: 11/30/79 Houston, Texas

2011-07-08T07:59:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter yesterday. And as far as algebra is concerned, I'd be lost! But after all, "C" is average, so that's not so bad. Math was always my worst subject anyway.

Well, I got me a job, and it's right next door, so I don't have to ride the bus and all that jazz. I work for a Camper manufacturing company and all I do is answer the phone, and a little typing, taking orders and a little filing. I just work from 10 t0 4, so that's neat. With my check, and just paying $100 a month for room and board (I was paying $200 but as assistant manager they knock $100 off) I can live on that, because they furnish a lot of stuff like deodorant, etc. And I really need to work with sick alcoholics. This is helping me more than anything. But I'm like you. I sure hate not being able to be with you this Christmas. But we WILL make it up this summer. And by then I know I'll be 100% better. But I do want to see you so bad. But I should be able to get a car soon now that I'm working so I can at least make it some weekend. It's silly to try it without a car to get around in while I'm there. I think my boss over at the house knows someone who will sell me one and let me pay it out. So just hang in there, and PRAY!

We had a big Thanksgiving. We had open house, and we cooked for three days to get ready for it (and you know how I hate to cook!). I'm already dreading Christmas.

Yes, Al-a-Teen is really good for kids of alcoholics. It's really hard on them. I can say that, because I was raised in an alcoholic home, and I know how it was for me. You knew I guess that Granddaddy Scott was one, bless his heart. I actually hated him for 27 years, because I didn't understand. He was really a good man, he was just sick, but I didn't understand until I went through it myself.

The American Medical Association says it is a disease, and it is. We are sick mentally, physically and spiritually. It's an allergy of the body, coupled with a compulsion of the mind. We can't be cured, but we can get the disease arrested, just like TB or diabetes. We have a daily reprieve, depending on our spiritual condition. That's why we try to live only a day at a time. After all, that's all we have anyway. We can't do anything about the past, and when tomorrow gets here, it'll be today. We can plan, but leave the results up to God.

The first three steps in our AA program are: 1. Admitted we were powerless over alcohol and our lives had become unmanageable, 2. Came to believe that Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity, 3. Turned our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understand Him. And then there are nine more steps, and we try to use them in all our affairs. It's a way of life, and the principles are exactly the ones I lived by, those four years I was sober. Some of our pet sayings are: "Let go and let God", "Easy does it", and "One day at a time". But people make it in this program, that never would make it in church.

Well I guess I had better close and get to work. Let me hear from you, and be sweet. I love you, and I'm VERY proud of you.

Love,
Mother

P.S. If you ever need to get hold of me by phone, call me at area code (713) 741-3355 (the house), person to person. At work it's (713) 741-2936.

~~~

If I didn't know better, I'd think you're reading over my shoulder.

I vaguely remember you hating your father for his alcoholism. So you understand how I feel. I don't want to go through it myself to know how YOU feel. I'll just try to empathize from here.

You typed this letter. All but the postscript and your "Mother" is typed. It's strange not to see your "T's" with their diagonal crosses, your big loops and circles for dots above the "I's".

I'm glad you are in AA. I want to understand. And I'm tempted to call those phone numbers, thirty-two years into the future, just to see if you will answer. Person to person. That's what these letters are. I visit these instead of the grave. You are here, a sprinkling of your thoughts to paper. They really do transcend time.

I just swept up some broken glass. My four year-old autistic son broke a candle. I thought of you as I swept, wondering what you would think of my life. I love him so much, even if I don't understand so much of his behavior. Like with you, I just dismiss the lack of understanding, step over it like a body in the way. Love transcends all of it, the distance, the gravity, time and death. Maybe you should have renamed God, called him Love instead. Love has a lot more power.

Julian just called me into his room to look out the window. His speech is so awful but I understood "sky" and "dreams come true". He's remembering the song from Pinnochio, the "If you wish upon a star..." The sun is out but he is thinking of evening stars and wooden puppets who dream of becoming human. I wonder why.

Conversations With the Dead: 11/19/79 Houston, Texas

2011-07-08T07:31:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Sorry I've waited to write, but we have really been busy around here the last few days. Several sick people came in, etc. But I was so glad to get your letter, and the picture is beautiful! I wish for my birthday I could get one enlarged. (To fit that 5 x 7 frame I have your other ones in). It's really a good picture of you. Everyone here made over it. (We have nine women here now, including Pat, the manager).

Thank goodness you have a teacher you like for algebra! (ha).

Well, they've made me assistant manager here, which means I help Pat out running things, and I'm in charge on her two days off. This helps me, to be able to help other people, and even when I go to work I can still do it. But I haven't really made up my mind if I'll go to work, or go to school. It's possible that I could go to school through the VA, and they pay you to go. But we'll see. I'm just leaving it to God, to point me in the right direction. I don't want anything except what HE wants anymore. It's really helped me to be here. The director of the house (Toni) is a real good Christian woman. She was a drug addict and alcoholic for seventeen years and she really knows what she's doing. She's been straight now for six years.

I'll always care for Phil, but we can't stay together. I want to be his friend, and always will if he's willing. But my sobriety has to come first. That's the only way I can make it. I'm not good for anyone, until I get myself straight, and the only way I can do that is to put God, and the AA program first. I hope you understand. God knows how much I love you, and Charlotte and David, and I pray for all of you every day. I know I'm not much help to you, but I do know HE will take care of you, and guide you. And I'm so grateful for that. I miss seeing you all so much, but I just have to wait, and see how things work out. And it will, I have no doubts, because I know I'm where I'm supposed to be, doing what HE wants. It may take a little time, but I didn't get this way overnight, and I won't get things right overnight.

Well, sweetie, I have to go now. We are going to have a meeting. Be sweet and please write me. Tell Charlotte to send me some pictures or else! I love you, very much.

Love,
(Mudder!) Rogene (<-- The girls were distracting me!)

You leave so much in God's hands. Could this have been the problem? Looking outside yourself? You once joked that, "The Devil made me do it." So the Devil was your left half and God was your right. Where were you? Again, it just makes me so angry that you invested all your faith in a fairy tale, spent your life letting a cartoon character drive. I wish I could have been there as an adult to warn you, but then I wonder if you would have listened, and if without your fairy tale you would have been worse off, more alone. I can't know.

Conversations With the Dead: Circa 1974, Greenville Texas

2011-07-08T05:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Glad to get your letter, and glad Mac is fine.

The kittens have disappeared. There are some new kids in the neighborhood and we just hope they got them. They must have, for both of them to disappear, at the same time.

Not much news I guess. Like I told you when you were here, I was hoping David could stay with me when he leaves the hospital, and your daddy called me the other day and asked if I could take David. So as soon as I can get a place of my own he can come. I just wish he didn't have to stay there, to wait. But it can't be helped.

I got a letter from Charlotte the other day, and she said she had been pregnant, but she lost it. I sent her a birthday card and some money yesterday. Maybe they'll come back for a visit before long.

As soon as I get some of the pictures Nanny took while you were here, I'll send you some.

Well honey, I guess that's all for now. Be sweet and remember I love you. I sure do miss you.

Love,
Mother

This letter has no date on it, no envelope but it must have been written in August for you to be sending Charlotte a birthday card. She must be in Hawaii or wherever Necho was stationed to be far enough away to "come back for a visit". That would make it around 1974. I had spent several weeks in Greenville, Texas with you and Nanny while you recuperated there from Sonny. So you're writing from Greenville and more than likely, David is having to wait with us - me, Michelle, Dad and Patty, the evil redheaded stepmonster. David has body lice and will give it to me and Michelle. He will threaten Patty with numchucks. She will tell Dad he can't stay with us. I won't see him again until 1981.

The theme of this letter is lost kittens and children. Your son is mentally ill and in limbo, your youngest daughter has just left you again. Your eldest is too far away and even when near is so hard to reach. Charlotte is such a stone. How difficult for a mother to feel so helpless with three spiritual umbilical cords tangled in thick briars and across too many miles.

You will send me a photo of me and Nanny riding her lawnmower. We are both wearing halter tops, our shoulders are bare. We are smiling like idiots, her smile perhaps obligatory and for the camera, me because of the perfect summer, the smell of cut grass, you nearby and tomatoes ripe for picking. There is nowhere else I want to be.

I've been thinking that I'm too hard on you all these years later. But anger is a stage of grief and I didn't feel angry at all for the longest time. I missed you like a lover. I remember knowing I'd be seeing you when I was nine or ten, dressing in the bathroom, packing a suitcase. I looked in the mirror, my stomach a tumble of butterflies. I couldn't stand still, contain my joy. A deep sense of longing was established as the primary component of love. This would cause many problems later in life, a series of untouchable men who could not love.

There is a birthday card in the saved letters with a cartoon of a fat orange kitten surrounded by orange daisies, green eucalyptus and pink butterflies. In it you wrote:

I don't know when I'll be able to come up, but I do know I get a couple of days off for Christmas and am coming up then. As soon as I find out the exact days, I'll let you know. I'll stay with Doris and Granddaddy (or maybe Betty or Dorothy) and if it's okay with your daddy, maybe you can spend the night and we'll have our own little Christmas, okay? I'm sorry I couldn't get you a better present but by Christmas I'll have more money. I love you tho, very much. I'll call you.

Love, Mother

You wrote me a poem:

She was so tiny and so warm,
This jewel that to me was born,
Truly a gift from God above,
I thanked Him, my heart full of love.

Many hours of joy she gave,
A brightness in darkness she made,
And she's still a star in my eyes,
Brighter than all others in the sky.

I'm thankful for those few years,
When I could rock her or dry her tears,
And pray that God will help her know,
To me she's more priceless than silver or gold.

For Teresa
From Mother

I don't know if we ever had our own little Christmas, unless it was the one we spent with your Aunt Blanche and Uncle Joe. Betty and Dorothy are lifelong friends. Betty will one day sing at your funeral and her husband, James, will officiate. James will do the same at David's funeral. You and your son are buried together in Rosehill Cemetery. I have not visited since 1992 when David was buried because neither of you are really there. There is only marble, dirt and fake flowers. Nothing more. Nanny was nearby but her husband Windy had her body moved. I don't know why this is so sad to me if the graves mean nothing. Maybe because you were so separate from your mother in the last years. It seems you should be buried together now. You only survived her by a year.

Granddaddy is your father who will die of cancer in 1976. Doris is your stepmother whom everyone will blame for enabling Granddaddy to drink. I remember visiting him in the hospital before he went home to die, Doris walking him to the bathroom to urinate despite his having a catheter. His constant urgency might have been a missed infection, and Doris could not convince him that the toilet was not needed. He was out of it, a ghost of himself, a shuffling figure with a large swathe of gauze taped to his neck where the throat cancer and surgery had left a gaping hole. I never saw him alive again except for a brief moment at his home, in a hospital bed at the back of the house, hidden. Doris nursed him in the last days. What a horrible room to die in, so small and dead already.

I will always remember 1976 as the bicentennial, my last year of elementary school, the year Grandaddy - Seabourne Andrew - and Elvis Aaron Presley died. A few months later my guinea pig, Mac, would die in a hard freeze and I would decide that things left or died in my world during even-numbered years. I haven't trusted them since.

Conversations With the Dead: 11/5/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T09:01:00.000-07:00

Saturday

Dear Teresa,

Well honey, I guess you've been wondering why I haven't written. Your mother has been going through another crisis. Phil started drinking again, and of course I ended up doing it too. It's just not going to work for us. As nice a guy as he is, I just can't go it anymore.

He won't go to AA and it just seems like we've both changed or something, and even when there's no drinking, it's not like before. I guess I really don't have any business with anyone. I can make it alone, and with AA, but trying to have a relationship with anyone at this stage seems impossible. (I'm talking about men in general). I have to try to really get into AA again (like I was in church, in fact, I had even started going back to church) and try to grow up, and get to where I can like myself before I can get involved with anyone. You know me. Whole hog or nothing.

And I just flat cannot drink. I get worse, and meaner, every time, and part of it is because I dislike myself so much, and I take it out on other people. It has to stop. I can't be in AA like I need to, and do the things I need to do, and live with Phil. So if I want to change, and if I want to learn to live, I have to give him up. Sounds simple, but it's not easy. I hate to hurt him. It'd be much easier if he were a jackass, but he's not. But I have to put staying sober first, and he's not ready to do that, and I can't do it by staying with him.

But anyway, I've got a new address and I wanted to let you know what was going on. I'm staying at a halfway house with some other women right now, so unless I can get a job and a car awful fast (and an apartment!) it looks like you coming down here in December will have to be put off. But this is where I need to be right now. And I can live here, and work, and maybe get things worked out pretty soon, with my check. I pay rent here, but by working, and my check, I can make it in three months or so. I haven't even made up my mind to stay in Houston. In a way (because of you and Charlotte) I'd like to come back there. But we'll have to wait and see. First things first. Anyway, don't worry, because these are good people here, and I think this decision is going to be the turning point. We all have to grow up, and learn to stand on our own two feet, and I think it's about time I did that.

I love you honey, and I'm so very proud of you. Just keep it up, and write me here. I may be coming back soon, for good. Then we'll be able to see each other often. But I have to "get it together" first. But I love you, and "turd-head" Charlotte, too (you tell her for me, and tell her to send me a picture of the baby). Write me.

Love, Mother

P.S. A girlfriend of mine is keeping Charlie and he's doing fine. I'm sure he'd say HI, too.

About ten years ago I found a resale shop in Houston and went in. I got to talking to an employee and learned that the women who ran the shop lived in a halfway house next door. Some were running from abusers, some were running from addiction. I realized that this is where you wrote this letter from, the place on Dupont. I feel disappointment even as I type this because although this was a turning point for you, it was a brief pause in just another U-turn.

You are right about staying single, but you'll lose your resolve in six months.

Conversations With the Dead: 10/1/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T08:47:00.000-07:00

Friday

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter, and I also talked to Charlotte. I told her to be sure and have Mike or you call me when the baby comes. She may end up having it on Linda's birthday.

Call me and let me know when Charlene decides when you can come down. Phil and I will come get you. That's an awful long bus ride. If you can only stay a few days, it'd be something. At least we could have a little time together. I sure hope they agree, since it's hard for me to get up there to see you often. And not having a car yet, doesn't help. I'm still planning on getting one, as soon as I can. But around here, everything's within walking distance. It's real handy.

So you're vice president? How about that. And who may I ask is Dr. Jeff? I think you may have mentioned him before, but I've forgotten. Tell me about him.

I called David right after I talked to you, but he had left that morning. It's a durn shame that people are so self-righteous and self-centered. He'll probably never try "home" again. I wouldn't! I just wish he'd gotten my phone number before he left. I haven't seen or talked to him for over three years. (I think I'm mad, too).

Charlie's not doing very good, but he's taking some more medicine and I take him back to the vet Tuesday. I sure hope he makes it. He's so sweet. I'm going to get some film this weekend and take some pictures of him. I may wait and mail this and send you one.

Well, I guess that's all my news. I bought me a bookcase, and I took all the paint off it an d now I've got to repaint it. I hope you can come down. We'll have a Christmas tree and everything! So let me hear from you, and be sweet. Call me, when you can. I love you.

Love, Mother

PS Didn't get any film. Try to get some next week Bye.

Dr. Jeff is a doctor at Arlington Community Hospital where I'm a candy striper. I had a crush on him, nothing serious. I remember his full name now - Jeff Horn. How funny, the things we remember. I think I was vice-president of some group in home economics class, which I completely sucked at. That should have told me something about my future domestic skills.

Your handwriting is getting shaky again. You're about to get sucked into another whirlpool.

Conversations With the Dead: 9/7/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T08:27:00.000-07:00

Thursday

Dear Teresa,

Well, I've been busy this morning. It's just 8:30 am, and I've already cleaned my oven (ugh!) and got a washing done.

I guess Charlene told you I called. I would have waited until later, so I could talk to you, but I knew they were going to cut my phone off yesterday (can't pay the bill right now. I'll get it back later) and I didn't want you to be worrying about me or anything. Everything's okay now. In fact, I've started going to AA again (like Jimmie and I did) and also Sally and Dan Borkowski are still here. They have a friend here named Verna (I don't know if you ever met her or not) and she lives real close. In fact, while I was sick, she had her whole church pray for me, and of course Sally and Dan were too. And I'm sure that's why I came to myself enough to call AA for help. I had a bad resentment against AA when Jimmie got sick and died, and had said I'd never go back, but HE had other ideas. Anyway, it was a miracle in itself, that I called. So don't worry, because I know HE's helping me. Why I don't know, but I know HE is.

I wish we could have spent more time together, but next time I come up there, we will.

How is Charlotte doing? (She's mad at me, and so is Nanny). I know she's due to have the baby this month. Keep me informed, so I won't worry. And let me know how your school, etc. is going. I'm very proud of you, and I want you to keep it up.

Tell Charlene that I appreciate how nice she was when I called. You're better off there than with Patty or your Dad. And love your Daddy. He's had a hard time of it, and I do know he loves you.

Well, I guess this is all for now. Just always remember I love you, and let me hear form you. Tell everyone HI from me.

Love,
Mother

PS Phil's at work, but he said to tell you HI when I wrote.

Well, your phone didn't last long. I wondered, from here, if you could afford it when you paid that deposit.

You going back to AA and saying you were "sick" confirmed everyone's suspicions. That's why Charlotte and Nanny are angry. They aren't gentle forgiving spirits. They don't understand addiction, I guess, and neither did I as a child, but I could never imagine not loving or needing you then, in whatever form you were available.

Verna must be your sponsor.

I must have said something negative about Dad for you to defend him. You still love him. I probably resent him for leaving me with Charlene. Maybe it was the best place for me, but he's my father and too easily handed me over. He said to Charlotte just before I moved in with Pat and Charlene, "What do you expect me to do? Get an apartment with just Teresa and me?"

I'm glad you had so much trust in God, but maybe you relied a little too much on powers outside yourself. Today I felt a hot rage reading about how "HE" helped you, how "HE" got all the credit for your recovery, temporary as it was. Ridiculous. In fact I realize just today that it was you who killed God for me.

Conversations With the Dead: 7/16/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T08:19:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Sorry I've been so long about answering, but Charlotte's probably told you I've been in the hospital. The doctor put me in to run a bunch of tests on me, because I have been feeling so rotten for the last couple of months, and I still couldn't seem to get rid of that infection. I have to go back later, and have them put some kind of scope down my throat so they can check my thyroid (they found a spot on it in the x-rays) and look at my stomach. Seems I've got an ulcer. Also, I'm borderline diabetic, so I have to watch what I eat. He said there was a spot on my left lung, but it's not TB, and he says it's probably an old scar. Maybe from when I had pneumonia when I was little. Anyway, I'm feeling some better and will be glad to find out what the thyroid deal is.

I put down a deposit for a phone and they're supposed to put it in around the 23rd. I'm going to get an unlisted number, but will let you know what it is as soon as I get it. I should have my dental work done sometime after August 1st. And I'm going to find some way to see you this summer if it hairlips the governor! Just hang in there. And there will be no more long spaces in between anymore.

Well honey, I'm sorry I don't have a lot of good news this trip, but none of it is real bad either. Just be sweet, and don't ever forget that I love you, very much. Maybe in my next letter, I'll have some good news for you. Tell Charlotte I understand and will just work something else out. Let me hear, and I'll call you as soon as I get the phone.

Love you,
Mother

PS Phil and Charlie say Hi!

Your handwriting looks even worse. And Charlotte probably told you that you can't stay with her. She thinks you're drinking again. She knows you are, no matter how much you deny it.

Conversations With the Dead: 6/21/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T08:10:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter day before yesterday, but have been so lazy, just now answering. I don't know what's the matter with me. Just don't seem to have any energy. The doctor gave me some thyroid pills, but they haven't helped any.

Did you know your writing looks a lot like Charlotte's? (As well as I can remember it, that is!).

I've read all of Erma Bombeck's books, and I wish she'd write some more. She's so funny.

I sure wish I could see you. In fact, I've been thinking about putting my dental work off, and coming up for a week. I could stay at Charlotte's and help her out some maybe, and you could come stay with us. could you find a way to get out of babysitting for a week? Why don't you find out, and let me know if you can, and when. I can take a bus up there, and if Phil can't come get me, I can take a bus back (He's been having to work weekends lately). Why don't you ask Charlene about it, and let me know? I could come any time.

I'm sure you're tanned a lot more than I am. It rains so much here, it's hard to get too much sun. I try to pick a day when my hair is dirty so I can wash it the next day, and the sun doesn't try to work with me! But at least I'm not "sickly white".

I haven't heard from Charlotte, (no surprise), so I guess she's doing okay. It wouldn't hurt anything though if I could stay with her for a few days, and help out. You can call her too, and see what she thinks.

Well, I guess that's all for now. Not really much news. We've got to go to the VA hospital this afternoon and see Doc. He's been real sick. So let me hear from you, after you check with Charlene.

Love you,
Mother

You're really starting to repeat yourself, and your handwriting is getting shaky. You are going down, getting depressed, and Doc being "sick" means he's been drinking.

Conversations With the Dead: 6/14/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T08:01:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter yesterday and Phil and I cracked up over your drawing! You know, I bet you could really draw good, like your daddy, if you'd work at it. Does it interest you any? I've always wanted to try my hand at oil painting, although I'm sure I don't have any born talent for it. But if I could learn the basics I might pass.

I'm glad you can make some money this summer, but I'm also glad you're having fun. You're only young once, so enjoy it! I missed out on so much, by getting married so young. I guess that's why I act like a kid so much. Never got it out of my system!

I talked to Charlotte yesterday, and told her to cal me if she gets to feeling too bad, and I'd come stay with her and help out. I sure hope she can carry the baby full term. She promised she'd let me know, if she needed me. She said David had called Granny about three weeks ago from Arizona, and that he was coming back to Fort Worth. I'd sure like to see him. I can't imagine him being twenty-one years old. I'm just glad he's not in jail. I pray for him all the time, even though I didn't know where he was.

Erma Bombeck has several good books. One's "At Wits End" and "The Grass Is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank" and "I Lost Everything In the Postnatal Depression". They're all so funny. You can probably get them at the library. Phil and I go to the library all the time. We both love to read, and I joined a book-of-the-month club too.

I went to the dentist today. I had three cavities I had to fill, and I have that broken tooth to get fixed (thanks to Buddy!). It's going to cost me $240 to get it fixed. But it's in the front so it has to be done. He filled two cavities today and I'll go back and get the other one filled, and then after the first of next month, I'll get the broken one fixed. I'll sure be glad to get it done. It made me so self-conscious because it looked so bad.

I'm letting my hair grow out again, but I think I'll get it frosted again. That gives it more body, and covers up the gray. I'll have to wait awhile though, because I want my teeth fixed first.

I talked to Nanny last week, and she sounds awful nervous. But you always are, after an operation like that.

I've beet getting a tan too. No, I never do burn real bad, and I never peel. I hope you can come down this summer so we can go down to Galveston.

Well honey, I guess that's all for now. Have fun and let me hear form you. Remember, I love you.

Love, Mother

Conversations With the Dead: 6/5/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T07:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter yesterday. I really had worried when I didn't hear from you, but I thought you might have gone out of town or something.

Phil and I thought we might have found you a pet you could keep, but it didn't work out. He found it out on the job. It was a turtle (or terapin, I don't know which) and it was about six inches long. He was kind of pretty, because he had orange spots all over his head and legs, and orange eyeballs! But he wouldn't eat! We asked at a pet shop what they ate, and they said vegetables and fruit, but he wouldn't eat. I don't know if he was too scared, or what. Anyway, we let him go because I was afraid he'd die. And you should have seen Charlie! It was so funny. He watched him, and followed him around all the time. And when I'd put him in the bathtub in a little water, his shell made all kinds of noise, and Charlie would sit in there with him. (And he usually won't go near a bathroom, because he's so afraid he'll get a bath!).

I wrote mother a while back and I sent her a get well card, but I haven't heard from her. Charlotte didn't say what was wrong with her. Why don't you ask her and let me know? Charlotte still hasn't written.

Phil and I went to see the Battleship Texas weekend before last, and went through it. It was real interesting. He said when you come down, we'll go to Astroworld. I think it's kind of like Six Flags. And we both got us a bathing suit so we can go down to Galveston. There are a lot of things to see down there.

Do you have any pictures yet you could send me? I wish I had my camera, but it's packed in all my stuff.

Well honey, I guess this is all. Hope your sunburn is okay by now. Be sweet and let me hear from you. I love you, very much.

Love, Mother

Conversations With the Dead: 5/22/79 Houston, Texas

2011-06-30T06:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter yesterday, and it was real sweet with all the "Happy Mother's Day". I also got a telegram Charlotte sent me about Nanny being in the hospital for surgery. She said it wasn't serious, but I wonder. Mother's not one for having surgery or anything to do with hospitals, unless it's pretty drastic! Charlotte sent it the 15th and I don't know why I didn't get it until yesterday, unless it was because we were out of town this weekend. But seems like I should have gotten it by Friday the 18th, before we left. Phil and his boss and his girlfriend and I went to a resort place that his boss has an interest in, to do some work. It was really nice. I'd like to take you when you come down. It'd be a lot of fun. You can go canoe riding down a river (it takes about 4-6 hours) and they have a huge slide that goes down a big hill into some water. And it's so pretty. The water is so clean, etc. And we could take Charlie. He'd have a ball. Phil has a camper, too, you know, but if it's real nice, we could camp out. It'd be fun. We could barbecue, etc.

I'm glad you liked the bookends. I was afraid they'd be too "childish" but they were so cute and unusual, I just couldn't resist them. I like unusual things like that. Do you get a chance to read very much? If you go to the library, look up all the books by Erma Bombeck. She is so funny! She reminds me of me, as a mother! Some of her books are At Wits End, I Lost Everything In the Post-Natal Depression, The Grass Is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank and Just Wait Till You Have Children Of Your Own. You'll laugh yourself silly! She's a lot like Phyllis Diller, only better. Phil and I go to the library every week, nearly, and get about eight books a piece. We read all the time. And I'm studying for my GED too, so I can get my high school diploma, since when your Daddy and I got married I quit school. (That's one of the dumbest things I ever did. Of course I have a few more on my list too, ha).

As far as pets go, all I can think of is something you could keep outside, like rabbits, etc., or maybe goldfish, etc. There ought to be something you could get.

Phil and I have picked up a new hobby. Have you ever seen that string picture art? He's nuts for ships and he's made two real pretty pictures for the living room and I made a small one of a snail with a butterfly on its back for the bathroom. They're fun to make. I may make you one, and send it to you. Phil always did like to do things like that. He does real pretty leather work too, and he's building one of those model ships. (We've got ships all over the house. Even have a lamp with a ship as a base!).

Well, it won't be long until school will be out. What day do you get out? It's in June isn't it?

I was sick last week and had to go to the doctor and get a shot and some antibiotics. But I'm getting over it now. I hate to feel bad. Guess I'm getting old, ha.

Tell Charlotte I didn't get her telegram until Monday. I'll get mother a get well card today, if it'll stop raining long enough to go to the store. They spotted a tornado this morning. It was really bad.

How is Granny doing these days? Didn't she break her hip or something?

Well honey, I guess this is all my news. And don't be self-conscious about being pretty. The good Lord made you that way 'cause He wanted to. But I know what you mean about not knowing what to say. Just say Thank You, I guess. Be sweet and let me hear, and save your money so we can have a lot of fun shopping! Phil says "hi" back.

I love you, very much!

Love, Mother

Yes, Nanny had surgery to have her teeth removed, I think for dentures. The surgery will go fine but she'll get a nasty infection.

The bookends were of old school house desks made of wood and iron and I used them forever, probably kept them for another fifteen years until they fell apart.

I did eventually read Erma Bombeck, more than a year after you died, from your own collection. I gathered them from the house on Bellgrove, from a wall of shelves behind the recliner where they found you.

I am glad you are getting your GED. You are forty-one years old and smoothing out regrets.

I never did get a pet. I think Pat and Charlene were relieved when the hamster I moved in with died shortly after I arrived.

The string art. I distinctly remember my one and only visit to your Wirt Road address. I was sitting on the sofa in the depressing apartment you shared with Phil, holding one of his completed ship projects. It looked cheesy to me, even back then. Too hollow, too thin and fragile in a cheap way. It was something you would find dusty on a card table at a garage sale. It might go for fifty cents or a dollar. No soul.

I don't know why the apartment was depressing but it didn't help that we never once left it. Maybe it was all the ships, lost in the sea of Phil's morose energy. It reminded me of the apartment you shared with Jimmy and how all that ended, him on a park bench naked. All the "fun" you promise in your letters is hollow, thin strings, tiny nails on black velvet collecting unreachable dust. Like the cheap art Buddy had of Spanish dancers and bull fighters, props for a sitcom. You became the men you chose. Ships and string art? Where were you?

I felt old today at 46. You felt old at 41. I guess things begin to creak in that fourth decade. You won't make it to the fifth.

Granny didn't break a hip. It's funny how you often said when she complained all the time about her health, "She will outlive us all." How precient. She will outlive you by a decade, unable to recognize any of us, completely gone.

I paused as I typed your closing, when you said you love me. I let the cursor blink on the words "...very much!" while I tried to feel you, to reach back through thirty-two Mother's Days, to remember your voice.

Conversations With the Dead: 5/5/79, Houston, Texas

2011-06-27T08:01:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter yesterday and had been watching for it. Today is Saturday and Phil had to work but I have a lot to do around here. Need to wash my hair (I'm letting it grow out again. Phil wants me to. He just doesn't like my hair short!) and mop and wax the kitchen, etc. If it'll ever stop raining, and the sun comes out, I'm going to get out on the back porch and get me a suntan. I bought me some halters yesterday and I can wear my short shorts. My bathing suit is in Weatherford (as is everything, except my clothes) so I'm going to get another one. I'll get my stuff, but I'm not going to worry about it right now. It'll still be a while before we can make a trip up there.

I'm glad you all get to go see Nanny. I know how she and Windy enjoy it and you kids haven't gotten to be around her like you should. She's nearly sixty, you know (don't tell her I said that!) and her blood pressure is so high I worry about her, even though she and I are having a little trouble now. I wrote her and told her I was sorry for everything that's happened so maybe it'll be alright in time. I hope so.

Yes, I hope Charlene understands and lets you come. I have the legal right, but I don't want to go into that again, unless I have to. I think Charlene is smart enough to be sensible about it though. And I'm pretty sure your daddy is. By the way, how is he doing anyway? Is he with Granny or what? By the way, we have a radio that has an 8 track tape player in it, so since you're so rich (ha) get one you like and you can play it when you come down. Who all do you babysit with?

Since you don't have a pet, you'll really enjoy Charlie. He loves attention. And he's so sweet natured. Of course I'm spoiling him rotten! So you can help me, when you come. And any kind of store you want is near here, so we can go shopping while Phil's working. I'm going to get me a car one day, but there's no rush. I've got some other things to pay off first.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. Be sweet, and always remember I love you. Tell Charlene and Pat Hi for me. Phil says Hi.

Love, Mother

P.S. Would you believe this (mauve) is the exact color of our bathtub, etc.? Wild, huh?

Yes, Nanny is disappointed in you and tired of trusting only to be disappointed again and again. You break her heart, only she doesn't express it that way. You can read it in her face, behind her gruff exterior, in the way she looks out the front door of the trailer when she grows uncomfortable talking about you. There are only three years left, three years to make your peace with her. When the time comes, almost too late, she will call for you. You will stand over her bed in a hospital room and her eyes will open for just a moment and you'll hope it isn't just delirium when she smiles.

There are documents in the black doctor's bag I still have of yours where you kept what you considered important - pictures I drew, letters, photos, receipts, several letters from attorneys and custody orders. One order in particular caught my eye, "In The Interest of Teresa Lynn Williams, A Child", and these two sentences, one that said Dad "waived issuance and service of citation by waiver duly filed and did not otherwise appear", and the one that followed saying you "appeared in person and by attorney and announced ready for trial." This document decreed that Pat and Charlene "are hereby appointed Managing Conservators of the child, Teresa Lynn Williams. An earlier order stated: "...the retention of the present custodian would be injurious to the welfare of the child..." They were referring to Dad as "present custodian".

When I first read these documents I was hurt because you gave me away to an aunt and uncle I hardly knew. Now I realize this was a wise choice as Dad's confused state and shock created an unstable environment. Charlene and Pat were well educated, stable, successful. I learned from them, as foreign and lonely as their world felt sometimes, and that knowledge has made all the difference.

At the time of this letter, Dad is drifting between Granny's house, which is our old Crenshaw address, and someone he refers to as "Hog Woman". Her name is Vivian and she lives on a hog farm. Her second and third toes are fused together. She is simple, something you weren't. They will date for about a year and then she will become my stepmother, a marriage that will last eighteen years until one day she up and runs away with a Dominos Pizza delivery boy.

Wild, huh?

Conversations With the Dead: 4/24/79, Houston, TX

2011-06-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Well, guess what we did this weekend? We moved to a much prettier apartment! It sure is nice, and has two swimming pools! The front door is two big sliding glass doors, and off the kitchen it has another sliding glass door that goes out onto the little patio (we're upstairs). It's so much nicer than the other one, but the main reason we moved is nothing but a bunch of thugs and thiefs [sic] were moving in over there. In fact, they stole Phil's plumbing tools out of the pickup, stole our friend Doc's car, etc. And it's going to take a lot of money to replace his tools. And being a plumber, he has to have them. And this apartment doesn't cost any more than that other one did. And the landlady here is a dog lover, so we had no trouble about having Charlie! I can't wait until this summer, so maybe you can come down for a few days. We'll have a ball.

I guess you heard that Charlotte is pregnant? I talked to her a week or so ago and ask [sic] her if I could borrow some money and she deceided [sic] I was drinking and said no. But I was using Doc's phone (the daddy of the "nut" that hurt Phil and died) and I couldn't really sit there in front of him and talk about all that to explain why we were short on money, so I told her you'd explain. But my checks are still not comming [sic], and of course Phil had to be off work so long, and all I wanted was a loan. But I guess any time I ask for money, people think I'm drinking. But it's okay, because I know I'm not. But there just wasn't any way I could really explain with Doc there listening. Anyway, we made it, and we're really happy at our new place. I want to give you the new address and also ask a favor of you. The landlady thinks Phil and I are married, so when you write, address it to Rogene Hust. That way I'll be sure and get it, because Hust is what's on the mailbox.

I'm so glad you enjoy working at the hospital and I understand, because I loved it when I was at the nurseing [sic] home. In fact, I even envy you a little. You're getting to experience a whole lot more than I did. But I'm glad for you, and proud of you that you like it. It takes a certain kind of talent to enjoy that kind of work. Not everyone has it.

Boy it sure was a job moving! (We lived upstairs over there, and this is upstairs too). We had to carry all that heavy furniture, etc. But we had to get it all done over the weekend because Phil had to go back to work Monday. But we're having a lot of fun fixing it up and all. And Charlie loves it.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. I've still got a lot to do around here. And I hate to ask you to write to me as Hust, but I think you understand. There's really no way to call me here, but as soon as we possibly can, we're going to get a phone. And call the "fart" for me and give her my new address and tell her how to use Hust. (Not that she'll write, but you can tell her anyway!). And you can explain to her why I couldn't talk that day too. So I'll close for now and write me soon. We both love you.

Love Mother

Northwinds Apartments
1714 Wirt Road, Apt. 18
Houston, Texas 77055

All I have to say to this is: You're drinking again.

Conversations With The Dead: 3/21/1979, Houston, Texas

2010-11-21T04:59:00.000-08:00

Saturday

Dear Teresa,

Got your letter today and thought I'd better get busy and answer it. We had to go buy groceries and get me a new pair of shoes. It rains so much here, the shoes I wear for every day get ruined in no time.

I'm real glad about you getting to work in the hospital as a candy striper. I loved working at the nursing home. But I sure got myself involved with them. Even when I was off work, I talked about them all the time. I think Jimmie even got jealous after a while! I just hope you can go on to be a nurse. It doesn't pay a whole lot of money (more if you go on to be a RN) but it's rewarding in a lot of other ways.

I'm studying to get my GED since I didn't get to finish high school, and when I get it I think I'll go to the VA (Veterans Administration) and see about going to school. You can take just about anything you want to and they pay you $260/month to go. I'm eligible for it because of being Jimmie's widow. As long as I don't remarry, I can go to the base and buy groceries, etc., and I have insurance that pays 75% of all my doctor, hospital and drug bills. Plus the $314 I get a month. So you can see why I don't want to get married. Anyway, I'll get my GED first, then after I see what courses I can take, I'll probably start school. May end up a real "brain child" at 39 years old! Ha, ha.

This summer we're planning on getting a bigger apartment. I sure hope Charlene will let you spend some time with me. Maybe we could take off and go down to Galveston. There are a lot of places to go around here and we could have a lot of fun.

Charlie seems (our dog) to be a lot better, so I don't know if that vet was lying just for the money or not. But I'm still going to take him to another vet and have him checked. Phil's working but I'm still trying to pay off a bunch of bills in Fort Worth with my money (thanks to Buddy!) so it's still kind of tight. As soon as I get those paid off, I'm going to get me a car. Phil's real funny about my money. Won't touch it but by this summer, we ought to be in pretty good shape.

When you write, give me Charlotte's phone number and address. I had it but lost it. And tell the fart to write me. It wouldn't kill her. She was supposed to talk to my lawyer for me and find out some stuff and let me know, but I never heard from her. Tell her it doesn't matter about that now. I talked to Buddy's mother and I can go one of these weekends and get my stuff. I'll let you know when. I think he's already gone out to get his. I hope I have something left. He started "getting his" for being blind this month and she said he bought him a car. Now what does a blind man need with a car? I smell something very fishy. I talked to those doctors myself so I know he was blind. But you can't tell about him. You just can't trust him about anything. But as soon as I can, I'll go get my stuff. Maybe he'll move from his mother's (that's one reason I'm in no hurry) and I won't have to see him. Oh, and tell Charlotte I closed out my bank account. And tell her she'd better write.

I wish I knew where David was. He'll be 21 on his birthday this month. I just hope he's okay.

I'm sorry your daddy's having so much trouble with Patty. But like I said, I'm really glad that you're with Charlene. I halfway raised her because she spent so much time with us when your dad and I got married. I think she was just seven when we married and she didn't get to go places very much so we'd go get her and let her stay with us. I think a lot of her although we haven't been around each other much since she got married and after your daddy and I divorced.

I'm glad you like the poem book. I've written a couple since I gave it to you that I'll send you to put in it.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. Be sweet and let me hear and be sure and send me Charlotte's phone number and address. Call her and tell her I said Hi. As soon as I can afford it, I'm going to get a phone. But I may wait until I move. It costs so much to move a phone.

P.S. What does W/B/S mean?

Love,
Mother & Phil

This letter is postmarked 3/21/79. David's birthday. He'll resurface in a year but for now he's living between Arizona and California. He likes the weather in both states since he never knows when he'll have to make a bed out of a park bench. His schizophrenia is still untreated.

The book of poems you referred to is a notebook you gave me for my twelfth birthday. You filled it with songs and poems you wrote and a few you didn't but that meant something to you. You wrote a personal note to me in the first few pages:

This isn't a very expensive gift but I hope that by giving you a copy of all the poems and songs I've written over the years that maybe I'm giving you a part of myself. They show a lot of my thoughts, joys and fears that I have found hard to express any other way. I hope that you'll read them and know that even though I've failed in may ways, hurt many people, it was only because I'm human, in spite of the fact that I do love the Lord and those close to me.

Teresa, never give up on yourself or give up on God. And I know in my heart that He'll never let you because He's never let me and I've had many a dark place that I don't believe you'll ever have to be in. As I've told you, before any of you were born I dedicated each of you to God and asked Him to keep His hand on you and help you. I believe with all my heart that he will, in spite of me or anyone else. Three different times over the years when I was worried about you kids, I prayed, and just opened my Bible, expecting to see a verse that would be my answer. Three times it opened to this verse in Isaiah 13, "All thy children shall be taught of the Lord and great shall be the peace of thy children." That was no accident.

The last part of this book are some favorite poems of mine that I didn't write but that mean a lot to me. The first one I dedicate especially to you. Maybe this book won't mean much to you now, but I believe it will some day.

I love you very much.

Mother

I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.

I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can't help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.
I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.

I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.

Roy Croft

Oh, and W/B/S means "Write Back Soon" and just so you know, I haven't given up on myself. I fired God instead. He never returned my calls.

Conversations With the Dead: February 26, 1979, Houston, Texas

2010-11-08T08:30:00.000-08:00

Dear Teresa,

I guess you think I'm terrible for not writing, and I guess I am. So much has happened tho and I've had so much on my mind. Life seems to be full of surprises.

The reason we didn't come down as we'd planned that weekend is that Phil got hurt and he's been off work for several weeks. He's always trying to help someone, and always ends up getting hurt somehow. We have a friend that lives in these apartments named Doc and he's a pretty old man and in very bad health. Well, he had a son named Mike that was living with him and he was a real ding-a-ling (Reminded me a lot of Buddy. Poor old Doc was scared to death of him). Anyway, he'd just gotten out of jail and was driving poor doc up a wall, staying drunk and throwing fits. So Doc asked us if we'd invite him up to the apartment one night for a while, just so he could have some peace and quiet, just for a while. So we did, and after he was here for about an hour, he started acting real crazy, insulting me and everything. Just real nutty. So finally, Phil asked him to leave and he refused. Well, Phil went down and told Doc, and Doc said to please keep him up here long enough so he could get some clothes and go over to his sister's. He was really scared of him and now I understand why. Anyway, we did, and then Phil asked him to leave again and he still refused, so Phil literally threw him out. Then he started worrying about if Doc had been able to get away in time and went down to check. Well, Mike was down there busting windows and car windshields with a chair and then he jumped on Phil when he saw him. (You know me. I had followed Phil because I was worried). God it was awful! He was a crazy man! He finally got Phil down and then he started kicking him in the face and looked like he was trying to kill him. Of course I was screaming for him to stop and finally I yelled I was calling the police. So I ran in his (or Doc's) apartment and called them. I was so mad. And of course when I get that mad, I don't have sense enough to be afraid. He came in while I was calling and laid down on the couch, just like nothing had happened. I won't use all the words I said, but I said I was calling the police and using his phone to do it. I guess in a way I was daring him to touch me, which was really dumb but I was too mad to care, and I'd already decided to break a lamp over his head if he even moved. Anyway, he just said to go ahead and laid there. So when I got through, I came back to the apartment to see about Phil and wait for the police. We had him though, because he had started all this here, in Phil's apartment, and then to top it all off, he'd gotten smart with the cops (and Houston police are known for being mean anyway) and they drug him out of his apartment and took him to jail.

But God, you should have seen Phil. His eyes were black and his nose and jaw were broken from all that getting kicked in the face. He's gone through hell the last few weeks and couldn't even eat anything but liquids until here lately, so of course he hasn't been able to work. He's going back this week but of course the money situation money-wise isn't too good, so we're just going to have to wait until we get our bills caught up a little before we can come up to see you. And to top it all off, they messed up on my check and I've had the devil trying to get it.

So all in all, I hope you'll forgive me for waiting so long to write. I've been so durn [sic] worried and had so much on my mind that I couldn't even think straight enough to sit down and write a letter. But do you know what happened to Mike? Of course I feel sorry for Doc, but I can't honestly say I'm sorry it worked out like it did. I guess he just reminded me too much of Buddy and I'm really not over that yet. Anyway, Doc wanted Phil to press charges against Mike but being as soft-hearted as he is, he wouldn't do it. But he died in jail before he got out. They "said" he had a heart attack, but I don't believe it. Knowing how Houston police are, and his big mouth, my guess is that he opened his mouth once too often to either the police or some of the other prisoners. It happens all the time. Anyway, it's all over now but I sure was worried for a while.

Now on top of everything else, Charlie is (the dog) real sick. They say it's heart worms and he's going to have to go stay at the vet for several days and that's going to mean more money. And the treatment is real dangerous and there's still a chance he may not make it. That's all I need -- to loose [sic] Charlie. A mess, isn't it? But it could have been worse. A lot worse. But enough of that. Phil's okay now, and will get it all straightened out in time. Then we can come see you.

I felt so bad because we couldn't stay that weekend we were there. I kept remembering how pretty you were and how you had your suitcase packed and I know you were disappointed. I was too, believe me. But I'd explained to Charlotte that we couldn't spend the night and I thought she'd told Charlene. But next time we'll be able to stay. I want to be with you so much. It's been so long. It hurts so bad that I can't be with you like I want to, and share in your growing up. And I know this is a hard time for you. But I'm glad you're with Charlene and them. Charlene has more common sense than Patty does.

When I was there, you asked me what it was like when I was 14, and I've been thinking about that. That age seems to be pretty confusing for everyone. I went through it and I saw Charlotte and David go through it, and a lot of other kids. I remember when I was that age I felt like I was on a roller coaster most of the time. My emotions were all messed up because your body is changing and that physical upset just naturally messes up your emotions. But it's only natural, except I didn't know that at the time. I thought I was some kind of nut or something. The thing is, you're not really a child, and yet you're not really grown, either. One minute I'd feel so independent, and like I could lick the world, and felt grown, and the next minute I felt real insecure and self-conscious and wished I was a little kid again. The least little thing that anyone said or did could hurt my feelings and make me feel like a clumsy idiot! And not knowing what was causing it I figured I'd feel that way the rest of my life.

But I got it in my head that if I could just get away from Mother and Daddy and get married, it would all change. So at 15, that's what I did, but of course that really only made it worse because your daddy and I were so young, and we just didn't have enough experience at living and solving problems. And of course when Charlotte and David came along, it only complicated it more. Being an only child and not being around babies, I really had no idea what to do or how to do it. And that just made me feel more like an idiot. You see honey, there are no shortcuts in life because there is no way to learn anything except by experience. And that takes time. Had I finished school and dated more (so I could understand people better) I would have learned to cope with people and problems better. As it was, it was all so much for me to handle; I ran from it by taking pills and drinking. And starting so young to run from reality and hurt, it became a habit because I never learned how to cope with life.

Like I said, it takes time and experience to learn that and I didn't do that. So I had no tools to work with. And as time went on I really missed all the things I didn't get to do, like dating and going to dances, etc., but by that time I had two babies and was tied down all the time. That's why I'm so glad and proud of you for wanting to finish school and make something of yourself. I know that in the process you'll have time to build up your self-confidence and learn a little about life and people so you can handle it. Believe me, you have plenty of time.

Well, guess that's all I can think of right now. I hope I answered your question. When Phil and I come up there we'll have a chance to talk. I just want you to know honey that I am very proud of you. Just hang in there. Take care of yourself and write me, and I promise I won't wait so long to answer you. And don't forget to send me a picture of you when you get one. Tell Charlene and Pat "Hi" and tell Charlotte to write me. (Phil says "Hi").

Love, Mother

P.S. I'm real tickled about you wanting to be a nurse. That's what I always wanted too. Good luck!

Mom,

There are no intervening letters between Buddy and Phil so I must have heard of the switch by phone. It doesn't matter. You moved from a bully to a wussy. We all do that I guess, try to heal from an extreme by moving toward its opposite. A friend of mine called it "the matchbook theory", that when you're bent one way for too long, you have to bend in the extreme opposite direction to self-correct. But I think the binding on your "matchbook" weakened from overuse, became thinned and frayed until your constitution was no more.

You and Phil will last nine months. He'll start drinking again and so will you. Shopping for men at AA doesn't seem to work out well but this lesson you'll never learn. Knowing what will happen, I'll watch your next ten letters for signs that you're drinking again. I don't know why. You're dead. What difference does it make? I guess I need to feel in control because I felt duped every time you fell down and disappointed me. I'd trust you and you'd fall. You would stop writing and I would fear you were dead. I guess now that I'm in control of the situation, your words in my hands, I can manipulate the information. I know, it's dumb, but it's a way of interacting with you without feeling vulnerable again. Funny thing is, I feel vulnerable anyway.

Today was the perfect day to read the words, "Just hang in there." I'm afraid and in pain because one of my children is hurting and his future is uncertain. Feelings of helplessness make me small again. No matter how old I am, I will always yearn for that mother figure when I'm most afraid, for the bliss of unconditional love despite how unpredictable it could be, how short-lived it was. Some would even call your love counterfeit.

I have learned about life and people just as you said I would, but what I've learned is that they are one inseparable variable. We can count on only what we can control which is what? I think knowing yourself is more important, building up your own reserves. Even you, my mother, my safe port, weren't safe enough. But your words are safe now in my hands and they cannot die. I can milk them for all the comfort I need today. I can even believe that you're here in this room, reading over my shoulder, telling me everything will be okay, that I can "handle it". What other option is there? I believe that because you taught me well by example what weakness is, I am strong.

The last sentence in your opening paragraph makes me smile: "Life seems to be full of surprises." Yes Mother, it does.

Conversations With The Dead: September, 1978, Weatherford, Texas

2010-09-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

Friday

Dear Bug,

Got your letter this morning. That sure was fast. Was so good to get it, and to talk to you the other day. I've missed you so much.

We were going to go pick up a car today but the guy we were going to get it from had a death in the family and is out of town. If he isn't back by tomorrow we'll have to wait until Tuesday because everything will probably be closed Monday (Labor Day).

Charlotte called me the night I talked to you and she and Mike and the kids are coming out Sunday and Buddy's going to barbecue some steaks. It's been ages since I've seen them. She sounds like she's happy. I hope so.

I called David and they said he's been gone from there about ten days. He's moved in with "someone" but they didn't know who. They still have the letter for him that your daddy sent hoping that he'd come back to get it. Just don't know about that kid. You just can't keep track of him.

We got a lot of good rain the last few days and we sure needed it. Helped my flowers a lot. As soon as I get some more film I'll send some more pictures so you can see the flowers and back yard, etc. Keeps me pretty busy keeping all the weeds hoed up and all, but I enjoy it.

When you get your school pictures this year, be sure and save me one (the same size as the last one) and I'll pay Patty for it, okay?

There's a lot of things we're planing [sic} on doing to the trailer as we get the money. Like I said, Buddy's had this place for about four years but only used it on the weekends and stuff. It'll be fun fixing it like we want it. It's got three bedrooms and two baths so we have plenty of room. First thing we're going to do is get some new furniture. All that we have in it now is second-hand.

Well baby, I guess this is all for now. By the way, what do you want for your birthday? Be thinking about it and let us know. Write me whenever you can and call anytime. I love you very much.

Love,
Mother & Buddy

The visit with Charlotte and the kids won't go so well. You'll get drunk and Buddy will put his hands on kids, etc. On 10/24/78 you'll purchase a .45 caliber revolver from Weatherford Finance & Pawn with a hot check in the amount of $288. I can only imagine your intent. On 11/3/78 you'll try to sell it back to the pawn shop again. On the original Seller's Bill of Sale is the following information about you: Age - 39, Weight - 125, Height - 5'2. I can tell from the Polaroid of you enclosed in this letter that you're thin. On the back of the photo you wrote that Buddy took the picture while you were talking to me on the phone so in a way, the picture is of us.

It's almost been a year since Jimmie died. I never knew he was only 54 when he died. He looked 100. There was a 17 year age difference between the two of you. On his certificate of death it listed his parents, Elmer and Virgie, both deceased. Jimmie served in WWII. His cause of death was listed as "Medullary Failure/Cerebrovascular Accident". That's the long way to say, "Stroke". He was buried in Greenwood Cemetary in Fort Worth. On 9/22/77, the day after his death, you used a Mastercard to pay for his burial and plot, etc. You lived on that same Mastercard and a Wards credit card until at least Christmas. I can tell from the three-digit codes on the back of your Wards receipts what sorts of items you purchased. There was the $30 pant suit, lots of gas and auto repairs, some pharmacy items and lunches. The credit cards were in Jimmie's name. I guess when you could no longer use the cards and couldn't afford to pay the balances (I read your letter to Wards apologizing for being so delinquent and explaining about your recent hospital stay), you began to write hot checks. You wrote a hot check to your attorney, Frank Coffey, on 10/3/77 in the amount of $100. Many followed that one and soon you were receiving letters from Tim Curry, the Criminal District Attorney in Fort Worth (1/12/78). That didn't stop you. In shaky handwriting you wrote a $110 check (#175) on 2/31/78 to Dr. L.H. Luck Optical on Camp Bowie in Fort Worth. That check was written on a closed bank account. There were also checks written to Big Daddy's Package Store, Safeway and Skaggs. All hot. You opened a joint checking account with Buddy, aka Nathan Graves, and went on a hot check-writing spree from mid-October to November, 1978. Then something happened. Maybe it was Buddy knocking out your front teeth or the barbecue incident with Charlotte, but you'd had enough and finally left Buddy. Then you began paying for all those checks to stay out of jail. I found all the receipts for the cashiers checks and money orders you had to use, and all your lists of check numbers, amounts and recipients. Your loyal attorney, Frank Coffey, would have his secretary (also a Charlotte) write on May 10, 1979:

Dear Rogene,

I paid the money orders to the district Attorney's Office this morning and got the enclosed list of checks (Skillern's Drug Store, Daniel's Drug Store, Early Drug x 3, Eckard's Drug, Montgomery Ward x 4, Buddies Supermarket x 4, Skaggs, Safeway x 3, Piggly Wiggly, Krogers, Pantex foods, Majestic Liquor x 4, Kings Liquor x 3, Land Mark Liquor = $900.95). The money you have sent will pay these off. However, there have been two additional checks to Chicotsky's totaling $58.70 still out there. That will clear up the ones at the main Court house. Frank said there were some out at the Northeast branch Courthouse that total about $300-$400, but those have not been turned in to the main courthouse yet. I can call out there and find out what they have and the total of them if you want me to. I am gald [sic] that you are still doing okay. don't give up.

I also found some medical bills which fill in some blanks. You were admitted to All Saints Hospital after visiting the ER on 9/1/77. The diagnosis is 1. Overdose 2. Depression. You were held for three days. On 1/17/78 you were treated by Dr. James Brooks, our family doctor for as long as I can remember, for a respiratory infection, hormone insufficiency and a vitamin deficiency. Then on 1/28/78 you were admitted to All Saints Hospital with a diagnosis of 1. Acute alcohol withdrawal and 2. Depression. They kept you until 2/1/78. On 2/5/78 you visited Harris Hospital where I was born for x-rays of your forearm, nose, skull, chest. On 2/28/78 you were admitted to All Saints Hospital again with a diagnosis of 1. Alcoholism with delirium tremors, 2. Depression and 3. Fractured nose. You were released on 3/7/78. Since you were Jimmie's widow, Champus/Champva paid for most of these services. These hospital visits and injuries took place during the early days with Buddy, and now I remember the cheap paper on which you wrote me a letter with no return address. You wrote that you were no longer with Buddy. You wrote it from the hospital. All this and you'd not only go back to this monster but marry him. You called yourself "stupid" for ever being with him in the first place. You said it.

Patty and Dad will be getting a divorce soon. I remember feeling bored one evening, wishing a bomb would go off in the yard or the sun would melt. Any change at all. Then a fight broke out between Patty and Dad. The fight was over something stupid, a broken glass and a rip in the upholstery of a new chair they'd bought themselves for their fifth wedding anniversary. Anyway, Dad punched Patty in the face and it was over. Honestly, she had it coming. So your next letter will be sent to my new address in Arlington, Texas. I'm moving in with Dad's sister, Charlene. There are legal documents I didn't learn about regarding this move until after my fortieth birthday, but more about that later.

Once you left Buddy for good there's a letter you saved from Dad written just after Christmas, 1978. He writes:

Dear Rogene,

Hope this finds you well. I noticed your letter the other day at Charlene's and got the address off it. I probably shouldn't be writing to but I get tired of talking to myself sometimes. I often remember the night we had together. It was nice. I won't write much. Don't know if the address is current. Write if you can.

My best,
Jay

I don't think he ever stopped loving you.

Conversations With The Dead: August, 1978, Weatherford, Texas

2010-09-01T12:23:00.000-07:00

Monday

Dear Teresa,

Hi baby. I've been thinking about you so much here lately so I just had to write. I hope you're doing okay and are happy. I sure do miss you. I know you're probably growing like a weed! If you have one handy, I wish you'd write me and send me a picture. (In fact, write me anyway and tell me what all you did this summer. But if you can, send a picture too).

I don't know if you knew or not but "Old Blue" just up and died! Ha. So we're without a car for now. First the transmission went out and we spent $400 to put a new one in and then a couple of weeks later the motor just burned up. So now we have to get a new one. We're going to go see about one this week. It's really nice out here but you sure need a car. But "Blue" was a pretty good car. She just got tired and quit!

I've got me a nice flower garden and I work in it keeping the weeds out, etc. There's a creek that runs behind the trailer and a bunch of shade trees and we like to get out there and barbecue in the evenings (Buddy loves to cook which is good because I don't. Ha. So a lot of the time he cooks and I clean up. Pretty good, huh?). But it's so nice and quiet out here. It's like being out in the country. The nearest store is three miles away so no one bothers you. I like that. I'm just plain tired of cities. I hope you can come out here sometime next summer. They have a clubhouse with a swimming pool and all. And there are two big lakes here so we could go fishing, too. There's all kinds of rabbits and quail, etc. here. In fact, there's a covey of quail (about fifteen of them) that show up in the lot next door every morning. They're so cute to watch. They stop and look both ways before they cross the road and there's one of them that we've named "Johnny Come Lately" that always hangs back and gets in trouble. Then he has to run his legs off to catch up with the rest of them! And sometimes we like to sit in the back under the trees and listen to the radio (we have some chairs and a table out there) and there's the prettiest red cardinal that comes and sits in my flower garden and listens to the radio! He doesn't show up unless he hears the radio.

I guess you're getting ready for school now. Knowing you, you're probably glad to go back. But that's good and I'm glad. I'm glad you enjoy it and do so good.

Have you heard from Charlotte or David? I've tried and tried to get a hold of Charlotte but haven't had any luck. I would have sent her a birthday card but don't know where she is.

Well baby, I guess that's all my news for now. If you want to call me, just dial 0-599-7414 and that way we can pay for the call. Just tell the operator when she answers that you want to make a collect call to that number from Teresa Williams and she'll ring us. Call any time you want to. I'd love to hear from you and so would Buddy. We Got married and we're very happy and we love it out here. It's kind of an exclusive place and no one can get in unless they own property out here, so you don't have to worry about things getting stolen and stuff like that. And by the way, Buddy said to tell you Hi and that he loves you. And I love you too, very much. So write me, honey, when you get time, and call any time.

Love,
Mother & Buddy

*A "covey" of quail. Sounds like a word Buddy taught you. You haven't heard from Charlotte or David because you're with Buddy. He put his hands on Charlotte's 10 year-old son, remember? You were drunk and trying to peel rotten potatoes so maybe you don't remember. Buddy wants to hear from me? No, I won't be calling either. And you live in an "exclusive" trailer park? Sounds like another bullshit word Buddy taught you to say. Thanks for the Polaroid of the trailer; maybe you can beat out all the dents and mow the grass once in a while since you're suddenly into yard work. I'm glad you're happy, Mom, or at least think you are. You won't be so happy when your new husband knocks out your front teeth but hey, that day hasn't come yet. One more thing, Mom. Buddy doesn't love me. Buddy doesn't love you, either. He's a clever sociopath preying on your weaknesses out in the middle of nowhere. Help will be hard to come by when you need it most. Buddy is now talking you into writing hot checks for beer and pills, something you'll pay dearly for later on. Soon he'll talk you into buying a gun. The party is just beginning.

Conversations With The Dead: March 17, 1978 Address Unknown

2010-08-29T15:20:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Hello baby. Happy St. Patrick's Day! I thought you might think I haven't been thinking about you because I haven't called, but I have. But I was in the hospital for a week (nothing serious) and then I was out of town for about two weeks. Maybe it's better if I write for a while anyway. I was kind of afraid that calling might upset Patty and your daddy, and I really don't want to do that. I just want you to know that I love you and I miss you an awful lot. And I think about you a lot too.

Also, I wanted to tell you that Buddy and I aren't together anymore. In fact, I really wish I'd never met him, to tell you the truth. It took me a while to realize it (I'm kind of stupid) but I finally did. I'm getting my checks from the VA now (because I'm Jimmie's widow) but I'll probably go to work pretty soon, so I can keep busy. But I felt like you'd like to know that I wasn't with Buddy anymore. I'm sure you were worried about it. And by the way, I am not drinking anymore either. So everything's fine. I just kind of fell apart when Jimmie got sick, because I knew he'd never come out of it. I just couldn't handle it every [sic] well. But I think I can now. I hope you can forgive me for being so weak once again. Seems like your mother has a habit of that, but I don't mean to.

Well honey, I guess this is all. Be as sweet as you always are and remember I love you very much.

Love,
Mother

*This letter had no return address so I assume you're still in the hospital and Mom, alcohol-related delirium tremens are serious. Your handwriting is shaky. The paper is thin, almost transparent. Your life must feel like tissue paper, too. Yes I was worried about Buddy because he scared me. He threatened to kill Dad. He encouraged you to drink. He'd stare into my eyes and say, "What's wrong? I can see you're uncomfortable. What's troubling you?" I didn't dare tell him he made me uncomfortable. I'm sorry Jimmie died of a stroke but I don't think it was his death that was so difficult for you to handle. You married him on the rebound from Phil, or maybe you just married him out of a desperate fear of being alone. But what you had difficulty handling was what you and Buddy did to poor Jimmie after his last stroke. I'm sure the police wondered for a long while not only how Jimmie made it to the park bench in the shape he was in, but how he ended up completely naked. And in even more alarming news, I know you're not done with Buddy yet.

Conversations With The Dead: Greenville, Texas, 1975

2010-08-27T11:58:00.000-07:00

Tuesday

Dear Teresa,

Well, how have you been doing? I know you've been busy since you started back to school. Do you like it pretty good?

I haven't heard from David since he went back to Cleburne. I called him the weekend that he came over to your house and told him he could come back with me, but he said he wanted to stay in Cleburne. I really don't understand why he didn't want to stay here but as long as he's happy there, I guess it's alright.

Well, I got me a little black dog. Her name is "Spooky" because she's so afraid of everything. I spent the night with Betty & James when I was in Fort Worth and they gave her to me. She's so cute. Her tail curls over her back (she's part Chow and part Scotty) and her hair is wavy and she has hair over her eyes and a goatee. She's really something. She's about five months old. I've really enjoyed her. She just has a fit every day when I get in from work after being here by herself all day. When I drive, the traffic scares her, and she lays up in my lap or under the car seat. She's the spookiest dog I've ever seen. But she's a good watch dog. Someone was outside my front door one night and she barked up a storm.

I'll be glad when you can come up again and see my apartment. I think it's real cute. Maybe you can come up for a few days on the Thanksgiving Day holidays. Find out what days you'll be out of school over Thanksgiving and let me know so I can come get you. (Ask your daddy if it's okay). You wouldn't want to spend all the time you're out of school here because you need to spend part of it there with Patty and Jay, but you can spend part of the time with me. Of course it's nearly two months until Thanksgiving and I'll see you before then, but we can go ahead and make plans for Thanksgiving.

I never have gotten that ring fixed but I saw something the other day that I want to get for your birthday. It'll be real cute in your new room (Curious? Ha).

Well honey, guess that's all my news. I just work, come home and eat and go to bed, except for going to church. Phil came up to see me last weekend. He's a plumber and he fixed Betty and Jame's bathroom plumbing last week. He still wants us to get married as soon as I get my divorse [sic] from Sonny. I know one thing, I'd never find anybody that would be any better to me. He really is the nicest person I've ever known, and I've known him now for over a year. That's one mistake I made with Sonny. I really didn't know him long enough before we married. If I had waited and gotten to know him better, I never would have married him. So, I don't know. I really haven't made up my mind about Phil yet. So, let me hear, if you get a chance. Be sweet and don't forget that I love you.

PS Just write me at Nanny's. I don't really know this address yet. So for now, write me in care of Nanny.

Love,
Mother

Well Mom, it's interesting that you don't know your address yet though it's written on the outside of the envelope. I suppose your apartment was actually Phil's. Your divorce from Sonny will become final just about the time you decide you don't want to marry Phil. Your decision will come during an argument with Phil; he'll call you a "convenience" and you won't like it. Nice guy, huh? He'll leave to go to the store and when he returns, you'll be gone. Almost instantly you'll get married to someone else and announce this by showing me his and hers wedding rings during a weekend visit. Husband #3's name is Jimmy Spinks. I'll get one postcard from you during this marriage, a photograph of Pensacola Beach Pier. You and Jimmy will see a few states during this trip and you'll write that you wish I could see all the pretty country. I kinda doubt that now but, oh well. You signed the postcard as you always did when there was a man in your life, his name beside "Mother". I never got that, not even back then. It'll be 1978 before you write again.

Conversations With The Dead: September, 1975, Greenville, Texas

2010-08-14T10:08:00.000-07:00

Sunday

Dear Teresa,

Guess you're getting ready for school. It won't be long now before it starts.

Sorry I didn't get to talk to you the other day when I called your daddy about David. I talked to David yesterday & he sounds fine. I was going to find out what kind of medicine he was supposed to be taking & get it for him but he said he already had it. He says he'll stay there until I get an apartment. He sounded real good & he's tickled to death that I've started back to church. I'll be glad when I get settled & he can come down.

How is Mac these days? I still don't have the pictures of us yet. As soon as I get them I'll send you one.

I've found a real nice little church that I've been going to. They've been comming [sic] to pick me up until I get a car.

I got a call from Phil the other day. He's moved back to Fort Worth & he's still wanting me to marry him. But I just feel like I need to put the Lord & David first. He's really a good & sweet person but I guess I'm just kind of scared of marriage after Sonny. But I told him we could still be friends & see each other some. I believe he's the nicest person I've ever known.

Well honey, guess this is all. Take time to write me & let me know how you are before school starts & you get to [sic] busy.

I love you,
Mother

*I'll be attending another Baptist private school this year, entering 5th grade. Boulevard Baptist School in Burleson, Texas. Joy Baptist closed last year after the minister's wife got into it with the kindergarten teacher. Mrs. Wolfenbarger started a fight in the middle of a service. Next thing we knew, school wouldn't be resuming the following year. I guess no one is perfect.

Mac the Guinea pig is fine but he'll freeze to death this winter. Poor little guy. Ben the hamster had some sort of heat stroke over the summer. I don't seem to have much luck with animals.

I look forward to seeing the pictures of us at Nanny's. I'm glad you found a church and are making plans to be with David. He needs you like I do.

Phil? He's another dead-end, but you'll take any road that keeps you from being alone. I'm learning your pattern with men now, that love for you means longing and need. It's the wrong way to love. It's not love at all.

Conversations With The Dead: July, 1975, Greenville, Texas

2010-08-12T15:48:00.000-07:00

Sunday

Dear Teresa,

Hi honey. I'm sorry I didn't get to call you today but I'm kind of low on money, so I'll just write.

I left Houston & I'm spending some time at Nanny's (in Greenville). I haven't decided yet weather [sic] I'll stay here & try to get a job or move to Fort Worth. Without a car it might be best to stay here a while. Mother said they're hiring at some factories here and that you can always find a ride to work. So maybe I could save enough before long to get me a car. Then I could move back to Fort Worth (you just about have to have a car to live in Fort worth). Anyway, I'm closer to you now & I can get up to see you more often. Of course I don't have a job yet. I'll just have to wait & see if I can find something. If I do get a job I guess I'll stay. If not, I'll do something else. Anyway, at least I'm closer to you. And if I can, I want to get a job at a factory because you have weekends free, where if you work as a waitress you always have to work weekends, & after you start back to school that's the only chance I'll have to see you. And I want to spend some time with Mother Wise. I hadn't seen her in so long & she's not getting any younger. You know when I was a little girl, I lived with her for a couple of years, & she's always been like a second mother to me. After Daddy died, I felt so bad because I hadn't spent more time with him. I don't want to make the same mistake with Mother Wise.

I got a letter from David yesterday. He said he'd get out of the hospital in about a month. He sounds like he's doing o.k. I need to send him some cigarettes. I sure hope I get a job.

Well honey, I guess this is all. Write me here at Nanny's. Have you heard anything from Charlotte? I wish I could see all of them. Well, I'll close now. Write me & be sweet. I love you very much.

Love,
Mother

*It's good you'll be spending time with Mother Wise. She's in the early stages of Alzheimer's you'll soon learn. She doesn't have long so your instincts were right. I'll spend a month of summer with you at Nanny's. You'll find a job at a nearby factory. During the afternoons while you're at work, I'll watch soap operas with Nanny, help her garden, run errands with her in her Cadillac while Ronnie Milsap sings, "I'm having daydreams, about night things, in the middle of the afternoon...". You'll be tired each night when you get home from work, so I'll sit on the floor at your feet and rub them. They're so calloused but I find them beautiful. My memories of this summer will be full of Nanny's okra gumbo, rhubarb pie, picking tomatoes, petting her cats -- Sam and Bitty-Bit -- and feeling at home with you so close. I've missed you so much and this visit feeds a terrible hunger. We'll walk over to Mother Wise's trailer next door and play the organ and sing. After this visit she'll begin to deteriorate. I'll never see her again. This is also the last time you'll see Nanny until 1983 when she decides to call a truce on your off and on war, and you'll go to her hospital bedside to tell her good-bye.

Eating Her Addiction

2010-08-09T08:50:00.000-07:00

I tiptoe behind her -- I'm 9 -- toward an immense room with gunmetal walls, no light, just endless grays and floor to ceiling portraits of ghosts. She feeds me frozen nails and I eat them while she cradles me in bones and paints my tongue the ash color of her words.

I can't separate the mother from the monster, the two from myself.

There's no choice in that room for days, weeks, sometimes years without light. I swallow down nails, coins, a pound of gray flesh as she watches me with staple gun eyes, her hair muddy tinsel, her voice gravel and rocks washed from gutters. It rains day and night, sheets of tin crashing while our tomb's gray-blue gloom rises high enough to know there is no ceiling, no floor, no hope.

When her chains stop rattling I spit out the metal and ash, bury the cold bloodless memories.

Conversations With The Dead: Austin, TX - April, 1975

2010-08-06T17:59:00.000-07:00

Friday

Dear Teresa,

I got your letter & I sure was glad to hear from you. I know you're real excited about the baby comming [sic]. Little babies are so sweet & cuddley [sic]! I'm real happy for all of you.

I may just be here in Austin a couple of weeks more. I'm not sure yet, but I may move to Houston in a couple of weeks. But I'll let you know as soon as I know & I'll give you my address if I move.

I went to mass Easter & to confession. That's the first time I'd gone to confession in two years. It made me feel real good. Have you all heard from David? I just wonder how he's making it at Charlotte's? Poor kid. He doesn't feel like he belongs anywhere. But I pray for him (& you & Charlotte) every night & I know God will help him somehow. But maybe when I get back to work I can help. Right now it's just impossible.

Well honey, I guess this is all for right now. Be sweet & I'll let you know my address if I move. In the meantime, just remember that I love you very much.

Love,
Mother

***

Tuesday

Dear Sweet Teresa,

I just loved the drawing you sent me, & your sweet letter. I love you very much too. In fact, you're my pride & joy. You're a very sweet & good girl. And I'm sure He answers your prayers. (And He'll take care of you too, because I ask Him to every night).

Honey, I wish we could be closer too. I miss you very much. But I'm going to move to Houston this comming [sic] Saturday & go back to work so maybe I can get enough money together to come to Fort Worth some weekend soon. I sure hope so because I sure want to see you. I'd like to spend a whole weekend with you, but I'll have to get the money first. O.K.?

I'm really glad your daddy is building you a room. You'll enjoy it & your daddy is good at building things. Remember Davids room he built?

As soon as I get settled in Houston I'll write & give you my address. Don't write me at this address because I won't get it. Just wait until you get my next letter & I'll tell you my new address. O.K.? And after I go back to work I can call you sometimes too.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. And I'm going to get a picture frame & frame your picture you drew for me & hand it up in my apartment!

I love you very, very much.

Mother

*David is living in a state hospital in Wichita Falls now where other male patients give him cigarettes in exchange for putting their privates in his mouth. David will announce this when we pick him up for a visit in the near future, as if it's normal, funny even. You'll tell him not to talk about these things in front of me. He'll still be smiling, his brain separating more from itself every day. And Mom, you won't be going to Houston just yet. You'll reconcile with your own mother first in Greenville, Texas. I'll see you there.

Conversations With The Dead: Austin, TX - March, 1975

2010-08-06T17:34:00.000-07:00

Friday

Dear Teresa,

Sorry I haven't been able to call you honey, but I just haven't even had the money. I'm in Austin, Texas & I really don't think I have to worry about Sonny anymore. Since I haven't been able to call you and want you to at least be able to write me (so I'll know how you are) at the end of the letter I'll give you my address. Please write, o.k.?

Well, today is David's birthday. I wonder how he's getting along with Charlotte. Why did he decide to go with them, I wonder? I hope he's doing alright.

How have you been (and your cat, ha)? It won't be long now until you'll have a new sister or brother! Now you'll know how Charlotte was when you were born (she was about 8 years old when you were born). It'll be a little different, but not much.

Well honey, I guess this is all. I just got back from an AA meeting, and it's getting kind of late, so guess I'd better get to bed. Be sweet, and please remember I love you, very much.

Love Mother

*Since you're writing from Austin, you must be in Austin State Hospital again. Your handwriting is a bit shaky. Your sentences are awkward. I guess your waitress girlfriend was a bit too much fun and that first drink became many. Yes, Patty is pregnant and Jennifer will soon be born. She's a half-sister, which must be what you mean by "different". I'll last see her in 1989 when she gives me a pink and gold bird pen for Christmas -- two doves fused together -- and then we'll drift apart because she'll always be more Patty than Dad and that marriage is getting rocky now. Patty dreams bad things about Dad, that he chases and hits her. She dreams something terrible almost every night then tells him about the dreams. And David? He's being examined by psychiatrists. Charlotte and Necho took him to the hospital when he started talking to pictures and taking his pants off in public. He went to live with them because Patty wouldn't let him live with us. She thinks he's how I got my lice and says she's afraid of him. I dreamed the other night that he fell off the back of a truck and cracked open his head. Doctors were trying to save him by stuffing the large hole in his skull with dry straw. He's 18 and broken. I think I'm afraid of him, too.

Conversations With The Dead: October, 1974

2010-08-05T16:06:00.000-07:00

Wednesday

Dear Teresa,

I'm taking a chance and sending this to your old address just hoping you'll get it. I tried to call you Sunday so I could tell you I was leaving town & couldn't get anyone. Everything happened so fast & I was riding with this girlfriend of mine and had to leave when she wanted to...

I've been having more trouble with Sonny. His son lives in Fort Worth and happened to come in where I was working & I knew it'd only be a matter of time before he showed up because he's been calling Mother & Mother Wise, trying to make them tell him where I was. He just won't believe I'm not comming [sic] back & he's still drinking & seems to think he can make me, from what Mother said. So, this girl that was working where I was, was going to move here, (she had an uncle here that just opened a place, & he needed waitresses & wanted her to work for him) & she said if I wanted to get away before he showed up I could come too, because her uncle needed about 5 waitresses. So, at the last minute I decided I would, for everyones sake. This time, I won't tell anyone where I am, not even Mother, so maybe he'll give up & stop bothering everyone. If he thinks I'm in Fort Worth & seeing you, he might even start calling your daddy, & Patty, & I sure don't want that. I'm the one that married him & it's my problem, no one elses. And if I can keep working (without having to run from him all the time) I'll have enough money to get a divorse [sic]. Her uncle pays real good, & we share an apartment & ride to work together, so I won't be out much money. And we are close enough that I can come up to see you, every few weeks. I hate having to do it this way because I won't get to see you like I want to, but I don't know what else to do right now. I just hope you understand. Sonny's a sick man & he can't help it, but I know he'll try to hurt me & I can't take the chance of him maybe bothering other people just to get at me. He's just not responsible for his actions. But I can call you, & as soon as I make enough money, I'll come up on a Saturday. (I'll let you know when, ahead of time). And your birthday present will be a little late because I'll have to mail it, but I want to call you first, so I'll be sure you'll get it. (I didn't even have enough money to call you last Tuesday night, that's how broke I was, & I won't get paid until Friday, but I'll wait until Monday to call, to give you enough time to get this. I want to be sure you'll get it before I mail it). I hope you like it. I just wish I could have seen you, before I left. I know it'll be 2 or 3 weeks before I can get back, at least, & it seems like it's been forever since I saw you last. But, like I said, I'll call you & we'll make a big day of it, when I do come. O.K.? I promise honey, I'll try to make it all up to you somehow. Things will settle down some day. And I already feel more relaxed, just knowing that there's no way Sonny can possibly know where I am. I was nervous all the time in Fort Worth, wondering when he'd pop up again. And maybe after I get the divorse [sic] he'll have to accept the fact that I really mean it.

I like my job & everyone is real nice. Kathy (the girlfriend) is a lot of fun & really nice.

Well honey, I guess I'll close so I can hurry & get this in the mail & I'll call you Monday (your birthday!) & see if you got this. If you did, then I'll mail your present the same way. I love you very much, & miss you terribly. Be sweet & pray for me.

Love,
Mother

*I guess I got my birthday wrong. I'm only nine. I'll be ten in a few days. And I do pray for you, Mom. My prayers go up in the shape of a pyramid. You're at the top. I ask God to protect you, keep you safe. Then I pray for my hamster, Ben, and continue on down the list of important people and it takes me forever to finish. I pray that the communists won't invade our country because the films they're showing us at my new Baptist church are about communists shoving bamboo shoots through the ears of people who believe in Jesus. I don't know if I'd admit I believe in Jesus or not. I'm scared either way. And confused.

Conversations With The Dead: Bay, AR May, 1974

2010-08-04T13:25:00.000-07:00

(Wednesday)

Dear Teresa,

Honey, I was so happy when I got your letter, & thank you for the very sweet mother's day card. It really was sweet. And thank you for your pictures. You're so pretty in them. You get prettier every day. And you look so sweet with your hair long. Sonny just had a fit over your picture, & a bigger fit when he found out you cut your hair (ha). He loves long hair. But I've gotten mine cut too. I still had all that hair that they messed up at the beauty shop, on the ends, & I just had to cut it off. I cut it off pretty short, to get all those dead ends off, but will probably let it grow long again now that that's off.

I'm real proud of your grades at school. You've always done real good so keep up the good work. You'll be glad you did when you get to high school. It'll pay off.

I've been awful sick this past week. Didn't even feel like going to church mother's day. I've had the flu, & one of those bad sinus headaches. It's beginning to ease up a little now, but I sure have felt bad. I've been in bed since Saturday.

Well honey, I guess this is all for now. Thanks so much for the card & pictures. I love you very very much. Stay as sweet as you are.

Love,
Mother & Sonny

*I remember that picture I sent you, taken at Holy Name Catholic School, blue and gray plaid uniform. I liked my hair long, too. My stepmother cut my hair -- Patty. I got lice from somewhere and after treating my head with whatever noxious solution, she cut and permed my hair. After we took the rollers out the phone rang, so I brushed my newly curled hair while Patty talked on the phone. When I set the brush down, a flurry of little brown bugs scurried away from the bristles. My stepmother began to cry when I told her, pulled me to the kitchen sink and sprayed my head with Raid. She spritzed between sobs. I felt sorry I disappointed her.

And Mom? Sonny likes long hair because he'll need something to pull you around by later on...

Letters From The Dead: Bay, AR May, 1974

2010-08-04T13:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

Well, I guess you're tickled because school will be out pretty soon. What are you going to do this summer? Do you ever see Charlotte & Necho?

Sonny & I are turning into real farmers (ha). His uncle wanted us to stay here a while & help him to get his cotton planted & I'm learning all about farm life. I've been helping his aunt around the house while he's helping his uncle. His aunt & I planted a big garden & picked strawberries & all of us killed a hog & cut it up & put it in the frezzer [sic] & I've even learned to drive a tractor! You ought to see me. Really tho [sic], I've been enjoying it. Besides doing all that, we cook 3 meals a day (we get up at 4:30) & carry them water out to the field when they're working. We stay busy all the time. It's a good healthy life tho [sic]. Wouldn't mind doing it all the time if we could find us a place.

Guess what? I got my ears pierced. That'll surprise Charlotte. I got me some real pretty earrings. I want to get me some with a little gold cross if I can find some.

Well, I guess this is all the news for right now. Write me & let me know how you are. I love you very much.

Love,
Mother & Sonny

*Charlotte is my older sister who married her high school boyfriend at the age of 16. At the time of this writing, she was 18 with two children and soon to be divorced. And FYI, my mother hated getting up that early, sweating, cooking and dirt.

Letters From The Dead: 4/24/74 (Dedman, AR)

2010-07-29T15:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Teresa,

How are you doing honey? It's been so long since I've gotten a letter from you. Why haven't you written? I hope you're not hurt or mad at me, because I couldn't come down there like I'd planned. I really couldn't help it honey, and no one was more disappointed than I was. It seems like the harder I try to get there, the harder it gets to make it. Seems like everything that could went wrong this time, so I'm not even going to promise anymore. I'll just wait until the very last minute, to tell you I'm comming [sic].

How is David doing these days? Is he still with Granny? He hasn't written me since before Christmas.

Sonny and I will probably move away from here before to [sic] long. It's fixing to start their tornado weather any day, and as many as we've already had, I don't think we want to stay. Last year in May one came and blew away half of Jonesboro. They're really bad here. But we haven't decided yet just where we do want to go. I imagine we'll go up to Indiana for a couple of weeks, but if they don't have alot [sic] of work up there, we may move back to Texas. I don't think we'd want to live in a big town tho [sic]. I'd rather live in a small town, and yet be close enough to Fort Worth, where we could see you all. Maybe you could even stay with us some, this summer. I really don't want to move to Indiana. It's just to [sic] far from you all, and I don't even get to see you now. I never would get to there. But we'll know what to do, I guess, before long.

Teresa, I love you so very much. Please don't be hurt at me for not getting to come down. I tried my best, believe me. Surely things will change before long so I can be where I can see you. I pray all the time that it will. I don't know why it's had to work out like this, but it's hurt me more than you'll ever know, because I haven't been able to see you. And please, try to get some pictures made for me. I don't have any of you or David. O.K.?

Well honey, I guess this is all. Please try to write me once in a while, so I'll know you're alright. I love you, and don't ever forget it.

Love,
Mother & Sonny

*My mother had just married Sonny Whitlatch, a man she met in Alcoholics Anonymous. They promptly moved to Dedman, Arkansas from Fort Worth, Texas. A year prior she'd left my father after 17 years of marriage (years of depression, drug and alcohol addiction, and suicide attempts). My father divorced her. At the writing of this letter she was 34 years old; I was 10.

Letters From The Dead

2010-07-23T20:39:00.000-07:00

There's a brown legal envelope stored in a white cabinet in my office. Inside the envelope are letters postmarked from the '70s, almost a decade's worth. The letters are from my mother. She wrote them while on her "walk-about". She wrote me from various places she lived -- friend's houses, halfway houses, hospitals. Sometimes her handwriting was shaky. Sometimes she wrote as a mother. Sometimes she wrote as a child. She'd ask for my opinion, and I'd feel silly. I was ten. What can a ten year old tell a thirty-four year old? She'd tell me about new men in her life which was always a doomed thing for her -- relationships. She'd meet these guys at Alcoholics Anonymous and their demons plus her demons just made a hotter hell. It never worked out. She'd tell me about brawls she got into or that she'd seen God while she was in the hospital. She often complained about money, how she didn't have enough to see me or even call. Letters were all we had for nearly a decade.

We saw each other once in a while but not often, and there were times she'd say she was coming then something would come up and she wouldn't show. She once disappeared for three months -- no letters or phone calls. Then when she did come around, it happened fast, like a phone call from out of nowhere and, "Can I come pick you up in an hour?" My heart skipped around like I was meeting a lover or something. Complete longing.

I read her letters every few years. I draw a map of her life as I read, rebuild her memory, start the tape of us. It takes a while to hear the soft lilt of her words, to see her frosted mouth speaking. I study the paper she used, pretty stationary or cheap thin white pages. I put the pages to my nose to look for her scent. I follow the path of her ink, place my pale hand on hers as it writes. She crossed her "T's" with a diagonal line through the base. I've never known anyone else before or since my mother who does that. Her other letters were loopy and straight up vertical. They look like lost children to me. Like her.

I think I'll post a few of these letters here. No harm. Her voice is a ghost now. She's been gone twenty-six years. It's strange to hear her voice again, which makes me feel like a child again. It's emotionally dangerous because that longing returns and a heat behind my eyes. My heart races and I'm ten again, she's called to say she's on her way so I pack a bag and wait on the front porch. But she never shows up.

Dumb Thoughts

2010-07-12T16:53:00.001-07:00

I have absolutely nothing to say but decided to show up at the page and see what comes out. Often ideas spring up from nothing but not always. And the best way to open the ground is to write about something that happened today. Okay, today I lost my vision for a moment.

I was sitting at my computer and suddenly the words weren't as clear and I mean suddenly. I immediately tried to think of causes and decided the problem could be my imagination or something in my eye so I blinked a few times and peered harder at my computer screen. I squinted then opened wide, several times like an idiot. Same smudgy vision. I didn't have time to clean my glasses right away because my 3 year-old was climbing up my leg, down my back. I considered momentarily that I'd had a small stroke or something vascular in my eye had popped and was leaking rivers in my eyeball -- I can be neurotic. But my son was all over me and I had to get on with the business of life so I dismissed these thoughts and turned off my monitor.

An hour or so later I returned to my computer and noticed my vision was still blurry. I took off my glasses to clean them, first the left lens and then the ri---. Oh....the right lens was missing.

Remedial Parenthood

2010-06-22T14:32:00.000-07:00

Richard Bach wrote in Illusions, "You teach best what you most need to learn." Frankly, that scares me.

I've noticed that with my second set of kids, born almost a quarter century after the first set, it's getting easier to teach them things. They still grate on my nerves just like the first set, but I have a sliver of additional patience now, and when I offer some snippet of wisdom or a how-to, it flies out of my mouth like it's been waiting backstage for a long time. Perhaps the information comes from long ago archives when I did all this parenting stuff before, or maybe I've forgotten most of it and am making things up as I go along. I have no clue.

It's a different world than it was in 1987 when my first child was born. I'll have to revise the curriculum. Back then, 6th grade was still part of elementary school. Now it's part of junior high (which was once called "middle school"). Ninth grade is part of high school now though it was once part of middle/junior high. A child's success in Kindergarten is now said to determine his or her success throughout the school years. I don't know why they have to keep raising bars and lowering thresholds. And the tests. Those keep changing, too, and the severity of their import. No wonder kids take Prozac these days.

My youngest daughter starts Pre-K this year and I bought her new backpack and uniforms the other day. It dawned on me that I have at least fourteen more years of waiting for kids to finish school, of intensive parenthood. When it's all said and done, I'll have watched at least 24 school years go by, 24 years of homework, 24 years of parent-teacher conferences, 24 years of shopping for new school clothes and supplies. This wake-up made me panic some. Will I survive all this again?

I vividly remember longing for a reprieve, for the day I wouldn't have to worry about kid's grades and school performance anymore and here I've signed up for it all again. No wonder people called me crazy. So what was I thinking when I signed up for parenthood again?

It could very well be that I didn't learn my lessons the first time. This might be remedial parenthood. My older kids grew up fine, but maybe that was beginner's luck. That was just a drill. This is the real and final test of my skills as a parent. I have no excuses now, can't shuck responsibility and say, "This is my first set and I'm clueless." No more rehearsals or the excuse of ignorance.

So life might just be saying to me as one who writes about life and is in the midst of remedial parenthood, You have a lot to learn. I've been told that more than once. It didn't hurt when I was young. As I've gotten older, it stings a little.

So are all parent/teachers forever learners? And do forever learners teach/learn parenting to the grave? When will I get a break?

The expression, "Learn by Heart" comes from a mistaken analysis of anatomical functions made by the ancient Greeks. They believed that the seat of thought was in the heart. As a species we've made lots of mistakes. We even hang on to illogical expressions because they're "cute" or because we're fond of what's familiar. Maybe I've become a fan of lifelong learning, of living as a child with children.

I'll be almost 60 when my last child graduates from high school. I've learned, at least, that parenthood doesn't end there. I may only be an adjunct teacher once my kids leave home but hey, I'll take any rest I can get.

Writer Bum

2010-05-07T12:09:00.000-07:00

I've always had a thing for writer bums, the sort who drink in a crusty bar all day and seem to know the meaning of life but can't manage their own (think Henry Miller). He's the sort of guy who can't hold down a regular job, who's done it all, from taming lions to dressing as a Macy's Christmas elf. He works six to eight months then gets himself fired because he just doesn't belong there between walls and concrete. These guys seem to be onto something, to have a finger on the pulse of what's true and important. But they have no car, bad credit, and can't pay the light bill.

The success of Henry Miller makes me wonder about the fate of brilliant writers who have no money or support. It makes me wonder what's most important in life - the 9 to 5 grind and a nice house or divine-quality thoughts and words - and why we don't protect and support starving artists more. Miller had help along the way, people like Anais Nin who provided money, praise and "extra" things he needed. She and others recognized his gift and protected it, facilitated it.

We seem to live on two planes, the work-and-pay-bills plane, and the heart-of-truth plane. They don't intersect exactly. They bump into each other from time to time and the artist who must hold down a day job longs for those sacred chance bumps. The heart-of-truth plane is where the writer bums go and if they can't toggle between that world and the other, they die there or give it all up.

I tried to rent the movie Barfly today and Blockbuster didn't have it. It wasn't even available to order. Someone recently mentioned it and got me thinking about bums and the writers who were bums. The writer bums have a unique opportunity in the world as a "non-entity" before they're "discovered". He's almost invisible - a fly on the wall or an edge-bird making notes about the crazy flock he left behind. No one expects anything from him, no one tugs on his wallet, hem or brain - except his muse. He has no time constraints or particular hours to keep. Ideally he's open and wondering, like a child traveling on a pollen grain.

Maybe I romanticize too much. Maybe not.

I think like a writer bum sometimes or rather, live on that heart-of-truth plane when no one is watching or tugging on my hem. I initiate more conversations with strangers, take longer walks, drive new routes or visit places I've never been before. I ask more questions with less fear of the answers. A door in the universe seems to open - one that's usually closed or pretends to be, and I experience more connections and synchronicity than I do when I'm tied to my everyday - the kids and dishes and laundry.

The day job is suffering lately because I'm writing more. I look around at all the mess - towers of plates and pans in the kitchen sink, mountains of dirty laundry on the utility room floor, colorful toys scattered all over the den - and I feel a deep sense of satisfaction.

I am elsewhere.

I'm engaged in that writer bum world where it's all about the words and the truth and where the universe wants to take me. I don't want to be intimate with concrete, laundry and electric bills - not today. I want to wonder on my pollen grain, see where the wind takes us. There are so many strangers to meet, questions to ask, words to write before earth and concrete tug on my hem again. I don't want to do or be what anybody says I should do or be.

"Toggle," the pollen grain says, "Toggle between the dreams, truth and earthbound rules."

Okay, but the laundry can wait.

Immortal Frog

2010-04-20T19:43:00.000-07:00

Her birthday is tomorrow, 4/21. She would be 45, six months younger than I am, a Taurus to my Scorpio; they're opposite signs on the astrological wheel which might partially explain our immediate attraction to one another.

Her dad called her Frog, her mom called her Dierdre, her friends called her Deedee. My mom called her Deedle-Dee and loved her like a daughter.

I met Deedee in high school, 1980. I could only see the back of her head in first period gym class as we sat on the floor awaiting Coach Ferris to give us our lame instructions for the day. I noticed the thick drape of wavy brown hair cascading down her back. She was entertaining a group of girls, talking with her hands. I remember smelling the clean scent of Agree shampoo and wasn't sure if it was that or something else that made her seem so familiar. It felt like being home.

We spent the early years hanging out at the malls, going to Astroworld. We skipped school a few times to play on Galveston's East Beach, arriving at the building on time and meeting in the gym before making ourselves free of all authority. No one ever questioned our sunburns.

We shared our secrets regarding first boyfriends, first kisses, our lost virginity. I was there for her during the storms of her parents' frequent separations. She spent all night with me when my mother died and we were both too scared to sleep.

She married before me after high school. She devoted herself to being a stay-at-home-mom. I attended x-ray school then divided my time equally between work and family. As the years passed, our friendship deepened and grew to a healthier union than either of our marriages. We moved as a team through losses, family dramas, financial woes and the constant inner struggle to move forward as an individual without leaving anybody behind.

I talked to her on the phone almost every day, usually for hours. We were food for the other, a security blanket and touchstone. She was Lucy to my Ethel, Laverne to my Shirley. We joked about pulling a "Thelma & Louise" if things got too bad, neither of us afraid of the unknown as long as we were together. But because she was such a sure thing in my life, I'm afraid I sometimes took her for granted, returned her calls later than others because I always knew she'd be there for me. She - we, could wait.

We attended the Renaissance Festival every year. We took long road trips to Kentucky to see her family. One trip in particular was a frantic attempt to reach the bedside of a dying relative - Uncle Niles. We drove day and night to get to Bardstown, Kentucky in time for Deedee to say her goodbyes and fulfill her mother's unequivocal imperative, "Deirdre, if you've ever tried to do anything in your life, you better try to do this."

I joined Deedee on the trip to buffer the tension she felt around her family. It was also an opportunity to get away from life as we knew it, to be more ourselves as we traveled away from the "every day". But despite driving without rest, we were a couple of hours too late. Uncle Niles had died only moments after we checked into our hotel. When we arrived at Deedee's mother's house where the family had gathered, we were greeted with cold stares. Our tardiness and the surprise "guest" in tow would set the stage for a humiliating blow-up.

It happened one night following a long talk around the kitchen table between Deedee and her three older siblings. Somewhere in the conversation the old tensions began to melt as the siblings laughed together for the first time in years. It seemed appropriate, I thought, to sing the Barney theme song (I love you/You love me/We're a happy family...). It was about this moment that Deedee's mother, Elizabeth, walked into the kitchen. She was already seething over my presence, my lack of relationship to the deceased. Her daughter had come to fulfill a duty, not make a vacation out of it. Elizabeth directed her anger at me.

"Is that what your family does when somebody dies? Sing about a goddamn purple dinosaur?"

She stormed off to her bedroom. Deedee ran after her to explain the context of the moment. After failing to settle the matter we left Elizabeth's house, both of us crying before we'd even backed out of the driveway. The trip back to the hotel was a quiet ride along dark tree-lined roads. I watched out the window as pines spun like faceless ballerinas with too many arms. We talked all night once in the hotel room, ate a whole package of Reeses miniature peanut butter cups. As always, the problem at hand crumbled to dust when the spasmodic laughter took over. I told her when the laughing became like the snorts and sobs of a choking man, "This is adding years to our lives."

Together we were stronger, impervious, immortal.

Everything was resolved the following day. The late hour and stress of her brother's death had made Elizabeth edgy, at least that's what we chose to assume. Once Uncle Niles was resting in his earthen plot, we returned home.

In May of 1998 I realized Deedee had just turned 33, a birthday I'd somehow missed - a first. The age had been a rough patch for many. My mother left my father at 33, I was leaving a husband; my brother David, John Belushi, Chris Farley and even Jesus died at 33. It was an odd thought process that led to an equally odd warning, "Be careful being 33. Bad things happen to us." She just laughed and reminded me of all the death poetry I'd written in high school.

I took my two children for a haircut the next day. I was feeling exhausted and the black and white floor tiles seemed a good place to rest my eyes, a place to stare at nothing. Then suddenly the air was sucked from the room. The tiles moved, black squares separating from white. I told myself the hallucination was due to exhaustion and my impending divorce.

All the way home I tried to place my empty feelings, the strange compelling vacuum that felt unrelated to my marriage ending. When I entered my house I saw the answering machine blinking. It was another friend asking me to call her right back. When I returned the call I learned that Deedee and her family had been in a car accident, that Deedee was life-flighted to Herman Hospital.

I dialed the hospital number and spoke to an emergency room attendant who told me Deedee had been discharged already. I was confused. "Oh don't worry," he said, "It happens all the time - people who are life-flighted sometimes walk right out of here."

The vacuum persisted. I called the friend back, too scared to cry, "I can't feel her."

***

On the day of Deedee's funeral I was surrounded by packed boxes. Movers had been scheduled in advance to transport these boxes to my new apartment in Seabrook, ironically in the same hour as the funeral would be scheduled in Friendswood. My compass felt erased. I needed her, her reassurance that I was doing the right thing; I needed more laughter to turn my doubts to dust. I couldn't navigate the space alone.

I sat in a back row at the funeral home while waiting for the service to begin. Elizabeth saw me crying and leaned down to ask, "You gonna be okay?"

I just shook my head.

***

I remember Deedee when I hear a Ronnie Milsap song. She's one of the pleasant ghosts rattling in the wide halls of Clear Lake High School and along the quiet streets of Quail Walk apartments where we once lived. She watches her children sleep though they're mostly grown now.

She's a constant ghost in my head.

Every Halloween I see her dressed as a "witch" with blacked-out teeth and a face painted celadon green. Sometimes one of our memories steps forward sans any triggers at all. They all want their turn. I don't argue with them.

There's a picture of us taken during a trip to Chicago. We're wearing shorts and enormous smiles, leaning in together as the wind takes up our hair in every mad direction. Deedee is pointing to the center of her forehead, a secret code indicating our inseparability: You're right here.

I am.

Apologizing To Richmond Daisies

2010-04-07T10:27:00.000-07:00

I spent half of yesterday driving around the oldest parts of Richmond, Texas, down its narrow streets named after numbers, alphabet letters and big Texas cities like Dallas and Austin.
Richmond will be my new home in about three years when we build a house on what is now just 1.3 acres of tall oak trees, pink Buttercups and a blanket of yellow Butterfly Daisies.

I'm trying to learn the town now, imagine how I'll fit in, where I'll shop for groceries, wash my car or spend free time. Richmond has a much slower pace than the newer parts of Sugar Land, TX where I now live; no one seems in a hurry to get to work, school, or tomorrow. Richmond residents seem less concerned with how they dress or talk and more focused on just being, moving through their days without showy adornment. It's not uncommon to see a man in dirty overalls at Richmond's Newfirst Bank. At any bank in Sugar Land this would be an anomaly.

The Richmond buildings are short and many of the businesses are run out of old clapboard houses - chiropractor's offices, a few dentists and attorneys. I counted seven churches and two schools in just a few blocks.

The residential homes are heavily shaded by trees older than I am, and the worn lived-in look of these houses comforted me like a grandmother's warm hands kneading dough or digging deep in the rich soil of a healthy garden. The homes seemed to possess a wisdom newer homes lack, or maybe what I was seeing was more like a soul. Whatever it was, it urged me to keep driving down the Avenue H's, I's, J's, K's, and then down 1st, 2nd 3rd and 4th streets. I passed an old-fashioned barber shop with a red, white and blue spinning swirl. I saw two men hanging a banner for a bakery debuting next week out of a freshly painted pink house with a cupcake motif. There are businesses with names I've never heard of - Bob's Spirits, Jenny's Office Supplies, Guy Groceries - that sell what the Office Depot, Michaels, Kroger and Specs all sell back in Sugar Land. Richmond feels like a place happily stuck in time, maybe fifty or more years back, and I like that. I felt safe, in sync with their rhythms. In "faster" places I feel lost and dizzy in a disorienting wind that turns me around.

Sugar Land has streets with names such as Palm Royale, Commonwealth, Sweetwater. Along Palm Royale the lots alone are $1,000,000. The houses are magnificent, something you'd see on Lives of the Rich & Famous with tremendous lion fountains and large circular drives partially obscured by imposing iron gates. These fancier homes lack the inviting warmth I get from the Richmond community. Palm Royale makes me feel cold, shut out, detached. The residents in these multi-million dollar homes probably feel that way, too, sometimes. I doubt they'd ever borrow sugar from a neighbor or have a block party with beer kegs and fold-up lawn chairs. And maybe it's just me, but too large an enclosed space is more like a museum than a "home". Even the warmest company in an enormous enclosed space is swallowed up by the static gap and risk of getting lost beneath too-high ceilings.

The part of Sugar Land I prefer is over the railroad tracks which is more like Richmond - old and inviting, soulful. They both have the charm of the elderly, a seasoned warmth and richness not found in the more "self-conscious" versions.

My new street in Richmond will be have a name related to the measured movement of music, dance or speech. The name describes the inherent peaceful rhythm in all forms of life, a soothing heartbeat disrupted only by fear or an artificial environment. The street's musical sound is almost a song itself and inspires me to take long walks among the wise oaks and fragile sprouts of color that bend with the soft breath of a land nature intended to be left alone. I'll have to apologize to the lovely Daisies soon buried beneath a house I hope to love slowly into a home.

Loving Ghosts & Strangers

2010-02-27T06:22:00.000-08:00

Love has been defined into pieces, broken, mutilated. It's a gift denounced and mispronounced like a foreign tongue. It must know how God feels.

I've wondered lately more about how love works and less about its particular chemistry or duration. I want to understand more of what forms it takes, how it moves.

This curiosity is due to my noticing frequent BURSTS of "love" for others, near- or perfect strangers when something they've created causes a warm stirring within me, a feeling which ranges from deep enduring appreciation to a brief obsession. I don't have to be physically near the source. I only need exposure to a person's mind which can initially arise from words or any form of artful expression, but once the connection is made, some essences are suddenly free to move about and can appear to me from out of nowhere.

I can feel a person's mind/soul in a painting or essay, a photograph they're in or connected to, an inanimate object they've touched or a song. The feeling can be so strong for these minds I hardly "know" that suddenly their essence envelopes and inspires me to speak out loud to an otherwise empty room, "I love you." It makes no sense.

This phenomenon leads me to believe that love is ubiquitous, a ghostly ethereal breath which flows in and around us when the portals of our souls are open. It is not as a ping pong ball exchanged between a mere two, but an intoxicating vapor infusing welcoming space, free to those who expand comprehension of this love to "All" rather than the weak and fragile "I".

We'll never place this immortal vapor in a jar or hang it on a wall; it is as God has been described, an energy with no circumference but a center everywhere.

Maybe these individuals to whom I feel an immediate connection are other "like" minds, soul "mates", or mirrors of shared traits. In this "everywhere" of love, these likenesses can share the same space in an instant despite the sometimes great physical distance between them. As Richard Bach once said about loving others, "There's no such place as far away."

The feeling transcends all space/time because I've shared this euphoria with lost loves - a mother, brother, best friend and others - those lost only due to a "physical" disconnect, which seems to intensify the "spiritual" connection.

I've felt it when reading the words of those long dead - Sylvia Plath entering my dilated pupils as the intuitive twinge of her husband's infidelity is finally confirmed, "The truth loves me"; I felt it with Henry Miller's admonition to "Forget yourself" in order to be fully present and as Michel de Montaigne gripped my soul from his 16th century post, "There is, beyond all my reasoning, and beyond all that I can specifically say, some inexplicable power of destiny that brought about our union."

Invisible limitless transit seems the preferred mode of passage for ubiquitous love - a spiritual plane where our souls move about freely, appearing anywhere sans time. Love has no limits, it cannot die; it needs no words, airplanes or maps. Love knows what it knows without need for proof or reason as it travels along messengers called "you" and "me", tiny familiar posts connecting along the path of forever. This energy surges through us all.

And I love the feel of being carried away.

Funeral Faux Pas

2010-02-23T20:28:00.000-08:00

My sister is almost nine years older than I am. We are opposites and often refer to ourselves as the "country mouse" (her) and "city mouse" (me). We've always gotten along, mostly because I'm affable and forgiving and this allows her to be her grumpy revolutionary self. And I love her, just as a crotchety old man's character is often more lovable because of its rough edges, because of what they hide. We all know that underneath that roughness is a soft sensitive pulp.

My sister recently brought up something that happened at our mother's funeral 26 years ago. My mother had lived out most of her life between two cities, and the plan was to have the funeral ceremony in Houston, Texas where she and I lived, then bury her in Fort Worth, Texas near her parents and other family.

I was eighteen at the time and devastated because my mother had been a troubled soul, in and out of my life, and I was very protective of her. My love felt as much like longing, as if she were a lover always walking away. In her last few years I felt she'd finally returned for good and I left Fort Worth to be with her, to enjoy her presence as the mother I always knew she could be.

Her death was a blow it would take a long time to recover from, and the thought of watching her body placed in the ground was more than I could handle.

I followed the other mourners from Jack Rowe Funeral Home to Interstate 45 which led straight through to Fort Worth. About 45 minutes into the drive I decided I couldn't do it. I couldn't see my mother buried then leave her there and come home, to the city that had been "our" home. I turned around.

Several hours later I got a call from my sister's husband asking why I hadn't come. I couldn't put my reasons into words at the time and felt terrible because my absence not only hurt my sister but disappointed her. This moment was what my sister wanted to remind me of recently, because she's never forgiven me for it.

I'm long past eighteen now and looking back, I'm embarrassed at my immaturity then. I also understand that the girl I was then had lost her mother many times over the years, had watched her hero fall victim to depressions and suicide attempts on several occasions. That girl wasn't ready to see the person she loved most in this world dropped in a black hole and covered up forever.

My mother's body wasn't found for more than twelve hours so her casket was closed which meant I hadn't seen her face for three days. As mourners often do, I fantasized that she was still in this world, maybe as a conscious spirit or an angel. I'm not sure I gave my wishes words, I just felt she was more alive than dead. How could it have seemed any different? I'd loved her for 18 years and she'd been dead for only 3 days. I wanted to argue the matter, deep down, change roles with my sister and be the revolutionary, albeit a passive one. I would deny the death had happened, put off its reality a little longer by avoiding its visual finality.

I don't think I could ever make my sister understand these feelings. She's a take-charge, no-shit girl, a practical warrior who occasionally fights for fun. I feel too much, think too much, and she would consider my excuses soft and selfish. She'd say I need harder edges, a stronger shell.

Of course, I'm older and wiser now, and I would make different choices. I would go to the burial and I would stand there and watch. I would hate it but it's what we're supposed to do and there are others to think about, support. I've been seasoned by other funerals and I know how fragile the dynamic is, how so many are barely holding on and often times our roles are reversed. Maybe that's why my sister is still angry; maybe she needed me there at that moment her soft pulp was exposed.

Last Will & True Testimony

2010-02-22T16:01:00.000-08:00

I'm most comfortable writing for no one. I've kept a journal now for 36 years, a private room for just me, paper, and a fast pen.

I only recently considered what I want to happen to my many stacks of journals when I'm gone. Do I want others to see them? Everything is in there. I'm ashamed of some things, embarrassed, even shocked after all these years at some of what I've thought and done (mostly in my 20's but there are a few big blunders in my 30's). It's not that my sins are that awful, I just want to be seen as better than some slivers of my history make me look. If the eyes of others are allowed into my private room, even when I'm gone, is this how I want to be remembered?

Humans aren't considered perfect creatures yet we want others to think we are, or close. We're relieved that our thoughts aren't carried over a loud speaker. But put them in writing and they're there forever.

I'm writing out the fine details of my Last Will & Testament and I recently asked my oldest daughter what she wants. "Well, some personal things and definitely your journals." My daughter wants them? I have to consider this carefully, imagine her cozy by some fireplace one wintry night reading my long gone world. Would she be shocked to learn that I once __________? Or about the fact that I've considered ___________? How about the time I was drunk and ___________? It's all there.

She's an open-minded girl and not a saint herself, yet I'm her mother and held to a different standard. Even as adult children, it's hard to consider our parents as human and just as messed up as anyone else.

The purpose of my journals was to record history - mine, yours', the world's, but it was also a workbook meant to sort things out. The best way to untangle a mess is to study it for a while, really look at it. An ugly knot in the brain can be written into eloquent streams of consciousness, logical answers and real solutions sprouting from the deep dark bowls of our own minds. I've sat down with pen, paper and a weight of darkness only to emerge three pages later enlightened. Some of my worst mistakes reveal the best and deepest lessons learned, the hardest-won wisdom. I will take these gems to the grave with me if I don't allow my children know the whole me, the fallible me.

I owe them my best and my worst.

Is Thomas A Man Or A Woman?

2010-01-27T12:28:00.000-08:00

I read a news story today about the 2nd pregnant man who will give birth in February 2010. He's a transgendered male who is married to another transgendered male. His name escapes me, but it's not really important. The 1st pregnant man, pregnant now for the 2nd time, is Thomas Beatie. He's also a transgendered male. I remember his name because I'm more familiar with his story. Because I'm more familiar with his story and he comes across as a likable person, I have some empathy for him, though I still sometimes want to call "him" a "her".

Is Thomas Beatie a man or a woman?

I've heard Thomas Beatie speak. He's intelligent. He articulates his thoughts well. He was once a very beautiful woman and now he's not a bad-looking man.

As I listened to him speak I kept asking myself, Is he mentally right? Could he have actually been born the wrong sex? Is changing what we were at birth wrong? Is altering our looks with surgery wrong? Is wearing makeup wrong? Having our tubes tied? Having a vasectomy? Are you automatically crazy if you want to be the opposite sex?

Thomas Beatie is a person. Let's just assume he's sane - he sounded sane during TV and magazine interviews. I actually liked some of the thoughts he shared. He's thoughtful, sensitive. If he were my neighbor or someone I dealt with frequently, I think I would grow to care about him. I would protect him if I loved him - love is definitely the simplest way to bypass prejudice. I would be partial to his wants and needs, to whatever made him happy as long as no one got hurt. I don't really care what sex he is or was. It doesn't matter to me.

Is it wrong for him to bring children into the world? Will the children be taunted? Tormented? Confused? Traumatized?

Will they need some sort of therapy one day to help them cope with having a daddy that was also their mommy?

Well, MOST kids are taunted, tormented, confused, traumatized from one thing or another. Will the children of Thomas Beatie suffer any more than you or I did as a children? I dealt with some pretty awful stuff. Many of us did. And my parents were in no way as intelligent or articulate as Thomas Beatie appears to be. Thomas Beatie may turn out to be a better parent than most.

Just another thing we can't be certain about.

People these days can get a hand transplant, or a heart, lung, liver, face. Yes, a face. That would disturb me much more than a sex change, but still, I could get used to it. We can also grow a baby in a test tube or clone our favorite pets. Is this stuff wrong?

So back to the original question: Is Thomas a man or a woman?

I don't know either.

Worms

2010-01-21T20:15:00.000-08:00

I've always tried to avoid "communities". They're impersonal, too varied to be stable, and so full of those struggling to stand out that personality wars happen.

I've kept my friend base small for a good reason: quality. Quality comes in teeny tiny bunches.

I recently decided to branch out, join some online writing groups, see what the rest of the world looks like. I very much enjoyed feeling like I belonged to something again since I've stayed home for almost five years now raising small children. But it didn't take long before the "community" atmosphere grew hostile. Arguments and hurt feelings arose, secrets and lies were tossed around like confetti, email whispers were passed from one reader to the next like the juiciest snacks. There were mutinies.

I kept quiet. Then I tried to publicly raise my hand today and speak out for an unfortunate mutineer; I got cornered and told to watch myself. Not a friendly bunch after all. And I'm not comfortable with being the center of negative attention. A little cyber brawl can leave me feeling like celebrities when magazines publish their "fat" pictures, like Jessica Simpson when Tony broke up with her "publicly", or like a sumo wrestler with his "pants" down.

I've seen this in the workplace many times. Put a large group of people in the same room and factions occur, sides are taken, differences arise and hands get dirty. It's the nature of the human animal. There will always be those little kids who want to gather around to watch a "friend" get her butt beat. I've never understood it. I've always kept my mouth shut, stayed out of it. Until today.

My remarks regarding the mutineer? I wanted to stand up in her defense. My words were benign to me, but maybe not for those who don't have a clean conscience. It's not a pretty sight - the argument or "discussion" glowing before you in pixels. It's there for everyone to see. One lad who felt insulted tends to write blogs about cutting the fingertips off the women he hates - that and worse before he finally kills them. Hmmm.... I'd like to keep my fingertips please. We don't really know WHO we're dealing with in cyber world. I apologized for not being more ambiguous, or for being too ambiguous. I'm not sure which anymore.

I'm not fond of the lack of intimacy in a large group, especially online. In my personal life I tend to branch off to a tiny nest out of the way, hidden as well as possible in a dense fold of leaves among like minds. There aren't many birds like me, and sometimes it gets lonely in our remote part of the tree, but I tell you what, we don't sing just to hear the sound of our own voices. And when the economy gets rough, we share our worms.

Mount Ennui

2010-01-19T20:39:00.000-08:00

I used to notice when I went to the mall without money, there were millions of beckoning options. Everything fit, everything was attractive. I wanted it all. But unfortunately, without the funds I had to simply touch the pretty things and go home.

When I did have money to spend, I found nothing I wanted. Especially when I had an event to attend and needed a specific item, that narrow field made it even more unlikely that I would go home with a purchase.

This phenomenon made me think about where it appears in other areas of life. Money, time, children love, jobs, CATS - these things seem to appear or become active when we're not paying so much attention to them.

I've wondered a lot about the job category lately because I want to switch careers and move forward with my life again but alas! I have too much time. I can move in any direction I want which are too many directions. My husband can support us so we have too much money. See the pattern here? There's not enough obvious need. Not enough tension. My life is a big pile of SLACK. The universe sees the economy, the people out of work. It's not at all concerned about a stay-at-home mom in a midlife crisis who needs a job to "play" in.

"Oh, so you want a creative outlet? Maybe a cartoonist/writing combo to fall out of the sky? Dream on, Momma. Keeping sucking on that Unicorn Milkshake and your fairy godmother will certainly appear. Save the damn sob story."

I once lived in a small fishing town, worked two jobs, raised two teenagers and two cats - alone. I was busy all the time, always on the go, always in motion, needed, in the midst of all the action.

Now I'm in a larger well-groomed area, married, not working outside the home, two adorable toddlers underfoot. Three days a week the toddlers go to a 9a-3p program so I'm on my own. And you know what? It sucks.

All my old friends work and live fifty miles away in the small fishing town I left behind. I don't miss the work I did, but I certainly miss the camaraderie, the sense of purpose, the job title to help define who I was.

What we do defines us. And if we do, um, nothing, who are we?

I do some volunteer work at a church. I blog, keep a journal, visit friends and my older children on occasion. Once in a while I go to the gym, promising myself I'll make it a life habit. Three weeks later, I'm realizing it's been a couple of weeks since I worked out. Then I eat another cookie.

I'm basically living the life of a 90 yr old. And this is the life some women aspire to? Getting married, not having to "work", shopping or lunching or whatever ad infinitum? Let me tell you something. It's no life at all. It's an overdose of TiMe.

Keep your day job, girls. The work force feeds you with much more than a paycheck. You need that definition, that sense of purpose. Stay hungry for free time and relish it when it finally happens, just like the outfit you suddenly have the money to buy; anything in short supply means so much more.

What a difference a few years and some big life-changing decisions can make. I'm wringing my brain now to find a way to feel hungry again, to ache for something elusive, something out of reach. I need more pain, more tension, a work-out for the soul without all the destructive loss. I'm on a search for the perfect imaginary illness so I can work to cure it.

Maybe the illness is that huge stale mountain called ennui, and I'll have to be still just long enough so that it thinks I'm no longer trying to move it out of my way, no longer paying so much attention to it.

Friends & Neighbors

2010-01-04T16:34:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again when I hunker down and sort my receipts. All of 2009 will be filed away and stored upstairs in a dark closet, making way for our 2010 spending.

I have two accordion file folders, one for corporate and one for personal receipts. I add up all the tax on my personal receipts, file these and their corporate cousins in their appropriate slots - auto, meals, medical, clothes, entertainment, home improvements, postage, utilities, etc.

I can't help but notice where each receipt is from, the dates, who I was with, all in varying detail. It's a walk down memory lane.

There was the birthday dinner at P.F. Changs for my neighbor. I was invited along with all her "friends". I hadn't made it to that level of distinguishment yet; I was introduced to her 25 or more "true friends", her friends of several or more years as, "my neighbor".

At the end of the evening after lots of laughs and drinks, I noticed no one had bothered to pick up the birthday girl's tab. It was ignored until it couldn't be ignored anymore. I paid it - $55.00 or so. Lowly me. The "neighbor".

I found a receipt for the Hard Rock Cafe in downtown Houston, TX. It was me and my neighbor again, having lunch with our young children before heading over to the Aquarium across the street to ride the colorful carousel and check out a bored white tiger. We had a good time, laughing at sophomoric humor while waiting in line for a train ride that wasn't worth the wait. As we waited she advised me on how to blow dry my hair to make it lie down better in the front, and that wasn't the first time she actually improved my looks with her girly "know-how". There was a $255 receipt that was testimony to this, her hairdresser "to the stars" that she'd introduced me to, and I've been ravishing ever since.

She taught me to shop for myself, put myself first, dress more beautifully, be more current. I lost the 30 lbs gained during my last pregnancy with more focus on my appearance. I felt prettier. No receipt for that last one.

There are other receipts for several years' worth of gifts bought for her or her young son's birthdays, Christmases, Halloween Boo packages; there are receipts for the several casual lunches enjoyed at various Sugar Land eateries or at the Bounce-U where our children romped together for hours while we talked about nothing and everything. There was the receipt for the outfit I bought to wear out for a night of dinner and dancing on my sixth wedding anniversary, a celebration shared with my neighbor and her own husband.

There are cell phone statements showing the many hours we, or rather she, spent talking. She always had a strong need to talk and I always wondered where her other 25 "true friends" were while she was spending so many hours on the phone with just, me.

Besides the receipts there are other reminders of my "neighbor", like her empty house across the street. She moved away two weeks ago to a happening part of Houston, closer to the action, nearer the cool crowd. She calls these people "cute, fun". But will they pay her birthday tab when her "true friends" choose to ignore it? Hard to say.

I suppose the people in our lives are like our receipts, different value amounts, memories attached, filed away in their appropriate places. I'm still trying to decide where to put the neighbor who isn't my neighbor anymore. If she wasn't and isn't my "friend", I'm afraid I don't have an appropriate slot for her, unless she wouldn't mind being filed away in the "entertainment" section of my "personal" accordion file folder. It may get very lonely upstairs in the dark closet.

Bringing In 2010

2009-12-31T10:15:00.000-08:00

My back hurts, my two youngest children are vomiting, I'm babysitting an 80 year-old, and my refrigerator is empty. I do have wine, though, and if I don't show symptoms of my children's stomach virus by midnight, I plan to drink some or a lot. It's New Year's Eve, after all, and an occasion for celebrating beginnings.

When I was 10, I decided to look for patterns in the good vs. bad years of my life, to determine whether there was any connection between the odd and even years and general outcome. I decided that my even years were my worst, and that the best things occurred in the odd years. I don't know that this was really true. I was 10. It was actually a ridiculous conclusion, but an admirable attempt at understanding and predicting life.

Astrology is another way to predict things. I don't really follow the daily predictions, but the sun and moon signs have been very helpful to me in determining personalities, compatibility, and probable behavior.

I'm a Scorpio sun with a Leo moon. Water sun and fire moon. My first child was a Scorpio/Sagittarius (water/fire). The second, a Leo/Aquarius (fire/air). My third child, almost twenty years later, is a Cancer/Scorpio (water/water), and my fourth, an Aries/Leo (fire/fire).

What does all this mean? Nothing. I just enjoy looking for patterns. And if I had one hundred thousand children there might be some appreciable patterns to consider, some insight we could all gain regarding human evolution and development (if there is any validity to astrology, which is debatable, for some, maybe even many). Or then again, even if astrology holds up, we might discover rather than an ordered pattern, a disappointing random conclusion. That's okay. Conclusions are good. But what if a pattern emerged in the second hundred thousand? So much to consider.

I have come to some of my own conclusions regarding my children's astrological signs, birth order, the effect of having my last two children so long after my first pair, the matching 21-month gap between both the first and last pair, the girl/boy/girl/boy pattern.

But it's New Year's Eve and I'd rather focus on the fact that we're entering an even-numbered year. I'm a little concerned about that. Did I mention that my refrigerator is empty? What do you think that means? Could be another pattern emerging.

Christmas Cards

2009-12-19T10:53:00.000-08:00

I brought several mismatched and incomplete boxes of blank Christmas cards with me to the Mercedes dealership where my car was scheduled to receive its routine "B" service, whatever that means. It's only a week before Christmas, the usual time of year for me to address and mail my cards, whatever that type of procrastination means (by the way, I was 1,200 miles late for my "B" service, too).

As I looked over my list of friends, family and in-laws to whom I send cards every year, I realized that my assortment of blank cards wasn't "appropriate" for everyone. I had to select certain types of cards for say, a friend, as opposed to a former coworker or in-law.

For instance, the card with a picture of a fashion-conscious woman gaily carrying tons of shopping bags while walking her tiny dog on a pink background, wasn't appropriate for one of my in-laws, who would prefer something of a religious nature. My close friends, on the other hand, would much rather have a silly card with something, let's say, sacrilegious, on it.

Is this bad? And what about what's written inside of the cards? I have a friend who doesn't get along with my husband and viceversa. Why would I write that my card to her is also from him? So I didn't.

And then what about the relative with whom you've recently had a falling out? Do you sign the card "Love" so-in-so? I think not. Well, maybe I do still love her but I'm just not feeling generous enough to tell her so... My bad.

Some of the people in our lives know us better than others, and a few misunderstand us completely. But at Christmas we must all get along or at least pretend. Our relationships with others have certain boundaries and shapes, intensities and definitions. Our Christmas cards reflect these. In some cases I suppose it's appropriate to allow for these differences and in others, it's just sad.

What Is Wabi Sabi?

2009-12-18T18:08:00.000-08:00

The simplest way to remember what Wabi Sabi means is to break it down into three parts:
1. Nothing is perfect 2. Nothing lasts 3. Nothing is finished.

It's a beautiful way to frame the world, to see it as ephemeral and imperfect. We rush too much, we expect too much, we berate ourselves with every breath. That was never the way we were meant to live. Life is a gift. Every day when we wake up breathing still, it's as if someone has placed in our laps a lovely box wrapped with shiny paper and iridescent ribbons.

This blog is about keeping perspective, looking inside the box each day. It's a place to be human and fall down, and a place to figure out how to fall down less often. But we won't be looking for perfection here, because it doesn't exist.