Never Give Up-a woman's jounal (Don't Stop Believing)

 

January 7,1990

Man, returning to work after the Christmas holidays still plays some affect in me that lasts for weeks until my mind and body become in sync again. I kept the cafe closed until after Boxing Day and gave my staff the extra day off to reset after the joyful holiday. This was the first time the restaurant had closed officially since one of family members had passed away. I think my mother’s cousin had passed away in 1969,  when she chose to for the day to mourn. After that the manager kept the place open until after the funeral. Since then,  there were no official closures except for the holidays and health inspections. My mother returned to work both times despite concerning and loving advice many her husband and her nephew to take more time to heal before coming back but keeping her mind occupied was the best thing she had stated. There was no disagreements home me I wish I had offended the funeral but my daughter needed me at home with it being empty.

We remained open for seven hours until New Years Eve then reopened at the start of the following week at the same time the kids returned to school.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 13, 1990

The café has been busy these past few days trying to keep the business running and keeping the inside clean in time for the Health Inspector earlier this morning. We passed by the scrape of our knees, but just in time for the lunch rush.  However, the Supervisor was not too impressed by the freezers where the frozen foods and ice creams were kept, she said the freezers can be up to date and the wall behind them where the power plugs connect to the back, should be replaced with modern plates.

“They showed their age, and should be replaced and protected from any unwanted pests that invade the wiring and plumbing behind the walls.” She said while writing down her recommendations at the same time she asked when the last fumigation took place.   

She never took a glance up from her notes as I answered her question, two months go before Christmas, on Halloween. We had to close for the day and lost money instead being opened to earn it. Yet I had traps along the floors under the cabinets to catch whatever rodents would get stuck, and have them cleaned and replaced.  

I received the blunt of the negativity from the Supervisor inside my private office, about the rusted stains in the two washroom, and suggested there may be a rusted pipe under both sinks, possibly inside the walls, and to contact a plumber as soon as possible. I knew what she was talking about. The stains were not soaked in and could easily be removed around the drain, but she saw something I didn’t do the last time a plumper went in to do any repairs. I think the last major work done in the café must have been sometime in the late seventies, mid eighties when Brian was in charge. Before I officially took over, I met with my employees, we had a quick meeting in the kitchen early that morning before  getting ready for the customers. I still remember and my nerves while I listened to the suggestions from the inspector.

All that mattered was the relationship between them and our customers, is important since I took the reigns in the late 1960s. I had plenty of knowledge to take control, with Brian by my side. He once was Abbey’s grade school math teacher who retired early, but wanted employed to keep his wife from going bananas with him at home twenty-four hours, while she kept house and continued her employment as a dress maker or seamstress from home, that she once did, when he first met her, almost fifteen years ago.

To keep a food establishment such as a restaurants clean to the health standards was never  easy and the only thing I hated about it, that to keep my own home just as clean without the Health workers being involved.

In that same year (1968), Johnny made me his silent partner in my father’s law office with Geoff Brown replacing him. Johnny rarely leaves the office now to go into the field. He has his oldest son replacing as a private investigator. I continued to provide the usual services of replacing receptionist as I always have, including replacing the secretaries in one of the lawyers offices, as an assistant working on uncompleted documents that needed to be filed on the computer. Anything legal I had no access to because I had no law license so I just worked on everything for the office. Whenever I am needed at the office, Charlotte Green assists me as a temporary manager at the café. She used to wash dishes and clean the floors, before becoming a waitress and Abbey’s mentor.  Before that, Brian was mine during the late seventies.

                     ***

In the early winter of 1965, months after my return to Toronto, my father had informed me of a surprised client, a Mrs. Samponia, Mary’s step mother visiting the office for legal advice, on how to gain custody of her young grand child.  With unsettled  history of her step daughter which became worse over the years, Mary’s disappearance,  the grand mother feared for the children living with a drunk. I assumed she became an alcoholic because she could no longer handle how her life turned out. Knowing the history of this family, my father appointed her  to well known colleague that would assist her.

                                                                         ***

Going back through history of Mary, I had written about my opinions of her, and the odd moments I had seen her during our short years at Our Lady Blessed Mary, to after she had left long before I had moved the last time I saw her, was back in the Spring of 1958 at Greg’s Roller Rink. Sara and I had gone roller skating, when I noticed Mary and her boyfriend sitting in the snacking area with four other guys of the same age on the fiber glass bench seats on either side of the wooden table with a steal leg in the center facing the arcade. Now I had no interest in stopping to chat, not after what she had done to Sara’s life. Taking advantage of a person once, but twice, was cruel and deliberate. That’s what my father once told me, he also said they can bring you down, if you let it. She took advantage of Sara’s kind generosity twice, to mislead herself pleasingly.

The weather was warm for mid June with clouds and a light cool breeze. We still wore a sweater or a light jacket because most times, we still had cool weather and rain. None of our friends predicted Mary to use her homelessness to gain access to Sara’s trust the second time for temporary shelter with her and her father until Mary finished school or moved out possibly in to a one bedroom apartment in the same building that was all in favor for Joseph who could have done, just to make sure the teen was safely off the streets. No one including Sara and her father at first, until she mentioned the boyfriend, because Cheyenne once told her that Sara’s father did not like young girls to have boyfriends. Lies of course but according to Cheyenne’s conscious beliefs Joseph was the reason Sara didn’t have a boyfriend. Again lies, whatever Mary’s plans were then, to which I believed  this was just another act for pity just like the afternoon at the diner Gean had worked and she caused a long fable tale into a quick summary about Sara loaning her apartment keys so Mary and Keith’s son could have secret meetings alone in Gean’s apartment. Much later the story was lit by Cheyenne, who watched from the unknown sidelines of the monster she had unleashed. What a thrill to have caused all that trouble just to get message across to Sara’s friend to stay away from Keith’s son, the object of her desire.

And how did anyone in the kitchen away from the staff aware of the message, but Sara of course, and she never told anyone. And why, because Gean did not like Mary, the first time she met her.

Joseph had asked Mary why she didn’t live with her boyfriend.  Her answer or should I say excuses, was he lived at home with his parents. She moved in like a hobo with a black garbage bag and left with the same bag. After getting hurt and second time Sara reflected upon her feelings without fully thinking of the results it would do after she left without appreciation or gratitude. When Mary left for weeks unknown she kept her black bag full of clothes and paraphernalia inside Sara’s bedroom closet. So with a pair of black handled metal scissors inside her Singer sewing box near her sewing machine in front of her bedroom window, she walked to the opened closet doo, sat cross legged on the carpet floor and began to go through Mary’s  personal belongings. Mixed in her clothes were a couple of romance novels, two mini wooden plagues with inspirational quotes, a mini paper back Bible of the new Testament, no cosmetics no fragrances or jewelry, only parts of her school uniform, a black dress, a small bear and a pair of black pumps. She used the scissors to cut through, the seams along the sides, hem  line and bust area. of the V neck, sheer long sleeve, A line dress while still partially inside the bag to give it appearance as if the garment had come undone due to a snag since the bag already had large wholesale in it or give it an appearance of loose thread due inequality stitching from the manufacturer.

After two months or more Mary returned for her things. Joseph stepped out of the kitchen holding a dishtowel and wanted to know who was at the door until Sara returned from her bedroom with the bag. It was an awkward moment, and an uncomfortable few minutes with no word spoken except for thanking her estranged friend and stepping away from the apartment door and walking down the hall to the elevators. That same evening the telephone rand in the living room where Sara was sitting on the sola studying when she picked up the receiver, near Mary’s voice at the other end of the telephone. The call game unexpected the girl had gone back to her boyfriend’s house while her and Joseph believed Mary had gone home or to live with friends.

Joseph never knew anything about his daughter’s actions, and he came out of the kitchen to assist in whatever had caused his daughter to get upset. Sara was discovered and couldn’t cover up what already had been done until her father came out of the kitchen with the same dish towel and took the receiver with that strong convincingly stern tone to talk to whomever was at the other end not knowing that Sara was already emerged in a heated conversation with both Sara spoke in a low tone to her father so they couldn’t hear her tell him who the people were. He nodded with an confirm steadily understanding then spoke to the person as collectively as I could. No one screamed. No hollered. At the end of the conversation, and he hung up the phone, he looked at his daughter and said, “Get your bank book, you're going to the bank and give them the money.” He said while picking up the cold coffee from the side table to take a sip. “They’ll be here within the hour.”

Whenever he had a hot or cold beverage he always let it sit for a bit until he finished whatever it was he was doing. Sometime he just let it sit until he was ready. As soon as he finished drinking his tea, got up from his chair, carried the dish towel into kitchen, hung it up,  while leaving his cup behind. At the same time, Sara slipped on a pain of shoes, took, her bank book out of her purse, and tucked it in the pocket of her jean jacket. Even though she disliked his idea, he advised her to keep walking if he had  a plan. He had none. He had no plan on going back out again.

I wondered whether he realized before he reached the car, that the bank was closed or not that night. I doubt it because he waited in the car for her to return, and knew the length of time it took to complete. When she did return to the car to tell him the bank was closed… “DAMN!” He said loudly and hit the steering wheel with his right palm then cursed the word. “Shit,” as if cursing the bank and his daughter for being there that night. He leaned sideways to get his wallet. He took out the money she needed and would pay her father back the next day.

He questioned if the experience of acting before thinking, had taught her anything. There were consequences to unwanted behavior and verbal influences that could lead to trouble. He had to wait and see whether she took responsibility and had respect towards her actions tool night. Upon Mary’s arrival, he said to his daughter that he would drive her to the bank after school to withdraw the money that he loaned her. Mary accepted the money then left sneering and snickering in anger down the hall again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 16, 1990

Tonight I went  on a date with David French, Abbey’s former accounting boss at Neilson and Lunch Accounting and Tax offices where she worked for fifteen years until she went out on her own.

After tonight, I told her straight out there’d be no future dares, with this man as I undressed in my bedroom with her sitting on her great grand father’s lounge chair near the closet. I eyed her carefully as I changed into my flannel night gown and contrived wall my story before she could interest. When it came to dates, she remained full of anticipation, wanting to know everything. To her, it was still a girl thing.

“Mr. French spoke constantly about his second wife as if they were still married. He spoke fondness of how they met, she was his daughter's fourth grade teacher and the cards fell quicky place from there.” I added the word cards just to the quick summary of the positives. A start of a migraine began to throb my temples before I finished, and I didn’t want to relieve it some more. “Their relationship started good before their marriage, but slowly unraveled from there.

“He blamed her constantly of being a piranha, always wanting money and be- living he was making has more because he was accountant. When he housed being a bank, she began having marital affairs, and paying for the sex without getting caught. She spent money on luxury items that he couldn’t afford. He had no children with her of four years, and he can’t stand the singer Madonna on account of one particular video reminded him of his wife.

“And this was what he kept on and on.

“At the end I commented on his hang-ups, then excused myself before the main course, to use the washroom. I grabbed my coat from the Coat Check and then left. I walked one block before hailing a cab do take me home, and that’s what you saw pulling up to the house.”

“The other accounts in the office knew of his private life and suggested he break away, refresh sort of speak.” Abbey recalled fondly. “He was under a lot of pressure.

As I walked from my bedroom to the washroom a few feet from my door to brush my teeth, he wished she hadn't brought up his wives, and fell regret for setting me up with the wrong man. After I finished with the washroom I  expressed my comment of the excuses, he used to believe another woman would be interested in hearing. Back into my bedroom, Abbey still sat in the chair. She never moved as spoke adamantly to her not go set me up with anymore dates then kissed her forehead gently and lovingly, smiled as I looked down into her blue eyes. I said I loved her, and to never speak of this nigh again.

“I want to forget it.” I said turning from her, and towards my bed.

I always dressed nice for my dates like tonight I wore a turquoise velvet two piece suit matching blazer, a white long sleeve button down blouse with ankle boot pumps, and winder accessories.

                                                                        ***

Over the years there had been many male friends, married or not, and those that knew me well enough to know my intentions and were not ashamed or feared to have me part of their lives, nor their own girlfriend or wives. My last date, before David French, was Clayton Graham a month before Christmas.  Clayton is a regular customer of the café, and a construction worker who comes in for coffee with his co-workers. At some point, we got to talking about his work and mine on and off whenever he had enough time, soon he asked me out, to an afternoon matinee and an early dinner. The dinner wasn’t at a fancy restaurant but at a small Greek restaurant south of Yorkdale mall.

Him and I went Christmas shopping a week before and then, had dinner at the Keg restaurant. Later that evening, he drove me to an ice skating rink south of Finch Avenue, and taught me how to skate. I haven't put on pair of skates in nearly seventeen years. Her older second cousins taught Abbey, so I took her or to be with her friends. It was most fun then, and more now. By the time had gone to bed, I had to take in a hot bath with Epson salts, to relieve the pain I started to feel. I was frozen by the time we left, and needed something warm to wear to heat us from the outside in. So he drove me to a Tim Horton’s coffee shop for a hot chocolate at a plaza north west of Weston Road near Finch. Since Clayton continues to coming into the Café.  After all we were friends and look our time before any serious decisions were made and final, I understood he was a newly widowed husband and father of preteens. His wife died of sleeping medication. She had trouble sleeping. Doctors call it sleep apnea. He met her at a dentist appointment, and became slightly aware of each other before going  out. I had no concern over our age differences and never made it known not out of fear, just because  I no longer had tolerance for being talked down to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 21, 1990

Each time I see school children am reminded of my first experience of register my daughter at Saint Basil Elementary and then, my own daughter, doing the same with her own son. In August of that same year either in 1968 or ’69, my mother and I took the day off work to go shopping for Abbey’s first school clothes either at Woolworth department store or Sears Roebuck’s, downtown. Shopping for my baby always took my troubles away even for a few short hours. This time. I was shopping for her first day of school, and although I felt happy at ease, it took its toll, knowing her father would never be there to watch her go off to school like many first time parents. And boy did I feel scared like I never felt before. Registering Abbey was easy with the forums to fill and copies of her updated medical letters from my family physicians in regards to allergies medical injections for the Chicken Pox, Measles and Polio; alone with any past injuries such as surgeries or broken bones.  Along with reading glasses or just eyeglasses to any eye vision problems. My mother and I met with the vice principal and listened to everything he had to say about the school’s history, rules and the practice of the Catholic faith in the community. As well as reassuring me of his strong confidence he had in his staff and in his students on a fun safe environment on which the parents could feel certain of. He read my body language and reassured me as he done to many other parents, so he was aware of how I felt and what I was going through that. On the metal desk with telephone, file folders and other stationary, stood a framed photos of a wife and four growing children at a special gathering like a wedding or a religious event. It was I lovely picture, would glance at it from to time throughout our meeting hoping be wouldn’t notice. Meanwhile, my mother remained focus at the same time stepping on my foot from under my chair, for me calm down and pay close attention. I wasn’t going to bite my nails, it was disgustingly rude, I just played with the tips of my fingers, pretending I had an itch. No nails of course, just the finger tip rubbing against each other until they furred pinkish red. When I couldn't stop, she casually changed the subject on to the same photograph I saw.

“May I say”, said my mother with a pretentious smile. “you have a beautiful family.” He thanked her warmly and said the age of the photograph, and the event celebrated.

"You must be proud.” she said honestly with a genuine smile, as she neglected for the moment of my loss, hoping this man would consider the trauma her family continued to experience, especially towards the child.

A nod.

“I had hope that my son-in-law could have been here to watch his only daughter going to school, and be with his wife for all their anniversaries.” she said again referring to such events as what was in the picture.

She hoped to gain pitiful guilt type as a father, educator and mentor, with complete understanding. I saw it as special treatment, and called her on it.

“We’ll make sure the signs of your child's behavior,” he looked me with his arms and hand securely on the desk, “that she is taken care of. We have an excellent guidance councilor that also specializes in physciatry, who also attended Ryerson University and trained at Toronto East General for many years helping children and similar needs.” Explained the vice principal.

My mother was reassured.

“How is your grand daughter now?” He asked me.

I didn’t answer. I still had fear and doubt so my mother answered.

“Abbey had no memory of her father, but the way other children look at her in the play ground, made her question her own self to tears and had shyed away from them.”

After we left the building through the front doors facing the street, everything he said and did (mannerisms of course) roamed sensibly through my head as my mother walked along side of me holding my right supportively. I heard her taking and commenting rationally about him with sheer confidence of his knowledge and experiences.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 26, 1990

Abbey  is still working from home. She been there a week now taking care of her son’s cold, while my parents are staying with my cousin’s family until their grandson is well again. On of the school’s secretaries telephone the cafe, a week go to warm me of the child’s ailments. The phone number was one the emergency contacts on his record file. Luckily Abbey was able to inform her clients of her home office, so she was able to do her work with them or in private. When I picked up my grandson from school, Charlotte was in charge until I returned. If I didn’t return for a certain reason, I always telephone the café, to let her know the reasons. Any time the nurse was not around, a digital thermometer remains in a metal first aid box on top of one of the file cabinets for the purposes of illness or injury.  Thanks to government cutbacks to the education sector in, the province many schools rarely had funding to keep the nurse’s, certain subjects and extra curricular activities. One such cancellations, were the temporary medical staff so the nurse’s or dentist had their funding cut along with anything connected. Now it’s not possible for a nurse, not even a retired nurse to volunteer because of legalities. The secretary felt his forehead with the latex gloves and checked his temperature reading. I thanked her for what she did, then finished putting on his winter attire, before walk front of the U shaped driveway as fast as his little legs and mine could carry ourselves.

How I hate these cold days. I thought disappointed. It fucks everything.

The temperature outside was just as bad inside, and the car was turned off twenty to thirty minutes. I didn’t need to wait for the temperature reading that was told me on the telephone, and I didn’t need to wait for the second read, She did it while I was ten minutes away.

How I hated  cold batteries, and a boost in the frigid cold. When I got in and buckled him up in the child seat, I started the car praying for it to start without trouble.

“It’s cold granny.” the boy said shivering.

I looked through the review mirror and saw his body was shivering a little. I felt sorry for him a sI kept my right hand on the ignition key and started up the second time.

“If only cars came with electric heaters huh buddy?” I said smiling, hoping he would do the same, just to cheer him up while I heard the engine kick in.

Thank God my father and my cousin for showing me something about cars. I climbed out opened the hood to examine the batteries, the motor and engine, and found nothing. All were still warm, the tank was half full and the outer shell was still warm to the touch.

On our back home, I drove into a Mc Donald’s Drive through for two hot chocolates for the two of us then continued on our way. The warmth of the beverage quickly cooled by the time we reached the house, just enough to drink of as if it were juice or water before pulling into the drive way. I finished mine and felt close to a fire place heaven. My grandson still had some in his cup when I turned the engine off and went to unbuckle him. Whenever winter hits as cold as this, it kills on my left ankle.  Arthritis set in a long time ago. I use a cane in the cold months, and I use it in the café. I sit or keep moving. When the pain gets really bad, I sit on the two seater sofa in the office with my foot up to work.

I helped him undress in his bedroom and in to a pair of clean pajamas and then handed him his cup of cool hot chocolate from Mc Donald’s. I suggested he climb into bed without making a mess with his cup until I returned with a cup of chicken broth mixed with instant noodles. I placed his clothes in the hamper and hung up his winter gear in the hall downstairs. While the broth boiled, I took off my boots and winter clothes before returning to the kitchen to turn on the kettle for something hot to drink. After giving him the broth, I rested on the sofa in the living room with a cup of tea and relaxed on the sofa with a sigh of relief. Holy Bleep! I thought finally. Wow what a rush.

I felt my heart race as if I had done a fifty yard dash. The first thing I did before I took off any clothes, was telephone the café to let Charlotte know of the situation. While I used the telephone on the side table next to the lamp, I forgotten the empty paper cup inside my car, just as my mother came in to the living room with a laundry basket full of clean folded clothes on the seat of her portable wheel chair. Ther were more clothes she could not bring and had to go back for another round. When doing laundry, she used the chair to support her while she walked, just like her walker. She has a Personal Support worker for personal care that also includes my mother’s laundry. She was surprised to see me. I told her about the child when the PSW asked to look in on him for my mother. I answered and said I took up some soup, and waiting for his mother to come home from work.

As hungry as I was, I helped my mother with the clothes and then, went up to the washroom for a hot bath. My body ached for the heat, but not as much as my ankle. I smelled the delicious aroma of the stew that was simmering on the stove. I saw it there when I prepared the broth and the kettle and thought how great that would taste as soon as I finished taking my bath. As soon as I took a step towards the stairs, I watched my mother walk to my father’s lounge chair, and I said I will take the clothes upstairs. Referring to the ones that may be in the basket on the machine.

“I need a soak.” I said while limping my way back up stairs.

“He’s sick?” asked my mother.

“A cold.” I answered not looking back. “The school called the café. I just got off the phone with his mother before you came in.”

After she flumped herself down in the chair, she said she will ask the PSW do her a favor before she left.
“Was she on time?” I asked concerning the weather.

“Only fifteen minutes. She telephoned her supervisor to let him know, and she she stayed the extra fifteen to make up for the time.”

My mother looked directly at me as I was a sore sight to be hold.

“You look like a worn out dish cloth.”

“Ah thanks mom.” I said with a slight sarcasm and a light laugh. “As soon as I rest up, I’ll send something my grandson.”

“Okay.” She said. “I’ll make some Jello.”

I left everything I had on where they laid on the bathroom floor, popped in a bath bomb pellet and just stepped into the tub with the water turned on, and let the world behind me go straight to hell. After the soak I soaked my ankle in Epson salts as soon as I filled my empty stomach with my mother’s delicious soup. As I opened the bathroom door with a towel wrapped around me, I heard my father’s voice through the heat vent. He was somewhere downstairs. I heard him say he had escorted the PSW to the bus stop. I hoped he wouldn’t. When I walked into my bedroom to dress, I heard his feet come up the stairs  probably to see his great grandson or to use the washroom. I kept a white plastic basin in the bottom of my closet in case I needed it to soak my foot. Anytime the child took sick, he pitied him just like he did Abbey. Another sign of guilt he continued to carry sending me off. He hated to awaken a sick child for any reason, but he saw that his great grandson was in a deep sleep, and saw the child had no socks, so he went to the top drawer and brought put a pair to place on his feet to keep them warm. I must have forgotten as I was still cold when I prepared him. The child must have fallen asleep just as the PSW checked on him. Possibly giving something for his cold. He gently felt his forehead. The child still felt warm. He feared the temperature would go higher from the last time it was checked. If there was one thing about children having a cold or the flue during extremely cold days, was their fever, and rushing them to the hospital.

“Gramdpa.” Said the child. “Is mommy home?”

“I believe so kiddo.” He said comforting as he placed the socks on his feet. “Grandma forgot. She was cold.”

Once the socks were on, he recovered his feet while asking for a cup of hot chocolate.

“Gramdma took me to Mickeys for hot chocolate on our way home.” He said.

“I know.” My father said with acknowledgement.

“Grandma coming to see me?”

“I think your mommy will is.” He said with a warm smile. “Grandma is taking a bath. Did you wanna see your big bear?”

“Grandpa, that’s ‘grampy’ bear.” He said with a giggle and a smile. Then a cough came on, and he had to do something that he did for Abbey at that age, use Vicks rub on her chest.

Before he sat down to an already set for dinner, he mentioned to my daughter about the hot chocolate. She made it as she was caught up on everything that happened earlier today and this evening. From the dinner table my daughter had said she had seen her grandfather and the PSW while on her way home, stopped along the drive way and order her grandfather back inside and then offered a ride to the PSW to the bus stop. The  weather was unfit for her grandmother’s assistant, so she waited near the bus stop in the warm car until it arrived.

“I said I would rub Vicks on his chest.” He said over herbal tea that I made for him.

I didn’t want him to catch a cold.

The same old words he used to tell Abbey at the age. Me however, he wasn’t around. When he finally was, he used war stories and mixed them with fairy tales. I recall him telling his version of the Three Little Pig. The pigs were the allies and the wolf was a Nazi soldier. Instead of telling gruesome violence, he told the story as is with the pigs houses and the wolf blowing each one down.  My mother overheard it, and got mad at him for being brainless to tell a young child another version of the actual story.

“She’s heard the Three Little Pigs before.” She once said. “She doesn’t need nightmares.”

I never quite understood how I kept waking up with nightmares until she read me more stories correctly while my father went to bed. He did say goodnight to me even warmly kissed my forehead. Abbey ate after she saw her son with the hot beverage, a cup of mom’s soup and a bowl of Jello. My mother informed her of the PSW looking in on him before she left.

"I must thank her the next time I see her.” Abbey said to her grandmother in the living room.

My grandson was treated like a king that evening and had both my parents as company until he finished eating. Abbey helped her grandmother up the stairs with my father helping her from behind. He was still a little stronger than her. Over the years he began to slow down, but he was still mobile and had help with a cane. He used the rail to support him while on his wife’s right and their grand daughter on my mother’s left. I went back to the washroom to soak my ankle and lost track of time. The nearly hot water felt so good on my sour foot that I would then need to pull on my ankle support before I joined her in the kitchen to help wash the dishes around a quarter eight. I quietly opened my grandson’s door and peered around it to see the three of them laughing at something. My father saw me from one of the two little chairs which the two elderly had sat, trying to keep their distance at the same time, I reminded both of them not to keep him awake for too long, and to make sure they take something before they too, caught his cold or worse. I went up to him with a warm smile and a kiss of thanks on his forehead and then left the room. The dining room table was almost cleared when I came down. At the door I turned back to face the child sitting up in his bed under the blankets with a plastic tray and reminded him to eat all his soup. Abbey had crushed a child’s aspirin in the broth and hoped he would finish it.  I apologized and thanked her at the same time for helping her grand parents up the stairs.

“It was very thoughtful of you to bring home an order of Swiss Chalette.” I said complementing her while placing the dishes into the machine. “The roast chicken went great with your grand mother’s soup.”

She looked at me smiling as she scraped the tiny parts of food particles in the garbage.

“Ankle sore?” She asked looking down.

I nodded. She knew the brace helped ease the pain then, suggested I put up my foot on the sofa. I asked her if she had lunch. She answered, but it wasn’t the answer I had liked. Her excuse, too busy to eat at the right time. She would either eat a banana and a hot beverage or cold, a muffin, It was always something small on the go. My parents and I heard that all before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 29, 1990

My parents never came to visit as they said they would the weather outside, became too difficult to travel, even though my cousin in law said she would drive them to the café to stay. Or possibly start an errand, than pick them up after. My grandson is still sick and he feels guilty for causing his grandparents to leave. I drove them to my cousin’s apartment, promising them I would return with their medication and other necessities they needed.  Everything including the walker were packed in one suit case, then placed in the back of my father’s old car which I now drive while placing the walker inside the trunk. Abbey took her son to the doctor's office during the week to get him checked and which over the counter medications to use. By then, my parents were already settled and were thankful for the invitation. After they were dropped off, I remained at home to complete some house work, keeping my fingers crossed that neither one of them caught a virus during this cold snap. I didn’t need to worry about them while they were gone. My cousin in law adored them.  Over the years of being around young children and raising them, the  doctors or a hospital can be a frightful experience. I never understood why exactly except for the doctor and nurse’s possibly their appearances, or maybe the masks they were while using something that looked frightening like a needle. Even now my heart goes soft whenever I hear a child cry from seeing a doctor at a hospital or at a doctor’s office.

Whenever Abbey caught a virus, she disliked doctors and always carried one of her favorite toys with her for comfort. Abbey said her son brought a Transformer toy to fiddle with while the doctor saw him. The Tammy Doll was one of Abbey’s s security toys during medical appointments. When it came to going outside, it didn’t matter where she took Baby Jennifer to show family and friends, no matter how bored the adults got for seeing it. It wore a red and while dress, with a bonnet. The doll spoke ‘mama’ any time you moved her and her eyes blinked anytime it stood or laid on is back. She held a bottle and wore white socks and booties. The doll reminded me a little bit of the doll Sara had when she was young child. Sara called the doll a Bee-Bye. It had a bottle you filled with water placed it in the doll’s mouth where it the liquid would go down the tube inside the throat of the toys, and into its cloth diaper. It too had booties and a dress at one time. My mother didn’t want her to be home sick so she purchased the same doll that her father once gave her. I think it was left behind or went missing during the packing. We were in the process of moving. It was a nice doll until I saw the back of it and the small painted face of her father. Loretta gave her the doll while I was in a Nashville hospital after learning about my husband. She didn’t want her young niece to forget what her father looked like. She wasn’t an artist nor did she know anyone that painted faces professionally. I never saw the back of the doll until the final decisions were made to move back home. Johnny saw it and asked me in the care while driving through South Virginia, whether I packed her favorite doll. He never spoke of the doll out loud since she was asleep in the back, in case Abbey woke up and cried for the doll. I didn’t need a distraction while he was behind the wheel. I nearly forgot I had left it behind, when I said where I asked Vince y hide it. He had of in basement, behind the furnace pipe in the ceiling. I wasn’t going to accept a doll with a man’s face on it in spite of my sister in law’s warped thinking, and neither did Vince, who felt bad for his sister’s behavior. Since he promised the arrange the selling of the house, and had the only keys no one including the remainders of my husband’s family, were allowed to interfere of the selling nor enter the house.

Abbey felt comforted with the new doll during her readjustment period in her grandparents home, including  talking to the toy occasionally and calling it ‘Daddy’. She remembered seeing pictures of him and the people calling him daddy to her. I had no clue as to why she called it daddy or whether she was referring it to him in some way or she saw the face on the other doll. My mother reacted by surprised confusion and said I needed to correct the child before she calls her grandfather daddy. I wan’t concerned.

“She calls it Daddy, because she believes her dad gave it to her.” I said it was a lie.

“You know that’s impossible.” My mother said straight forwardly as if trying to convince me of my sanity and her grand daughters.

I continued to explains the heart welching experience inside the living room the following morning after breakfast, with no father taking house granddaughter to the park with the doll, so we could be alone. Vince and I spoke to her about her father after I was released from the hospital. It wasn’t the easiest situation to do, and it made me cry repeatedly in front of her, unaware to her as to why I was upset. Try to explain the situation to a young child about a loss of a parent or other family members, is never easy. It’s heart breaking. Your heart dies with your soul especially when there are young children who don’t quite understand.  But how can you not weep for your loss, on be strong enough to discuss the matter in an easy way for a child to listen. So, we told a story about her dad living with God and his place in heaven. We described heaven as the Garden of Eden with Santa and the Tooth Fairy, because God could see them. Breathlessly and heart broken tears as she pulled me closer and hugged me tight, for what might have like an eternity.

“I am so sorry for not being able to be there for you my baby.” She whispered in my right ear as tears felt like rain down her creaks. “You shouldn’t have gone through this alone.”

Guilt for not knowing. guilt for not being there, guilt for not staying longer after  my husband’s funeral, guilt for not knowing the betrayal my in-laws gave me since then and, the horror that followed from their long time friends.

The days following the tension between there were thicker than ketchup as cluelessness from him actually questioned her until she could no longer hold it any longer. She went up against him in his private office. It was there, she also gave him, her ultimate demand that refused to pay attention to. She was too hurt and angry to be near him. She didn’t want him around. If she came home, she would file for divorce under emotional and physical direst. Which was a good legal reason. His attempt to come back brought on divorce papers. And she did to, also with changing the locks and visiting a psychiatrist for treatment. My mother had difficulty eating and sleeping then reminding me of myself at the time and my aunt after she lost her husband back in the fifties. My mother was seriously frightened of his mental state after the war, that she signed him for mental therapy. I used to visit him outside the building on warm days. I missed him terribly and had no idea what was happening, This was before I realized of his PTSD. After that I was told whatever my mother wanted me to hear so I wouldn’t get scared if I were told the truth. She once said my father was staying with an army couple they just bad another baby.

I never expected her to go that far. Even my aunt came to stay to look after the house instead of going to the cafe. She waited to see if the legal process was going to continue to the end, while I remained the acknowledge of the day by day care of Abbey.  Abbey was my main priority. I spent most of my time with my cousin outside the house with her, just to have a short stress free environment. I was grateful to her, until this very day. My mother could not leave the house then, not when she was needed the most. Adamant as she was, she even used this point in time, to prepare a written testimony with the divorce. My father had no arguments for the latter half of the request. His heart was already broken knowing what I was going through and needed to be supportive as a parent and friend.

Overall. I just felt sorry for those that overheard the vicious combination from his office.

The humiliation!

                                                ***

Before Abbey’s birth, I continued to read Dr Spock books, but as I continued to morn my loss in Brock County, I also needed to contend with how to deal with it, so I visited the library with Vince from time to time to read up on the matter. I mainly hooped for psychology books on the subject.

As far as I know, my daughter recalls the Jennifer doll even though I has been stored in my trunk in the basement for many years. I eventually told her the difference between the two but telling her the first time turned out to be a mess. She was infatuated by her father’s family as the saviors to come to her rescue from her on evil queen mother, by the tune she got older to remember her devilish behaviors, her memory of the first doll sounded foggy at best compared to the doll her grandmother gave her here at home.

“Aunt Loretta had my dad’s face on it? Abbey once said distraught fully, as she reflected upon members of her father’s family. Sometimes placing the final piece of the puzzle can be hurtful or joyous, depending on the outcome.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 1, 1990

Wow, speaking of ghosts from the past making a live appearances whether in my own home or, at the cafe. Since I started down this road, it has caused joyous and painful memories, and the more I continue to go back through the time tunnel,  the more ghosts will appear. 

 

As for the divorce between my parents well, my aunt and her son preceded their idea to get my parents together separately, at a bowling alley where they expressed their feelings including the negative feelings on to a ball before the deadline of their divorce. My parents were to throw the ball at the pins in anger or frustrations then discuss the issue more deeply and rationally. In general, their discussion has to conclude amicably before either one of them left the building. The two agreed to a separation. My father resided in a brand new trailer parked in the driveway, while my mother remained in the house. It was an

awkward moment but, the two refused  to allow any additional stress upon their young grand daughter and myself, while we resided under the same roof. My aunt and her son hoped their idea was successful, for my sake, which pleased me however, I added my comments before their plan, not to push the, then thanked them warmly. I was grateful. Johnny said, it was a good way to release frustration and anger. He used to do it all the time after his appointment with the psychiatrist after the post war years. No wonder he became an excellent bowler. I must compliment for all the trophies. Although this helped ease the traumatic episodes, he was thankful to his doctor for suggesting it among the list of sport activities that related to the mind, body and emotions. At least my parents made a huge effort to be genuinely social, not knowing where this would end. My complete understanding then,  was that neither one of them wanted a divorce,  because neither one of them wanted to lose me. 

Fear tormented each one secretly. 

 

                ***

Cheyenne's oldest grand daughter and great grand daughter from Cheyenne's second child, came into the cafe again today for the past three days prior, because they were 

house hunting. This time they were near the Humber Marshes. That was just one of the locations which was a little further from where Cheyenne's great grand daughter and husband's jobs.

 

The last time I saw them, was before Cheyenne's death, when her great grand daughter was very young. After the funeral, I never saw or heard where her second child had gone. Around the time I began working at the cafe, I found out where Cheyenne's first child was located, and what happened to him. I was very impressed, because I knew something positive would happen to him. He was always a hard working kid, who was taught from the very best influences. I can still remember him working at the diner with Gean from time to time.

 

No one today relives the memories of their older generation of family members. Each one took the good and prefers to honour it. Today, Cheyenne's 'off-springs' and so on, continues to live their lives as they see fit without a third party interference. I miss seeing them. I hope they are all well. There was no hate with her family. After her oldest sister died, I sent a wreath to Mount Pleasant cemetery on the day of her burial. I tele-phoned Sara's cousin who resided near the Detroit, Michigan, to inquire where Cheyenne was buried, because I didn't want to disrupt the already stricken family including Sara, who fretted for her mother, than anyone else, Gean had lost one grown child, she didn't want to lose her mother to. Sara's four cousins, the two younger from Gean's young brother, and two from Gean's younger brother, and I used to enjoy camping or going on picnics during our teen years, before Sara moved with her father.

 

Over the past twenty something years, Gean's health began to decline. The first were four strokes that affected her memory, which she eventually was diagnosed with dementia. But as the years progressed with severe arthritis setting in, and Donald jr., continued to visit her until it came time she could no longer recognize familiar faces nor, continue the normal life of independence. She forgot to shut off the oven or the stove when in use or not. She burned holes in her furniture or her bed, by forgetting to butt out her cigarette, she left candles unattended and forgot to pay her Bill's including the land-lord. The landlord had telephoned Karen, to inform her, of her mother's back rent and legal eviction notices before asking to help her on his own behalf. She was listed as Gean's emergency contact. Soon, Karen had left her brother's apartment, to move in with her mother as a nurse and care giver.

Both my parents were showing memory loss, so I hired a nurse to help with me mother's personal care, and have a Personal Support Worker for her laundry and kitchen cleaning. My mother never abandoned her kitchen for any reason. If she had her way, I think she'd want to cremated, and sit on top of the fridge, that's how passionate has

been towards that room, ever since she handed the reigns of the cafe over to me. 

 

                                                           ***

Sometime in late winter of 1974, members of Sara's family appeared, for the first time, since I had been working. Abbey was ten years old then, when they came in one be one or all at once, during Cheyenne's final days at the was hospital with pneumonia. I was either in the kitchen working or, in the office talking on the telephone to food suppliers for refills, when informed me of their unexpected visits. On the first day of their arrival,

Charlotte placed some dirty dishes from the sink into the dishwasher, while I swept the floor, and kept my staff in order as the prepared the food for the customers. Charlotte glanced up from the end of the counter behind her, where more dirty dishes were stacked, to look out the window to the dining area, to see Sara and another person sit them-selves down at an empty table. My hands shook nervously. Oh my GOD! I thought shockingly. 

They hadn't come ine since Gean and Jospeh had separated. That was a long time ago. At times Donald jr., may come in for a hot beverage or a cold one and then, leave, but only if he was in the area. My hands continued to shake as I walked towards the window with the broom while my staff took brief notice of the situation in concern as they tried to keep in pace with the work they were doing without being fully distracted. Charlotte saw the slackers, and raised her voice sternly, to focus on their own individual jobs.

 

It was her mother who was with Sara. She was using a wheelchair, an evil device her mother once claimed would take her mobility away, as it would her own mother. And yet, her mother never used a walker or a wheelchair. Gean hated the chair, because she felt it took away her independence. The same beliefs her mother had. I saw unhappiness on her face. Of course, the time in which this all occurred, would never enlighten any mother. When I approached her,  a light smile appeared on the mask she wore to covering up her true emotion. I doubt she recognized me during those visits, and that was okay however, Sara would keep me up-dated away from her mother or any other member of her family overhearing. I hugged her each time and said I was praying for them. I was to. Her chair was parked where a regular chair would be, with her daughter sitting very close beside her. The two were waiting for Karen who was to arrive not long after them.

On one occasion during Gean's visit, she asked who I was, and how I knew her youngest daughter, so I answered. She also noticed the ring on my 'married ring finger's, of my left hand.

"Married?" Gean asked smiling.

I was about to answer when, Karen came in, not know-ing the conversation or, who I was except for being a waitress. 

I left the table for another menu, so she could relax and then return to write down their orders. I noticed Gean squeezing Sara's hand lovingly but mostly, for strength and support, as she had done, three days before. I placed the menu in front of Karen, then asked again for their orders. I wrote one coffee, a tea, and a hot chocolate. As I wrote, I glanced at the three ladies if they wanted some-thing else when, Gean inquired of my husband and children.

I smiled and nodded silently, then left the table the second time to get their beverages. While I was gone, Gean looked at Karen to ask if she remembered my father being discharged from the miliary with Joseph. As usual, she twisted the story to her incorrect beliefs while Karen's concern were on the hospital, and, not the outside world. But she wanted to be at ease for a short time, even outside the hospital, which she thanked Karen with a hug and asked if her daughter remembered Sara's author friend from school. Karen still had no memory. If she had, she did not say only, about the doctor's request for 

another chest x-ray. 

                                                             ***

The Lord gave Gean one more chance,  and although my heart goes out to her, from the conversations I've had with Sara, it sounds as if Gean is going fine. She remains interactive with other residents and staff, and participates with all the activities they have. Sara said her mother still plays cards, sings to certain old country songs she knew, and is a member of the Knitting and Crochet Club. Remembering her stamina and complete assertion towards medical devices and nursing establishments, always came back to haunt Sara as a reminder of the same wishes, that never wanted, nor hoped for, for her father. Somehow, Gean's regrets came no matter adamant she was to both, and her grown children, those that were left, carried the worst part of the burden than when she resided independently for so long. After her first two strokes, I warned Sara, to be prepared for a heart attack worse than before. Because, her mother continued to smoke like a chimney.

                 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 3, 1990

 

The Parson family consisted of Donald Sr., and his wife Gean, and their six children: Cheyenne, Lester,

Dinah, Donald Jr., Karen and Rylie. Other than Rylie, I think he might have been the only Parson who eventually became aware his father's origins after he moved in with him and his new wife Lana. Both sides were poor. Gean's parents arranged her marriage to Donald Sr., to prevent a snub by their friends and family. Past occupations, to medical history, were unknown to everyone including Grant except her younger sibling(s) believed their oldest sister, was ignorant not to have known. If this remained hidden, I can say the family did a good job including, Cheyenne's censored disgrace and humiliation upon the family with her step father Donald's seductions. If there was one thing about these two women, Nathan Hawthorne's, the Scarlet Letter, might have a stamp upon them, or the definition of.

 

TABOO: a social or religious custom prohibiting or forbidding discussion of a particular practice or forbidding association with a particular person, place, or thing.

 

Throughout their marriage, Gean and her family received plenty of unexpected surprises, to which she had to learn very quickly at a young teenage wife, to manage house duties, a wife and, employment. She had no choice, to take the good with the bad.

 

                                                    ***

 

The Gaudet family came from New Brunswick, both Emma and her husband, raised six children; two girls, and four boys. The last child a son, was young when his father died. Like the Yaymen and Parson families, the Gaudet's were poor and strong Christian religion, and raised from small communities, in various parts of the province, where employment was acceptable, the family moved the same way the others had done. Emma's husband once worked in the lumber field and side line mechanic. I think this was where Joseph first took interest in engineering and in electronics. His entire life remained on electronically work, and craftsman and possibly interior design.

Emma's husband met with his brother in Boston, where his brother found employment outside of his birth country. Sometimes over the three day reunion, news of a hotel fire hitting the family, by telegram, causing calmness to chaos and uncertainty. Both young men were critical by the time they reached the nearest hospital. Emma's husband died before her brother in law, and it was he who requested the doctor in attendance, to send the telegram to his family up north. Be-fore the weekend ended, Emma's brother in law had died. How quickly ones life can change in a blink of an eye. Like Gean's mother whose life changed repeatedly, Emma's life had to consist of her family the same way hers did. Only Emma relied upon her-self to support her family, a roof over their heads, and food into their bellies. I think the only option, was to reconnect with the lumberjacks, not only to feed them breakfast, but to assist in a short-term stay, out of respect for their job and, her late husband. She charged them food and board if necessary,

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 7, 1990

Since my grandson started school, the cafe has been his safe haven like it used to be for Abbey. Anytime his mother was busy with other clients and not around, he would either be in the office whenever the dining area was too busy or, out front with me at the closest booth near the cash register counter. Either I or, someone I knew well, will pick him up from school, then drop him off here, where he completed his school work if he had any, or be kept occupied by one of the activity toys I kept in the office. Back when Abbey was his age, there were no electronic toys, only toys that created the mind like Lego Blocks or Play Dough.

Months after I took the reigns, the regulars had noticed small changes like a huge colorful banner welcoming them, over the kitchen window, and new framed photos of the city's attractions like Casa Loma in Spring or Summer, High Park in cold or warm weather, and decorative table cloths with matching placemats under a thick sheet of heavy glass with a glass floral vase on each, and ceramic shakers. I also added a child's menu, children's activity placemats, decorative plastic cups with matching a lids and green plastic straws. Along with the placemats came a small box of new crayons, box of four small sticks for the children to keep with the disposable cups. I even added learning activity books, that my aunt bought from clearance stores in case the child didn't want to play on the mats. 

 

On days like today, I recall all the times Abbey used to wait until I finished before taking home. I miss those days, because I spent most of my me with her in between the over crowds like I do with my grandson. Throughout her early years, I realized that one day my baby was going to no longer need me the same way she used to. I just hated being parted from her, even though I had to let her explore her own world eventually. When that time came, oh Lord, the years of hell. But when she came to join me, I was so happy and watchful. At home, I couldn't help but hug her, and watch her play, whether inside or outside if the weather was nice enough.

 

Remembering always tugs at my heart strings. Questions of whether all had occurred, and was this my life until now, the answers are all there. Recalling certain memories out of the air or from something that reminded me of something or some-one. I think we all are like this, after Joseph passed away, the memories rushed in like the water breaking its dawn, and it was the same after I lost my husband even now, while I started this new journal. Too many ghosts. Yester-day had a peaceful quality time with Sara,  I telephoned her from the office of the cafe, to join me for a slice of her father's birthday cake, and coffee when-ever she had time, and bring along family. I bought an ice cream cake with his name in blue icing, his favorite color and, had the age of how old he would have been. Her son, now in his mid twenties, attended, along with their friend and step uncle. Her son used his

late grandfather's bedroom with their kitten that Greory Brown gave the child now, her son is rarely home, but still officially remains on the lease until he finds another place to live.

During our short time yesterday, I felt more at ease for what I did, and she felt it to. Be-fore she left, she thanked me with a hug and, mentioned a possible get together.  All of our friends. Ya see, the ghosts never leave, they hibernate until something comes along, an remakes them. That's what happened yesterday, and this is what's going on today. You see them, but they don't see you, because they are part of your past, which you can never fully return to only, move further away as you yourself, continue to move ahead. I had no fear, just a strange feeling of being watched. Each time I move, I see someone I once knew. Each ghost has a different face but, he/she are there, like Stephan. He pops in any time a familiar song is played on the radio in the kitchen. None of them stayed. For example, I saw Sara's father several times in and out of the kitchen. He once added the new line of electrical wiring from the electrical room to the new power box in the storage room. When Stephan's overly obsession over powered him, the images of his behavior began to frighten me in my dreams, waking me from time to time. He still had that 'Ritchie Cunningham' Teddy Boy (auburn) hair, crystal clear, tropical blue eyes, and oblong facial structure. There were plenty of times I had to look twice or more at men with the same descriptions, be-fore I was able to do or say anything,  just to make sure I was not going insane. It was frightening.

Whenever I took a coffee break, I wrote how i felt on my order pads, then kept them until I saw my psychiatrist. At the bottom of each page i was advised to write

HE CANNOT HURT ME ANYMORE and then, step back to re-read the words I had written. This was to help my already weakened human psychic.

My daughter ran into my bedroom in the middle of the night after waking her accidentally, seeing me as white as a sheet with sweat and a blank stare from the opened door, she knew i had a night-0mare, and walked slowly to the side if my bed. She remembered seeing the same reactions growing up, so she comforted me until I calmed down, then

suggested for me to focus on a side project away from the cafe and law office.

"Publish your journals."

She suggested, while still holding my right hand gently.

There were too many ghosts I preferred to leave dead. If I can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 8, 1990

The thought of a book seemed to question my consciousness. My subconsciousness for concern, loudly stayed NO!

Unfortunately, the first of the two lost. I wrote anyway. The question was, where to start. I had so many journals and diaries from my younger years, where do I begin, from my origins or, where Stephan came to wreck havoc amongst the innocent.

After the rush hour lunch break, whatever that was these days with intervals of a crowd, to about half, just  dwindling in, I spoke to Charlotte whenever she had a spare moment. In the meantime, I referred to the inventory pad she gave me, and the costs, before using the telephone. During that time, I looked at the punch cards of my staff, and the log book, to see if each name matched, including the time each one had started whether late or on time. The usual routine. When she did come in, she pulled up a chair beside me, and saw what was in front of me. I heard her come in and smiled.

"Problem?" She asked with concern.

I looked next to me and shook my head a little, "Not with this," as I said pointing the led pencil in my right hand to the book in front of me.

I took in a deep breath then exhaled to relax, when she said,

"I know that look," She said. "I'll be right back."

"Make yourself some-thing, and a grill cheese with our home made tomato soup." I said as I closed my eyes, and relaxed against the high back rest, wondering how to proceed with a huge task. Writing a project that Abbey had in mind, took up a lot of time, and when was I to do this, at work or, at the law office?

 

I never saw Charlotte disappear, nor heard her come back, all I did was held the pencil loosely in my hand, and smelled the aroma from the kitchen. This was the worst perks of this job. You're always want to eat even when your stomach can't add any-more. Upon her return, she held a tray with two beverages; a coke for me, and a tea for her, and the soup I had requested. She had a chicken burger and onion rings. Balancing a tray with one hand, and clearing a space for it to be placed with the other, is not that simple. I opened my eyes as soon as I smelled the soup. I thanked her as she sat down beside me again, then asked me kindly, what was on my mind. I spoke about Abbey's idea, and the nightmares I'd been having as she took her tea cup from the tray before the rest. As she squeezed her tea bag, Charlotte agreed my daughter was right.

"Take those dreams, and use them to your advantage." She said confidently. "He's dead right, so write the FUCK you want. I once told your mother, of this idea, whenever you were able to."

Wow, shocker. I thought.

I wasn't angry, just caught off guard, as I slowly took the glass from the tray, after she had took her tea. And my mother agreed to your idea. Again I thought, this time with interests. Humm, I wondered what she would have said.

Cheyenne, who once suggested to her youngest sister long ago, that Sara had a story to tell instead, I wrote it, thanks to Sara's permission.

Anyway, the reality of how to spend my time, still had no answers as we ate and talked the subject through.¹

"I can't spilt myself in three. I am needed here, the office, and at home."

Hey, this is no excuse, only one other person knows my schedule, and that's is Abbey, who continues to be amazed on how I cope, and have enough time for myself. She even complained that I was using time at the office, just to get out of having a social life. She was referring to men. Charlotte looked at me the same way my mother used to anytime I made up an excuse. When parents didn't believe their kids rationale,  they knew whatever story, had to be a poor excuse, and that's what Charlotte gave me today.

Oh please don't tell me, to take time off or, I've been working too hard, I thought dreadfully, because I sure don't need to hear it.

"Work as much as you can," She reasonably

suggested. "and not to worry, cause I will take over whenever you a break, for me to step aside."

As much as I liked the idea, it didn't mean I had agreed to do it right away. I had to wait and see. I had to consider all my options.

                                                      ***

Upon the regular work weeks since the holidays, my schedule remains the same. I liked it that way, and this was before the ghosts and the night-mare troubles.

Gee thanks, I thought again, another worry I had to consider. I rolled my eyes after she cleared the dishes and left. I felt exasperated, and a little frustrated to even accept they were right, and if my mother had spoken to me then, I knew she would have been right to.

While this played in my head, I returned my focus on the tasks on my desk, and the telephone calls I had to make from my inventory. I hate doing this shit. Sometimes, I'd be on the phone for minutes at a time either waiting for someone in charge of the ordering or, wait-ing for someone, that knew how to speak good English. I've had plenty of screw-ups from an idiot, that didn't know how to speak the language or, to spell something correctly, to send it with the order. There were usually errors after I received them, with me fuming on the telephone to the same suppliers, to reconnect the order.

Even before I closed up for the evening, I had a headache, that quickly became a migraine just before I stepped over the threshold of my house.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 11, 1990

I took time to locate my old journals and diaries that were inside one of my trunks I had used to bring the small stuff home from Brock County. There was no way I was going to take more than one day off from work, to search for the books, so I took one day off, then waited until I felt able to do find the rest. Okay, I was slacking. Procrastinating. Stalling the search. If I went through those old trunks, I would find more ghosts, to which I had already faced a long time ago, and buried. Since my conversation with Charlotte, I tried to put my dreams into words be-fore I looked into any of my books. So whenever I had a short break, I took my pencil and a writing pad from the desk drawer in the office, and began writing, while Charlotte took over. If I was at home, and awoke the following morning, I immediately picked up the small writing pad and pen from the side table, and began to write before I every-thing slipped my mind. Which did happen, no matter if it were a dream, or a nightmare, my brain eventually forgets them as the day progressed. Or, they remained, depending on what kind they were.

I don't know how much I wrote within the time frame I had, only that each one was kept in folder with my name on it, and locked in the top drawer under the table top. Tonight, I wrote outside the dreams, I started with my in-laws disowning me after my husband Billy had died, and the only member of his family to support me, was his cousin Vince. Abbey had already been told on how her father and I had met, and, about Stephan Cassidine. She never seen him. She knew nothing about him, not even his death in the Don Jail.

 

My daughter and I watched the eleven o'clock news together on the sofa with my father, and his floor lamp still on next to his chair in the dimmed living room. At times when he was fully relaxed, he would fall asleep or almost, this time he almost, while my mother was in bed. It was sure good to have them home again after my grandson's cold disappeared. All three of us missed them. When the story about legislating a private oil company, my father jerked in his chair to listen, then cussed like a mad trucker repeated, even over the news about a tire fire near Hagersville, Ontario.

"WE'RE GONNA GET OUR ASSES BURNED!" He criticized loudly, with extreme bitter-ness.

He went on about the 'good ole days', of when the cost of fuel was better than present day, and how one tank lasted longer, compared to it being a corporate money scam. Abbey tried to weigh in on his comment, until I looked up from the recipe book my mother and Aunt Maggie used for the cafe, to lean closer to her and say in a low tone, to just let him say whatever he wanted, because such topics have always been a lost cause to anyone that went up against him or, spoke reasonably with either an agreement or disagreement. There were plenty of arguments then and now. Look at how far we've come in general. You know, a lot times I wonder what Billy would have thought of all this. It was nice to watch television with the family, even if it was the news. Either Abbey, or I, had too many chances to be together, but her job and social life , interfered yet, her number one priority has always been her son.

 

Sara and I remain close. We try to get together as often as we can, even with our remaining friends. After her father's passing, I took some time off to spend time with her, and being reintroduced to her mother, who stayed with her for a week and a half, with Karen, who visited regularly throughout her mother's safety at Sara's appointment. If I wasn't with her at the funeral home, her friend was, while I took care of the house, and whatever Gean needed. Her and I shared her bedroom. She slept in her bed, while I slept on an air mattress on the floor. Her mother slept on the sofa, with an empty roll-away bed against it in case she rolled off. I placed two heavy barbells that Sara's friend used, to prevent the bed from sliding away, an extra set of brakes, which relieved Karen from her worries. Sara's son, remained mostly in his bedroom, and attended school during the day. Sara felt relieved I was around, even though her mother and Karen, weren't quite too keen on the subject. When-ever a heated argument occurred with Gean and Karen against Sara's friend, I took her son for a walk, to relax while, Sara's friend defended himself against false accusations. It was a disgrace, humiliating and disrespectful. No matter how much I reassured her friend to ignore it, I under-stood the reason to fight back. I had to do it after my husband's death except, I didn't actually have a strong supporter until after .  came into the picture. He put me first no matter what the sacrifices were, and this was what Sara's friend had to do. 'Think of Sara.' I remember saying. Their hurtful insults brought me back, and I wished I could have spoken out except, Sara needed to do with my strong support. Her footing was shattered so now the tremors began and it started, when she telephoned her mother. Not thinking as I had done after I heard about Billy, I tele-phoned my mother long distance at the hospital without thinkng. Something was going to happen with Sara, and I sensed it, but could do nothing until it was time. Whenever that was. From my correct recollections, Sara and her friend were out doing the last of her father's personal assists, the eye of the storm wrapped around her. Like the thrashing winds of debris everything that occurred up until that warm sunny September afternoon, all that was swelled in the wind as Sara tele-phoned Karen who was at her apartment with Sara's son and I, my dear friend demanded Karen to get HER mother, be-fore she returned home or, be countable to the police, for trespassing. Again, not thinking clearly, as the rationalization would soon hit as soon as the storm blew through after-wards. At the door where I stood, Karen held on to her mother's chairs in the hall, and advised me to leave before Sara kicked me out on my ass. She went on, "She's gonna regret kicking an old lady out on her ass. A non Christian act."

Upon Sara's return, I mentioned what her sister had said as her son ate alone at the  dinner table with his homework. I planned to eat as soon as I saw Sara. She didn't want to behave this way but it was all too much to bear.  Trying to arrange a funeral, finishing her father's personal affairs, and listening to the severity of Karen and Gean's, had driven Sara to the edge of the cliff. No family member should behave badly towards another, and I am referring to both sides however, Karen should've been more understanding towards her youngest sister's position,  since she to, had experienced the dame loss of her own father, years earlier. Losing Billy, and have only one member, was better than none, but not having any of Sara's family to lean on, had no real forgive-ness. Although she has, like I have towards my in-laws, the genuine forgiveness needed time.

As for me, here's what I can provide with my own memory of this tragic moment. As I've said, my thoughts were mostly on Sara as you already know however, I watched the two pairs of eyes watching her son very carefully and curiously yet, still has no clue who the boy really was. They'd spoken politely to him, asking the usual questions, his name, age, where he went to school and, if he had a 'little girlfriend'. He answered as he stayed out of his mother's way. He felt the tension and he heard her crying at night since the news, and stayed with me most of the time when I wasn't needed. I babysat more than help with the last of the affairs. That was okay. I knew I was needed, and I was glad to be there. He once spoke to me before he fell asleep on how sad he felt for not been able to with his mother on a deeper level to console her. I tried to keep his mind occupied, and his doubts and fears about what would happen to her, to a minimum. On the day of his grandfather's death, he was at school while his mother remained alone at home in hysterics. Her friend was at the hospital to allow her to sleep. The two of them spent almost twenty four hours at the hospital since he had been admitted almost three weeks before. Mean-while, her son remained with Lindsey and her parents in their two story attached house, located two blocks south from where him and Sara now lived with Joseph. They were more than pleased to accept the boy, just as long as she kept them up-dated on Sara's father's progress. Lindsey dropped the child off at school on her way to work, while her father picked the boy up after. The three of them were more than willing to help, just as long as Sara never forgotten to talk to her son. As if that ever happened.

Lindsey telephoned me at the law office from her lunch hour at work, to inform me of Joseph. There were two places she knew I would be, the office or the cafe. I nearly dropped the receiver. I couldn't believe it. I was fully aware of his serious health issues, but it never fully occurred to the serious connections to his shorten four years life span, had to do with the landlord. My thoughts were on my friend's family, so I left the office without a word, leaving unfinished work on the desk in lawyer's private office, and rushed out of the building to be by Sara's side.

I was in her apartment by the Sara got back to the building with her oldest brother, their mother and Karen. None of them knew I had a spare key except for Sara and her friend. And boy, were Lester and Karen were surprised to see me. Joseph gave me a copy years ago, just after his dog had been put to sleep. I didn't mind visiting when neither Sara nor her friend could, on account of various errands between the two, in taking care of each family. I dropped by on my way home from work or, from home. I guess this was another part of my social life. This time, Sara needed a baby sitter for her son, and to keep a close eye on Karen. She did not trust her, and knowing how she felt about Joseph, the inconsiderate thoughts and behavior, wouldn't have surprised me. However, I did not want Sara's son to be around it. As soon as Karen helped her mother in the wash-room, I asked Lester where Sara's friend was, and he spoke that their friend (the one in the same), stayed at the hospital to retrieve Joseph's personal items and, to speak to the reverend about blessing the body with Catholic prayer. I nodded.

That is exactly what Joseph wanted. He would be pleased. I thought.

He said he got off work for this emergency, drove to get his family then, drove to pick up Sara from her apartment, then over to the hospital, so they could be with her, and for him to talk to the nurse on duty at the time of his step father's passing and the doctor in charge, about the cause of death, before visiting him in his hospital room. There, he saw Sara's friend standing outside the room, waiting for the reverend to pray for Joseph. I would say, 'the last rights', but to me, something as personal and significant, deserves a better title, a prayer or a blessing of the body. After all, Joseph didn't die in jail, in some horror fiction way, he passed peacefully without pain in his sleep.

"What happens now?" I asked politely from the end of the sofa.

"I'd like my mother to rest here until we get back, if that's okay?"

Okay. I didn't mind but of course I had nothing to say, this was Sara's residence.

"Your nephew is at a friend's house, that Sara and I knew from high school." I said with reassurance.

"He's safe, and the only funeral near here, is Wards." I continued on. "With those two at the hospital (referring to Sara's friend and Sara) long hours, there was no one here to take care of him so I'll be looking after him and the apartment, making sure everything here gets done until Sara kicks me out."

The last part was a joke. Humor to break the tension. He smiled back and yet, under the strong exterior, I saw great sadness and emptiness. And yet, he felt relieved to know there was another friendly face from the past to ease his worries. Jospeh was no ordinary man, he was Lester's roll model in many ways, a friend, a father, and a mentor. He was there when Donald Sr. wasn't. Lester lost a friend that day. He mentioned Rosars Funeral parlor, on account most of their family used this specific location for funerals however, how was his youngest to get down there and, be around for her son. No argument there except, the distance from point A to B played an important factor. Rosars was farthest comparison to Wards by bus travel and time. The boy would be in school during the day, which made the situation acceptable for her to do business outside their home and be a mom to him their home they once shared with Joseph.

 

Although Karen and Lester spoke to their mother about what was going on prior to their drive northward, the elderly woman, still reminded me of my own mother. It was heart breaking, even more so that day, and so on, since she rarely saw Sara throughout the seven days stay, minus Saturday and Sunday.

Being in strange some-one else's residence was pressure enough, but not knowing about the husband she was still married to, must have been overwhelming. I'm still not sure the full reason, only that she was his wife, and belonged by Sara's grieving side. I would have wanted her at the funeral service where the minister took charge of the religious or faithful aspects, and not where she might felt uncomfortable. Even I saw this, and tried to make her feel comfortable and wanted.

"I feel better knowing she's here right, cause my sister still has her dad's things." He said with regards and reassurances as we heard the bathroom door open, and the women were all prepared to come out.

After the all clear,  Lester went inside the washroom, followed by Sara, who had just found clothes for father to wear one last time. If she was going back to the funeral home within minutes of arrival, I kindly advised Karen to get something for her sister, except she  rudely interrupted me before I had the chance to finish, so she could tell me in a snooty sarcastic tone, that her sister was a big girl, and can afford to buy her own stuff.

What a real bitch! I thought.

Lester stepped into his late father's bedroom, to help Sara pack his clothes that were laid on the bed. She crossed the hall to the washroom at the same time I smiled kindly at her mother, who asked me the same question she once asked many years before in the cafe.

"Are you a friend of Sara?"

She smiled warmly.

I nodded.

"I see you care very much for her." She said again, then reached out her arm from her, to touch my right knee with comfort. A tear came to her eye, "You and you friend, take good care of MY daughter."

Is it me I thought with curiosity, or is she referring to her own last days coming?

So I mentioned Sara hadn't eaten nor drank

anything since she heard the news about her dad. Sara was running on adrenaline without even realizing it.

From the kitchen where Karen was making herself a tea, she stepped half her-self out of the kitchen door, and loudly told me, to mind my own business.

"What are you doing here anyway?"

I never answered, I never even took another glance. I didn't have too, Lester reappeared, and demanded Karen to keep her mouth shut in his father's house. She huffed angrily back towards the stove and the water kettle, while Lester returned to the bedroom to finish. I mentioned to their mother the recurrence of that day, to the death of my own husband. I never saw the ghosts. That was a relief, but it came to a complete surprise even though I spoke of it what seemed, a long time ago. I was able to sleep during this distress, and still be there in case her son woke with night-mares. My strength gave Sara the courage she needed.

Gean had not slept in her late husband's medical bed that was bed similar to the one she used at her place of residence, because I believe Karen must have discouraged her from using it. His was solid, clean, and much lighter to move,  compared to the heavy beds in the hospital. Karen believed Joseph's bed had bodily excrements in it and, that there were urination on the clothes on the floor.

On the day the two women had left, I telephoned Lester at home on behalf of Sara, to mention where his mother slept, and why. If it weren't for the amount of strain already, he would have said something strongly against what had happened like being responsible for his mother's care, and believe me, she was treated like gold, the same way my mother has, and even I disliked Gean sleeping on the sofa with a roll-away bed to protect her fall except, that's Karen had wanted, she reassured the wheels on the bed with heavy tools she took from the storage closet in the apartment. If I actually saw him in front of me as I spoken to him of Joseph's portable car jacks propped under the bed against the wheels, he would be shaking his head distrustfully and, his face would have turned red before I finished. During the hours Karen was there, she made tea for herself, and a coffee for her mother. If there was some-thing she wanted to buy for the two of them, she walked up the street, while Gean watched television or spoke to me. Basically, filling in the blanks that probably Karen or Donald Jr had missed. I can't say. I am only guessing plus, she did have lots of questions.

The only times she spoke to me, was when her daughter wasn't around. She had bo fear of her, she just couldn't under-stand the woman half the time especially, at times of her anxiety and disparity, like she used to have in the years past, forgetting now, that Gean was not the mother Karen remembered, and it frustrated her even more unintentionally.

On the first day I heard about Billy, not only was I devastated, I could not eat. I literally had no appetite. I recall a nurse hooking my wrist up to an intravenous set up so I could eat in order to keep up my strength to feed my new born.

Sometime after Gean and Karen left, the storm passed, and all that remained, was the Catholic service, and the burial two months after. Before I left a week after the  viewing, I took the boy shopping, and spend over a hundred dollars on groceries for him and his mother, be-cause I was aware of the financial burden after the bills and rent were paid. We took a cab home from Jane and Wilson area, where I gave a five dollar tip to the driver for helping us load and unload the trunk of the car. I did this willingly to make sure both of them were fed, and promised them I would double check on both of them. I wish I could have stayed longer, but I was needed at one  important job, possibly the second. Saying goodbye at the worst time, makes you feel even worse on account of you feel the pain more. I had to return. But having a friend around them, made me feel at ease. Nothing mattered than Sara and my own family. Charlotte took charge of the cafe, I spoke to her on the pay phone at Brad-stock Road, but the lawyer I filled-in for when I left, wanted my head on a platter. I expected this much, and I sincerely apologized on the telephone, except I had to do more to regain his trust, if ever I could. My mind wasn't on these things. These were not the time, nor the place.

Lindsey telephoned once a day to talk to Sara. If she couldn't, I spoken to her then, her boy asked to her  about her grown up nieces children. They had met him, and he liked the company.  He made me laugh the day I picked him , the day after Joseph had passed. I never told him. Her friend did, because I figured the news would be easier from him, after losing a dad nearly fifteen years prior to the mother. Although Sara's son never had an actual dad, her friend became an uncle, big brother and father figure along with Joseph, who was more than just a grand father. Lindsey asked to keep her and Sabrina updated on the funeral, both women hoped to attend, if work schedules didn't get in the way. I hugged them both on behalf of Sara, and thanked them graciously as well. Giving a child to older people and a grown child, was very difficult on them, and Sara, but she had no one else. Sabrina was working. Her father went places like, visiting family or shopping. He couldn't take care of him either.

My thoughts were on the child and the two women back at Sara's apartment. Neither of these women seen him or spoken to him accidently on the tele-phone, because neither Joseph, nor his daughter wanted the three women (Gean, Karen or Cheyenne, to be even connected to the young child. Up until her father's death, Sara would still be strongly against it, but she needed her mother, even a tiny part of her. Just because she had no memory of her, that didn't mean this woman was a robot.  And it was that genuine feeling of support she reached for.

"Gamps is gone aint he?" He asked with his head low, and his back pack over his shoulders as we walked up the slanted down hill driveway.

I spoke a nod of answered with empathy. "Yes."

"That's why you came?" He asked with understanding.

I nodded again.

"Yes".

Even i couldn't look at him for fear he would cry. I said to him, that it was okay to cry if he wanted to, after all, him and Joseph were very close.

"Gamps wants me to be strong."

"Okay." I said in a low encouraging tone.

There was a pause. Silence between us, until we reached the bus stop on Weston Road and Graydon Avenue. On the bus ride back, I mentioned the two women including Karen's naughty mind. I said naughty as in unhealthy towards children like him, and she had two long before him, but never behaved badly in front of them until the moved away. My laughing came towards the building, and his stories, which I think was an ice breaker, to remain calm until he saw his mom. Just think, the only ones that were aware of the child, never spoken of him to the three women, or Lester and Rylie, would have broad-casted their own humiliations, topping the Scarlett Letter. Whether each one had hanging over their heads, their brothers had no fear of them. But I doubt there was anything. They just wanted to protect the boy.

 

Sara never cooked. She had no time. Karen never cooked plus, she never knew how. Only my opinion. I cooked and cleaned like Joseph had. May-be, while Gean watched television or asked me questions about Sara. I noticed a few things out of place or missing. The pendulum in the grandfather clock had snapped from the hinge that rotated it from side to side, was on the bottom, the top hinge on one of the two doors of Joseph's personal floor cabinet had been dislodged, and the broken hair pin stuck in the door lock of Joseph's bedroom. Gean had seen the framed photos of Joseph, Sara and the child, with friends, and asked if there were any photos of her in the photo albums. It was awkward to say without Sara there, but easy enough to talk about, when Karen wasn't around. I can say, that Gean did get all the attention at the viewing of her late husband. I'll never forget coordinators at the funeral home on the day of the viewing. Neither one of them were aware of the woman's medical condition, or her  complete history about the man in the coffin, other than what she was told. It was Lester that mentioned to two of the coordinators about his mother's memory loss and, the uncontrollable personal issues attached. While I was with Sara, I thought about Karen's destructive behavior just for step father's rings. I couldn't stop thinking about it.  Gean saw the rings and commented on them. I said she had purchased them for Jospeh on behalf of their daughter. It was Sara's gifts to him. Karen believed they belonged to her mother because she was still his wife. If Karen desired them, Gean had suggested to make inquiries. Except, the woman wasn't invited, due to her long strong arrogance towards him that she never gave one ounce of consideration towards how her youngest sister. Sara's son stayed mostly with me, and her friend throughout the day. Anytime Gean went near her friend to either leave the room  for any reason, or return or enter it again, she looked at her grandson smiling, then asked for his invitation to sit with her so he wouldn't go back to her daughter's friend. I assumed maybe Karen had said something, but I was mistaken, so I figured Lester's youngest son, or probably Cheyenne's great grand daughter. Sara's son told friend and myself, that the old lady was a demon, while he return his friend with his toy. Sara had no concen what Gean had said.

"Go keep our buddy company. Show him your transformer Mayria gave you today."

The child spoke to his friend and called her a demon, then played with the transformer toy that my grandson gave him to help Sara's son get through the day. He showed his friend who liked the same thing.

Actually, it belonged to my grandson, who thought Sara's son could use it to chear him up, so he shared it with Sara's friend, who also liked the toys and the cartoons.

The final goodbye had been the killer as I'd known it to be. As Lester stood beside his sister with his son on his aunts right, the two held her as she bent over the open casket to kiss her father's cool forehead, with heavy tears in her eyes. I saw her place a rose in her father's crossed hands at the same time, bringing tears to Sabrina, Lindsey and my eyes. We couldn't hold it until after we left the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 13, 1990

Sara came into the cafe alone while her son was in school, and her friend attending a medical appointment, that she wanted to thank me for her father's birthday, and she would have come back sooner, but she's been in physical pain that didn't do much good for her during the winter months. Hey, she wasn't the only one. I think it's still called, 'growing pains' in a different format.

 

It took five years be-fore any connections were made, and it was Sara that made the first move towards her family. She had a good reason to cut them off, by then her mother no longer remembered her. Since then, their relationship appeared to be more of an acquaintance than what it once was. I believe neither one of them knew how she felt. Strange as this was, she has been calmer, grateful spiritually grateful. Sara returned to Church services on Sundays, and the only time she could not attend, was due to her physical pain, so their friend attended with her son. Joseph grew up in a Catholic family, so he attended church along with his daughter. Before the religious ceremony before the day of the burial, Sabrina and Lindsey, Lester, myself, Sara's friend, and two of Joseph's best friends; Gary and Barbara. Neither Karen, Gean nor any other family member were invited except for Rylie and Lester. Recall Sara's friend saying Rylie couldn't fly to Toronto from Alberta on account of lack of funds/money (the investment he had in the house), and his job refusing absence, or so the story goes. However, his death affected his step son more than what any one except his wife knew. It must have been a hard smack in the face. It knocked him unexpectedly, because even Rylie's heard the sorrow in his uncle's voice. He asked his mother to talk to him. According to his soon-to-be-wife, Rylie stayed alone, drank heavily, didn't want to be bothered, and stopped repairs to the house. He took time off after hearing the news and just faced the realization of life without the man he secretly called dad.

 

                                                                 ***

After Cheyenne's untimely death, the relief and grief spunned around in Joseph's head like a blender on high speed as the reality of the past and present, affected him profoundly. No matter the kind of relation-ships between him and each one of his step children, he still loved them. And the years of his youngest daughter being around her, frightened him. He was aware of Cheyenne's history, and he didn't like Sara being influenced by it. Quiet. The years of silence was great, until Cheyenne made friends with two unstable tenants: Tahtiana and Theresa. Unaware of the plan to still have her own sister de-virgined, she used two women to cause trouble including sexual intercourse with the owner of the building and, sex with two members from the contracting company, just add additional problems for her youngest sister and her step father. Cheyenne still wanted him in an nursing home or dead, while her youngest sister could be like the rest, barefoot and pregnant with no job, and living back with their mother, long before her memory was erased.

The landlord hired contractors to control the building where Sara and Joseph lived for maintenance repairs and rent collections. Plus, they had their own illegal methods to cheat the landlord financially with repairs as well as, had their own ways to force low income renters like seniors or the disabled to move, without notifying the landlord of the reason. The contractors were bullies. They provided illegal maneuvers against a tenant in forcing him or her to move out, like not paying rent (he or she already had), or not properly repair the unit the tenant resided in. The contractors tried to raise the building's standards of low income, to value market rent tenants including, selling units like condominiums. Again, all unknown to the landlord. Mean-while, the standard conditions of the building, continued to sink towards the level of a ghetto, similar to the residential rental buildings in Regent Park. Thanks to Sara's friend trying his best to be Sherlock Holmes, eventually the entire story had Cheyenne wiggling like a worm out of the situation, by denying her acquaintance to Teresa and Tahtiana, and anyone else from the landlord, to the contractors, in connection to Sara's sexual assault, and her on going terror from them. If Cheyenne were still alive by the time of Joseph's passing, Sara would still refuse access to her, as well as Karen, for obvious reasons. During a one year legal document from the court against the accused, continued to visit the building at the same time Sara or her friend notified the police, except for the buildings staff, whose lives of their jobs, and their own lives were threatened by both the landlord and the contractors. Donald Jr accused his step father for not protecting his youngest sister.

His comments was irrelevant. I know that Joseph should have walked him, but I also know that his legs were starting to weaken in connection to his diabetes. I provide no excuses, but I have witnessed he same metal walker that my own mother has, which he used to for mobility, including Sara folding it and placing it in the back of her father's trunk to use whenever they went shopping. Of course the only three who believed the situation, were the usual three step child-ren and, possibly his step children and grown grandchildren.

There was much history between both sides of Sara's family. And although Gean couldn't remain with just one man long enough the way she had with Keith, friendship with both her exes, was a long hard struggle before all three reached this point in their own lives however, many wars were fought on different grounds hurting loved ones behind like Sara. I think ONLY possible positive relationship, had to be with the young woman he left in New Brunswick prior to settling in Ontario.

I will not compare her relationships, but I will give my opinion. As a former married woman, I prefer to be with a guy like Joseph, and I think Billy had a small part of him even though both men were not related nor had they met, than to have Donald Sr. They both had an overall, unhealthy relationship,  the worst sickness, was with Donald, Sr. Even their oldest so has stated, jealousy always causes too much damage. There was no disagreement. Yet it raised its head again throughout their marriage, with outside sources modeling to create a dark bottomless pit. All the time he spent with the Yamen family, especially Donald and his wife Gean, and their young children, the New Brunswick native became fully aware of her assorted background, and had used it time and again, however, no matter the good came the bad, and in return for many years, were repeated punches in the gut at the same time, he slapped them around in return. Not literally. I'm referring to furious insults back and forth while certain siblings on her side, remained out of the war they knew she never ended. The names of Gean's siblings, her father and step father, will be kept nameless due to respect I have for them. As soon as he was out of their lives, Cheyenne continued to play her Highway to Party Hell game, which gave her on going orgasms. A year after Keith entered the lives of Gean, Karen and Sara, and before they met his children, Cheyenne immediately attached herself to the Temptress. But when she didn't live up to her own expectations, she threw a hatchet in the Temptress' relationship to the boytoy her and Tamara had, meanwhile, Susan and her daughter Ruby, had more of a positive influence than what Cheyenne and her mother had figured. Joseph's opinion doesn't matter right now. It's too early. Gean is the only one that does, since it's her that I have started my recollections off in regards to Sara. Joseph comes in later. There were questions in regards to the Temptress. At least Susan was a woman of potential character, who or what was the Temptress? 

*a woman who tempts, entices, or allures.

 

From this woman's behavior, it's what this woman definitely clarifies herself as. Cheyenne believed she could 'de-flower' Sara. Or at least the daughter, but when her failure was exposed by one of the two women, Gean's reactions was always the same. See no evil. Hear no evil. Speak no evil. All the above against her first born. Oh boy did she ever get defensive again once the other party tried to continue. No wonder their friendship went splitzville. And she said it was due to the Temptress' seduction for Keith. I can't explain it right now, but as I continue writing, all the pieces of the puzzle will fall into place. I do have skepticism towards Keith.

 

Okay. Enough said. Let's continue.

As far as my knowledge everyone except for Keith and Joseph's families, were all from Ontario. All three families came from poor parts of three provinces. The only one that wanted to escape, was Gean, who believed to be better than anyone to remain in her family. Not even her mother could control her while her father Percy remained under military services. Him and his first wife both had two children. Gean was the oldest. Her brother, the youngest. 

Gean was reckless, rebellious and careless. Later in years, her brother and half sister Olga

would join her into the wild side of life. Although lack of education barely got her far, and working on a farm might have helped not only to add food, but also pay the whatever bills the Yamens owe. This is where the first time slumming enters the picture for this struggling family. Fortunate means independent afford ability. The opposite of such, means hard work to achieve a goal. Those that could afford to complete an education, were the fortunate ones. If you were. The less, were the ones that had two options with not much of an opportunity as the rest. Drop outs to work or work for an education. This is an era, a generation of non high tech electrics or gadgets. An era before and after the first world war. Everything you did, was by hand. There were no computers or high tech machines except maybe in factories.

Gean could've done the second. Hands on jobs at her age like, selling newspapers at a news stand or show shining in town, was better than slumming it. Now I know field hand work is more than exhausting for anyone including a youngster and then, attend school. However, if this was the only life of survival without going into town or the city, you had no choice than to do it in order to live. For this, I admire the ones that made this life a struggle, because it also made them strong even wise. But the fact of an escape was some-thing less than a dream for a lot of people. No wonder Gean escaped into town whether alone or accompanied whenever she had the chance. She knew the streets. She knew the corners, and knew certain kinds of men looking for a good time. If she didn't know it then, to which I am sure she did to know the meaning of the word PROSTITUTION. 

*the practice engagement of occupation into sexual activities with someone for payment.

 

If not a man buys a woman a drink, it can mean two things. A, the man likes you and B, the man has sexual intentions. The second reference is what Gean hope to achieve her goal to get out of the gutter. Her escapades continued until she got pregnant at the age of fourteen and by then, her parents were no longer legally married, and a step father now came into the picture. You might as well as attach her to prostitution, because that's all she did with no payments. No money, just drinks for sex or sex for drinks. All for fun, all in search for a man with a bank account. Lucky for her, she found a man with money except, he was never going to leave his wife no matter how much she believed his empty promises just to have repeated rides with the young traulap.

 

Boys will be boys. Whatever he did in between school and hard labor, only they it might have been at the time. The signs of pregnancy might have been obvious to her mother. I believe she recognized the signs. Now to believe her mother accepted the unwanted pregnancy, is not the expectation you might think. The decades before the 1970s, unwanted pregnancies of females, were a strong taboo. Meaning, this was not only a sin in the Catholic church, but also unwanted in society at the time. The meaning of family at the time, meant two martial consenting adults. Anything outside of this traditional criteria, had its consequences, just like an extra marital affair that produced a Bastard child, and adulteress, which Gean had committed. In this case you could brand her with an A since, this not the book, The Scarlett Letter. It is a word that can definite her

as adulteress, just like a husband, to him he would be branded as an adulterer. To confirm through medicate then, to know if a woman was pregnant, a woman urinated in a cup, or provided blood samples. I remember the signs of pregnancy as, tender, swollen breasts nausea with or without vomiting, increased urination, fatigue, and missing my cycle. It's been a long time since I actually felt each discomfort able feeling, that I had to share my learning experiences with my daughter during pregnancy. Gean's mother and possible aunts and uncles may have had the same reaction. However, the only choice the family had, was to cover up the same upon the family, by arrange marriage to someone they knew. The only person I believe the family knew, was Donald Parson. Their relationship is a mystery. No one outside Gean's mother and sister Margarita, knew the history surrounding all three. We all should know who we are and our background, but Gean remained clueless, along with her six children, and if she knew, she wanted any or all secrets of her first husband from her children, and the rest of them.

 

As Gean's life continued to evolve, so did her mother's own relationships with various hopefully stabled men. Unfortunately her last husband, caused more than what she could have expected, creating similar ironies colliding with her own. The only confirmation of her husband, was his occupation as a sewer maintenance personal. He worked under the city of Toronto cleaning the liquid pipes that were not filtered. Back in the forties and earlier, the sewer system didn't have modern filter system as we do today. Gean was a part time mother, part time employee at two maybe three jobs, all to keep a roof over her family's heads. While he remained at dead end job, his wife took work wherever she found it. She was a hard soldier to put down or give up on. I admired her for that in a time when women were kept in the homes. 

 

                                                          ***

After the storm came the rain and sleet from the ones that wanted her estranged relationship to last their step father no longer attacked their family. Although this seemed to be a good sign, there was no stability to show that it would remain. And that was Sara’s fear, It also gave her the real answer to the one and only question. And over the years she found it.

 

As challenging this was for Gean, she really did expect peace between her and Joseph. If there maybe hope for others within their family. The only hope between my family and my long estranged in-laws, was Vince. Except he couldn’t stand on that wooden footbridge that connected the two families forever. Him and I remain close. I respect him dearly even felt guilty for the choices he made over the years when it came to Abbey and myself. No one asked him to what he did, no one forced his decision, so with all of my gratitude, thanking him is not even enough. My parents owe him more than what I can provide. SO each time he visited with or without his wife, then was always space.  

His family resented the end of my story line with Billy, but who could blame them. However, I was not the murder as they believed to be. I was a survivor. Billy was the victim. He died unexpectedly all because of another man’s jealous rage that me a young widow.

 

If there’s one thing I learned is how, close real friends can be, find hand to find, And it started sometime during Sara’s, parents separation. Their platform broke apart and began to rebuild of steel. Although this unusual reunion turned heads of disapproval they gave something hopeful for their daughter to be proud of during her reflections upon them in her older years, leaving fake distaste in the mouths of Gean’s older children. Gean no longer cared what they thought or said.  

“If Keith and Caroll can be friends, so can Jospeh and I.” Gean once spoke firmly to her mother on the telephone.

 

Too bad the only relationship Sara had with the opposite sex, was the son of their friends  residing in the same rental building. She can do better but I like him because he handle himself against unscrupulous family members, that tormented Sara’s young life. He became a good friend even though there were plenty of storms he survived from her father and yet, he was an even better at a ‘Big Brother’ and uncle to Sara’s young son with his boyish behavior he had.

“Stop trying so hard.” I once said to him in confidence with strong encouragement. “Just continue to be yourself. Don’t worry about what you do or say wrong by error. Remember not to swear in front of the boy. Be a good influence on him.”

 

                                                       ***

When I returned home with a young child in tow, I had no idea what to expect. It was a new would to an old that l once left, Nothing was gone to be peachy adjustment for Abbey and Is especially for here with new surroundings. She was therefore still too young to understand. Of course I had believe, to return, as my father had promised except he never expected to fall in love outside of my homeland.  During that time, I was only allowed to mail letters to my friends but not directly. They were mailed to the law office then on to the right address. It was double enveloped with the office return address. At some point in time Sabrina’s father refused to accept this arrangement out of fear for his daughter to still be associated even though he knew all of this was not the fault of our family.

 

I starred a hermit with my daughter at first not even care to the local supermarket on account of the neighbors believing or thinking of thinking the wrong ideas about me. Even though I was in my early twenties, a window, and a single mother, remained taboo. And though the color black was respectful, I already hated it and begin to rebel. Maybe acting occasionally like Scarlet in Gone With The Wind.

 

Oh Lord, how frustrating to tolerate the same broken record in regards to the meaning of it, so when a secret cardboard box was left for my mother at my old home I had shared with my late husband a blank envelope inside on top f newly used clothes, only read….

‘No one will notice the Scarlett Letter’-Mrs. Johnathon White

 

The doctor’s wife sent a pair of dark charcoal black trousers, a dark indigo blue long sleeve blouse and matching colored hat with a black net to cover the face, and a white polka dot brim around the crown. There was a time I would walk Abbey in her stroller on sunny days, but rarely did so after being a widowed and mocked. It scared me then, and it scared me again. The Brock County nightmare. I called it in panicky frightful voice inside my head. I wasn’t even a block from my home here in Toronto, when I heard voices of

house wife’s chattering like a clucked hens outside the nest. I paid no attention at first until I smiled with a quickly pleasant glance and a nod to greet one or two. I quickly felt uneasy and felt they were talking about me. Why shouldn’t they talk about you? They know you’re a widow because you’re still wearing black. Did the woman at my mother and Aunty Maggie’s card game talk about me to? Since that morning, I no longer felt emotionally At the same time, the two women stopped talking to greet me individually in return before one of the ladies commented on the weather. And how the baby would enjoy the sun even if it was a little chilly. 

 

I looked down at my baby smiling while I continued to push. She had a couple toys tied to the stroller. She always enjoyed our walks because her eyes widened and found something that caught her attention even if it the same thing she had seen. The first time I took her for a walk my anxiety crashed releasing all my memories the first time I took her outside after her father’s death. I remember voices inside Phebe’s Pharmacy to pick up and refill of medications my doctor prescribed for me. I telephoned before I left and chose to walk with Abbey hoping the walk and the outdoors would be for me.

The volume of their voices began to lower its frequency the further away I got from them when I walked out. I kept my composure until after I was in the clearing.

 

Was this how Gean felt after she got pregnant for Cheyenne? Both stories were different of courses, but I’m sure those worries of her secret eventually came out. How did her siblings feel? How did her mother feel? What was their reaction? How did her six other children feel and think about their mother without telling her? Could each one keep the secret of the Bastard child, and did my child stand the same fate? Abbey had a father. Cheyenne had a step father. When Gean’s other children grew up, they were unaware of their sister’s unidentified father and that she had one. She shared the same man. He was her father. I never remarried nor had a boyfriend that led to anything serious enough for an engagement proposals.

 

As bad as or as good as the story of the Scarlett Letter the author’s main character was shunned by society for her sexual misconduct. From it, came a child that she had to raise, and it too would be known as a Bastard child for not having a proper maternal father. He rejected the child as his own. Donald Parson did no such thing and accepted the child as his own, to prevent a scandal of humiliation outside Gean’s family. During this time, Gean and myself, faced our own reality of single or married woman pregnant with a child. There was stigma in both situations that can become nasty. Eventually. So how did my child grow up without a father? She was like me when I was young, shy, reclusive and a survivor of arrogant children’s taunts about being fatherless.

 

Cecile caught on and said the child needed fresh air and not always in the backyard. As much as she liked being outside, Abbey couldn’t tell if she traveled in her carriage or not the warmer weather was good for her. She was too young to know the difference nor the importance at that age. My father ordered a crib, a portable folding transport cot (that resembled an oversized picnic basket), a bassinet and a carriage from Eaton’s Department store. But as soon as I saw the talks outside my home during my walks with the baby, the nightmare started back up again. I just wanted to stay in the house in the cold and in the backyard when it was warm. There was no way I could go anywhere even though I have been told repeatedly that I was no longer in Brock County. I had to get out of the fear I was living in.

 

This didn’t mean Abbey wasn’t going out. My father always took her out and was happy to show her off. Even then I cried. My mother suggested I see psychiatrist. And I agree. I was in no shape to be around my daughter when I couldn’t go outside the house with her. And being scared all the time. And this was how I started to feel again. The water fall began nightly before bed while the excuses I used to tell my daughter haunted me. Those memories would be similar to her when she became a single parent.

Did I ever blame myself for any of my errors?

The answer, yes I did. I was there for her as my mother was for me.

“Don’t start crying to her Mayria.” Said Cecile while standing on the other side of the screen door in an apron.

“I had just placed her back into the cot on my left in front of the folding table, when I sat up an looked back.  

I still woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweats with tears and nightmares. My little girl was the only one I found comfort in.

 

We hadn’t made any kind of friends yet, it was too early for me anyway plus, my daughter only had me, and members of my family. Settling down felt right again. I tried everything not to show the baggage I carried nor the worries I had on front of her. My worries were mine, like the outside world, and traveling alone when I can, but not alone. My fear reminded me to keep me strong and not to break down as I did often I lost my husband. Abbey felt the uncomfortable pressure around my family and wanted me to make her feel secure in my arms. Anytime my family tried to approach her for the first time, she huddled into me with her arms around me with shyness uncertainty. Tears. Oh the tears that broke my heart in two because even I felt as shy as did. My God the heartache and the little light laughter of warmth and gentile trying to get to hold her. Since her birth, my husband and I visited my family a couple of times whenever we had the money. Mostly my mother, Aunt Maggie and Johnnie would visit. Thankfully, my family gave the child time to get to know them. I watched her starting to feel comfortable around them even though she was still shy. The only face she recognized was my mother. Anytime she visited us in Brock County, she stayed two weeks sometimes three, while Aunty Maggie and her son returned home. Even after my husband’s death, my mother stayed with me longer than expected just to take care of both of us without much of a fuss.

 

My mother rehired Cecile part time to help ease the overwhelming feeling that shadowed my life. After my permanent back to Canada by mother hired her to assist with cooking and kitchen cleaning, so my mother could return to the café. I always enjoyed her cooking. Her pastries were light and fattening at times. But there were no complaints, and she always made something special for Abbey. She called my baby, her grandbaby. She fell in love with her. When she found out about my husband and my hospitalization, Cecile sent a batch of her ginger snap cookies with my mother. According to Cecile, my mother strongly hesitated because her mind was all over the place. Johnny made all the arrangements for the travel, and Vince would meet her. I remember waking up in the emergency room seven hours later with the nurse checking my pulse. When I found out what had happened, I sure wished my baby and I were back home.

 

The  doctor kept me in the hospital until he felt the need to discharge me but  after numerous reports from the nurses  about my stability after my in-laws and the county journalist remained in the hospital to harass me. The doctor advised the head nurse to keep all visitors out as well as to keep my baby with me until my mother arrived.  

 

Threats to kidnap my baby and have me tossed out of the county by friends the knew, that I never met were the reasons for the doctor to protect his patients. When Johnny and my mother arrived, one hour past visiting hours, a night nurse allowed them into my room for a short time. I was already asleep. They stayed until midnight before my mother kissed my forehead, and Vince had escorted them to the house.

 

I wish my mother didn’t have to clash with in-laws while I was in the hospital or when I was at home, but Loretta just couldn’t stop her devious side that she was adamant not to turn towards something else. I felt so sorry for Vince battling her in public while battling his family at their home continuously. Their behavior got so bad, that he moved out and stayed with a friend. After the hospital I stayed home with the baby and allowed my mother to prepare for moving. By then she sent a telegram to her nephew requesting assistance with the house, and to find someone who would help with legalities.

 

When I heard about the baby not only did I have a baby shower, but Loretta helped me decorate the spare room with furniture and had the wall painted in the colors of a sky blue, while and a light canary yellow because no one knew whether it was boy or a girl, but the room was beautiful. During my mother’s stay, she cried every time she went into the baby’s room. She took pictures of it with baby in every corner of the room using my husband’s camera. She used the rest of the film and hid them from my in-laws, along with many other valuable and sentimental. My mother asked me to proceed with the business of selling by turning to a realtor and then

 

If there was anything that I needed to bring into the house while her and Johnny packed, my cousin went with me. Everything in the house were sold except for the baby clothes and everything she needed. I left with two full trunks , and the clothes on my back. When I first arrived in Brock County, I had my own clothes. When I left, I had nothing but a few small memories from my husband.

 

Billy died unnecessarily by another human being. Neither Abbey nor I deserved being treated like we were scum at the bottom of the barrel. My in-laws banned me from the funeral. They couldn’t bother with me. While they prepared the funeral, I met with my late husband’s lawyer about estate. When the date of the funeral came, I went anyway. I sat in the front seat of a deputy sheriff’s private car with Vince behind the wheel, Johnny next to him and my mother with Abbey on her lap, watching the scene at my husband’s final play out from a distance. Abbey’s head was resting against my mother’s chest and her arms wrapped around her. I wasn’t even allowed to deliver flowers. Thanks to Vince, I was able to, and have it delivered under our daughter’s name.

 

We went back to the house, my mother escorted me to the baby’s room to rest while she

took care of the baby. Johnny made a pot of tea, finger sandwiches on a platter with cookies. My appetite was like Sara’s when she lost her father. Barely ate and drank camomile tea. I stayed away from any medication to keep my breast milk pure, and was given free Pablum from my doctor’s secretary.

“I’m fed up being treated this way.” I said angrily to no one in particular after the funeral. Without thinking I used the F word in front of my baby at the same time, I began to heavily sob. “Those fucking hypocrites!”

“Don’t use that word.” My mother said as she pointed to the ceiling. “Your daughter can hear you. She knows you’re upset. She can feel it.”

 

With the help of Vince giving  my cousin an extra hand packing and helping me to complete the legalities involved with selling and fighting for me to get my husband’s estate, his family would sure had gotten it. Overall, the remaining affairs with his estate helped me to close both accounts and use it to make the last mortgage payment and then closed our daughter’s trust fund. I sent a Thank you card to his lawyer with the last family photo of the three of us. At the time, it was his lawyer with Billy and I not long after my husband purchased the house. Before the last date of our move, Johnny rented a small travel trailer for the two trunks and Abbey’s bassinet. My mother sat in front while I sat in the back with Abbey tucked in her car carrier seat that hooked over the back of the seat, with a padded back, bottom seat and adjustable straps. It would be great to get back to where I belonged. I couldn’t wait to make my daughter a Canadia citizen. It shouldn’t be that hard. But will it keep her safe from my in-laws’ threats of kidnapping her?

 

Even though my father did his best to keep legal ties here at home, he suggested to give some visitation rights to them, but supervised because neither of us trusted them. My husband’s family tried to sue for custody including compensation damages after their loss.

I told Cecile how I been on no sleep for a long time. I was scared to fall into a deep sleep in case I woke up and my child was gone. I think I know how fearful Gean was when the news about Joseph wanting to do the same and then, got stopped.

                                                                                               ***

The following morning after our arrival home, mother took care of her granddaughter while my father took me shopping clothes at a near by Woolco store.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 14,1990

 

I saw Sabrina today at Wool-worth's Department store on Weston Road around mid after-noon. Sara and I had lunch in the shop's diner located at the back where the washrooms, customer service desk and storage area are. We got away from the madness of what we called the ongoing rat race of work and family, to relax and talk for just an hour, maybe more, depending, when I saw our girl walk by. The three of us Sabrina included, used to do the escape rat race world on a regular basis, now it's a once a month thing, for the past fifteen years. Or, if we really needed an emergency get away. I called out her name just loud enough for only her and maybe, a couple of others to hear, without attracting any more attention, and hoping she wouldn't get upset for trying to humiliate her intentionally in public. It happened before, many times before. Anyway, she came over and like usual, she laid nailed me on it. We weren't kids any more, so this stuff never bothered me the way it used to. I invited her to join us, and suggested to buy her a coffee, if she could spare the time. I saw it on her eyes the temptation as she glanced from me to Sara, and back at me. She had a buggie on the other side of the brown wooden wall with a few items, then smiled warmly and requested a 'rain check' to reschedule a quick date. The three of us giggled like school girls as we knew what was suggested, was humourous. I am glad she never lost that. But before she finally disappeared, I invited her to return to the cafe, and made a light humorous excuse, that one of the busboys, had missed seeing her around. She used to visit or telephoned for takeout quite often  while still working as an assistant, but as soon as she became a full time lawyer, the gang rarely hears from her. I rarely see her. Paulette used to prepare her orders, and rang up the total at the register. She even gave Sabrina discounts, because she had a crush on Sabrina's boss. Married or not from either side, Paulette was more than smitten over the thick shoulder length cherry blond wavy hair, chessnut hazel eyes, light freckles, pale complexion and, reading glasses legal councilor,  that she even sent him verbal invitations to the cafe for a private luncheon. She had guts man. And joking with her, even made the wheels turn creatively inside her head towards more naughty thoughts.

 

When I returned to the cafe, the business remained the same; deadsville. All day the cafe only had strays. There was no real business. No rush. No packed lines. No full seats. I never liked these days but I can't control them either. After the overnight sheet storm of mix rain and frozen rain, the roads were quite slippery in many areas while a few were shoveled and iced. I drove the less iced back to the cafe. While behind the wheel, I asked myself the usual question...How did we get this far?

 

Abbey snuck into the shoe two years ago that I keep on my father's desk, to see what I've been keeping inside at the same time, working working on a client's bank records. Nothing secretive was in-side, only certain folded pieces of old newspaper articles, hand written notes on colored paper that were folded, and certain pictures of my family and friends. On these notes were my thoughts of debate in regards to producing written material from personal experiences. Since she to, was aware of plenty about my life after her birth, to present date, she eventually convinced me to be productive. It was easy to write just about me. I even considered the idea for a while, but then there was my childhood. Although a huge part could have been written in due time, there was plenty to say, to which I doubted Sara, Sabrina, Madeline and Lindsey had wanted any connections with. There was lots to consider. I knew the predictions from Sara's siblings, including their mother, if I included them. So if I chose to do this, I had to alter their names, minus Sara, who gave me her verbal acceptance without anyone else's opinions. 

So from the time I made my desicion to the present, I chose to produce whatever comes out no matter what the reactions would be. But before I did, I had to search for certain materials, which were hidden most likely in the attic and I wasn't, going up to the cool damp dusty space that time had forgotten. I had to start somewhere, so I typed out the day she was conceived, and the day of her birth on my mother's old Smith Carona electric type writer. I had no concern for grammar, spelling or punctuation. Yet. I just wanted to see how my short titleless story would turn out, beforehand.  

 

Now to remember every detail to a T, was going to be difficult, because the clearest memories being naked along side my husband at the exact time she was conceived, had its ify moments on account, most of the days together, we were nude. Although my family has no concerns with the idea, my father hoped that my project makes it to the other side for reading while my daughter remains anxious, just to read the first page. 

"I don't care where you start ma," She said, "I just want to know more about daddy."

Even as a young adult, she still calls her father daddy. I guess this may give her the final piece together towards her getting to know her father a little more intimately. This past Christmas, one of her gifts, was a personal-ized stationary initial note pad and writing set, with matching writing utensils. One specific moment comes to mind, so I opened up the set, and began to write, but where to start, and how? Humm. Anytime I wrote about my past at the time, I would be listening to my records alone in my bedroom. The music always got me in the mood to inspire my fingers and my toes. If I stopped writing, I'd be dancing. It was fun. My late coffee break was thirty-five minutes late by the time I sat down at an empty table to write, when I began writing something related to my late husband, while not really thinking about what I was trying to express. Working and listening to the golden oldies always made my day. By the time my break ended, I had two pages on my order pad, done. Not everything was fully completed but, it was a start. Where these would fit, I had no idea.

 

It was after three o'clock in the morning, the air was hot and humid, the sky dark indigo sky, sparkled like diamonds, Billy and I, scuffled playfully in the Gerard family's backyard heated pool unannounced, when a wave of energy rushed through me, causing strong tingling between my thighs, as I felt his penis getting hard beneath the clear chlorine water. This wasn't the first time my cool rider made me feel hotter than grease lightening. My heart began pounding while my sense of sexual feeling heightened. Without a gesture or any sign, I quickly pressed him against the wall near the shallow end, and moved more tentatively with my breasts pushed up against his chest, and his dark wet hair swept back, dripping down the back of his neck and shoulders.

God, he looked juicy. I thought anxiously. The smell of the water in my hair, and on his skin, made a mingling subtle scent, that aroused my insides even more. I always had an acute uneasy feeling about the deep end of a pool. No fear, just uncertainty, even with life guards surrounding the area. I have never saw anyone drown or saw a body a float, so as far as I've been aware, fear has no link towards how I felt. Images of the dead or dying, never came forth either.

 

Then there's.....

 

In a library in town five weeks after my medical appointment with my physician, I took trips to the county library to read up Dr. Spock books in a private booth alone. I read all the materials the author and doctor had published in connection with the changes of pregnancy. I took this one from one of the shelves where I found more baby books as well as, found another book on the same shelf in regards to taking care of a new born. I hadn't told anyone until after the news was confirmed. Back then, the results of pregnancy tests, were not as reliable nor fast acting, as they are today. You waited longer. So before the confirmation came through of a real to false pregnancy, I read one of Dr. Spock's pamphlets that my physician had published in a rack inside the waiting room of his office before he took the samples he needed for testing. Before I left, he advised me to stay on a liquid diet, because this would be a lot easier on the system. I stayed with Mark and his fiance in the small apartment above Corey's Delicatessen, until I received the news. Corey no longer loved above his business. He moved into a larger apartment above a five and dime store, that Loretta had managed. She lived at home with her aunt and cousins while her husband was out of the country. She rented the apartment to her cousin a month before Mark and his fiance took a year off for college, to earn their post secondary intuition.

As I read one of Spock's books from the two  to my left, all of my attention was on everything written in front me. Like many novels I read, that sucked me in like a vacuum hose, the book I had started from, remained less than the third chapter in from the beginning. 

Meantime, Billy was having his goofy moods, and chose to be a pervert at the same time. I never saw him not heard his voice or foot-steps on the polished wooden floors, to realize his naughty but nasty behavior, unfolding under the heavy wooden table. By the time I glanced quickly at the location of his legs, my body awoke with sexual pleasure. He slipped his warm we fingers around over, and in between his two fingers of my cliterous, that I tried to sweep his hands away with my right, while covering my vagina with the crotch my girdle style underwear. I couldn't shake him, nor could I cause an embarrassing scene, by which he also knew, and was going to do this anyway, I felt his hands stabilize my legs, preventing them from closing, as I felt the tip of his face a the frontal view of my panties.

 

At the end of the day when all copies from each order book were dropped into the multi-functional desk organizer storage box with drawers and front name labels of each waitress or waiter, the books would be calculated individually, and written on the cover under the name of the pad owner. From there, the cash in the register gets counted, and the total is written in the account book, along with the totals to each book. I was the same as the rest except this time, I totally forgot what I had written that weren't cafe business. I never realized this, until I was in the shower an hour ago. When I hollard out the word fuck, those inside whom were asleep, were started, and swore themselves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 17, 1990

If you didn't think I got into a mess today, you thought wrong. My absent mindedness yesterday caused humiliation between my  daughter and myself throughout the morning. She could neither look, nor say a friendly word to me. She had read what I had written, for the possible project, in the order pad, upset her in two ways, which I never had meant to do. First of all, I allowed private thoughts to be seen by anyone in a business pad, and although Paulette was never just anyone, this was no excuse to her, for me to have done what I did and second, she must have thought something unthinkable. Who knows? If the rolls were reversed, and I had read the same thing, I'd be humiliated. Who could blame her, after all I did let something slide. I did not commit a serious crime, only a selfish and careless one that could have gone either direction. Left or right. Abbey was recalculating yesterday's total's, and then rest of the weeks summaries. She kept her face mostly down wards away from the opened door, looked at me any time I went into the kitchen, pretending I wasn't aware, catch-ing her in the act several times, 

throughout the hours, and saw her father looking back at me. 

 

His same facial reaction. She had a mixture of serious in the bed-room eyes look, and the stubborn poutiness in the lips. I realized with him long ago, that tiredness in his eyes always gave him this appearance. It was very sexy on him, along with lushosly pink lips.

This was the same disappointing expression his mother had spoken about, ever since he was a boy. "He still has it," She once explained peacefully, "and he'll never out grow it." His mother was right, her grand daughter reminded me of him. 

I had no excuses. I had no stories to tell her. I never even apologized. I had nothing to apologize for. I sensed she was over-whelmed by this, that she never even spoke a word to Paulette, a long trusting friend and co-worker, because she felt too embarrassed for her to know. The color in Abbey's 

blushed deeper than a tomato, complete, and pretending nothing was wrong, obviously showed. Poor girl. I felt bad. She never realized how far her parents were sexually. She never knew any of the details, which made me think carefully. She casually slid the book aside and continued to complete the rest of the week's accounts in silence. Whenever she gave me those bedroom eyes serious expressionless pouty face, I saw her father's large dark hazel eyes and the dark long lashes of mine. I certainly don't want this project to affect her. All day I questioned myself about this, which distracted me from taking the correct food orders from the kitchen, sweeping the floor when no one else could and, leaving the upswept pile in the hall near the washrooms. Not in a million, have I ever done that unhealthy habit in a food establishment. Paulette suggested for me to go home because I was irresponsible, to which she had rarely seen since I was preteen. "Years ago." She said, ending in a concise ponder.

A lifetime ago. 

Not once have I ever left dirt remains against the baseboards in the hall with dust pan broom upswept but I did, nor have I mistook food order preparations with the chef like I had several times, or disagreed with individual staff about how their work was to be done. I felt I was being trained all over again. Memories of a different time, but familiar scenarios. One annoyances of the morning was my smart allecky kid, who kept reminding me twice, sometimes three times today, to place my order books onto HER desk as soon as I got done with it. 

She normally came in at the end of the week, once or twice a week to double check our calculations sometimes with Paulette, if she was free. I stepped away to allow her to finish, when the thoughts of such matters might be an embarrassment to her.

 

Sometime after ten thirty, I took a hot shower to relax and warm up from the freezing cold, then dressed in a pair of cotton flannel pajama pants and tshirt, before drying my wet hair with the towel and brushing it in front of the mirror on my dresser when the recollections of the pool, floated back. He sat at the bottom striking his penis as I floated towards him ever so closer, for him to reach his left hand out to caress my vaginal area. No matter good his touch was, I became hot and heavenly aroused enough for him to guide me inside. 

As hypnotic and fantastic as this was, I couldn't allow myself to step through the time tunnel again, and how difficult can that be right? Uh? More questions I need to answer before I actually start this thing. No matter how many dreams I have about my past, and no matter how many distortions came from them, none of them can hurt me anymore, like they first had. I've even wrote a quick ending towards the second memory that I had not completed at the cafe. Abbey had torn out the pages and placed them in a white envelope from the cafe, and left it on top of the book I reading in the top drawer of my side table. I was in the washroom. I never heard her nor seen her. I seen it as soon as I was ready for bed. Speaking of my writing, and the paper back, I was quickly reminded of the county library again.

Giving into feeling of this sexual pressure from under the table, made me forcefully hold back ever sensations I had from my vagina being used as a fruity beverage. Oh fuck, you feel terrific. I thought rambunctiously. 

Recalling the feelings during those moments, had me at a standstill. It rushed me back to reality of what I would actually be doing. I still had no clue. I could not harbor on the past. But isn't that what I would be doing most of the time away from a typewriter or computer?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

February 18, 1990

For two days Regina Beringer and her grandson Fernando Scott have come into the cafe to order herbal tea as required by her physician to help with her medical treatment. She had a medical appointment yesterday. Today however, they came back after the snow became heavy for him to no longer drive through. Again she had another herbal tea, while he had a coffee to help warm them up. Regina liked the tea we serve at the cafe. Her grandson mentioned the beverage was exactly what her doctor had requested to help her medically, because it was more healthier then the other hot or cold beverages. Fernando couldn't have been no older than fifteen. Both grandmother and grandson liked our services, and have mentioned it to one of my employees yesterday. But boy did he carry his great grandfather's Paul's features just like his son, who must be in his early fifties by now, cause Sara is only a year older than him. Regina never recognised me. It was far too long for her to even remember me attending her graduation from grade school. The last time I saw her, she was fourteen years old then, and I was a date and a guest to the librarian. 

 

If there were any deep hostility from Cheyenne towards anyone she may have had, no one knew because she may have took them to her grave, like seducing her step father. As for all those she blamed or falsely, were never spoken. They died with her. So much hurt. So much damage left behind. No sincerity. 

Regina never knew anything. She was too young at the time plus, alot of the drama occurred long before her. This was good because this gave the remaining family members the chance to heal and move on. Sara forgave her half siblings after her own father had passed away but chose to cut them out until Karen, Donald jr., Gean and Cheyenne realized how their own disgust towards him, had affected her during her grief and healing process. Even though Cheyenne passed years before Joseph, she never realized what I am telling you now.

 

ABUSE WITHIN

LOVE WITHIN

Love is a strong emotion. It can be a powerful message. A powerful weapon. Love can be pure. Love can be fake. There's love for your family, love for a friend and love for your partner. Love is a very special emotion to treasure. It can never be erased from a chalkboard or deleted from a computer. 

 

'Hate belongs to the devil', my grand-father Gideon/Leon once said to me. He got it from his own grandfather, whose pastor once spoken the meaning of it in a sermon to his congregation. Hate was never allowed in my family for any reason. Consequences followed with the wrath of God's Biblical stories from the Gospels that can make you cringe up all night. If you were young enough to first see the movie Dracula with Bela Lagousi, or the movie Night of the Living Dead (the original George Ramaro version), and heard Barbara's brother Johnny's creepy tone in his humorous manner towards the zombies, well this is what my grandfather tried to do, even before George Ramaro's movie came out in 1968. My grandmother Jeanette Hamlisch used either a broom handle, or the rough bristles to tan hydes, or forced cod liver oil or tabasco sauce down the throats. This kind of punishment didn't fall too far from the tree, cause I got it, and so did the six children I knew as they grew up. Sibling rivalry is always apart of growing and knowledge. That never ends. But through it all, they held onto each other as kids among their disoriented lives they lived in which affected their private lives. Love and hate blended unrecognisable among the guidance of their young lives the biggest part of the time. Percentage wise maybe, thirty percent love and eighty percent mixture of overall dysfunctional to violence between the two parentage, which never went away. Most were tucked in the dark never to see the light of day.

 

Today, no one wants to relive the past. Only their future. And I agree. However Karen has read everything I had written in my old diaries, including everything I wrote in the school's newspaper paper and church news letters, just to show my resources for this new project, new journal, to which she fiercely believed was all about her family including her 'private' relationships. None of the drafts held anything about her to which she can recall plus, it was all about me. My life, my events. I swore her and Cheyenne shared the same brain. After the death of her oldest sister, Gean took over the other half. My apology for the insults but all three women were more than any human could possibly be. 

 

Verbal abuse can lead to mental abuse. Violent abuse can lead to serious bodily harm and even death. This was the overall summary of Mr. and Mrs. PARSONS relationship. The calm before the storm had its positive side full of happy loving memories of true affections that covered the deep visible or non visible scars. Many can become clear to the very young witnesses or, sunk very deep to where it will surface from time to time unnoticed. Family picnics, children's parties, house gathering events such as an adult's party, special events like Halloween, were just the memorable moments I presumably believed to be untouched. If there was one thing encouraging about the six child-ren, it has to be the influential aspects into some sort of physical or creative activity, that prevented the violent history the had seen, be put to good use. Lester went to a boxing gym to release his own steam. Donald used dancing and shadow boxing at school to do the same. Rylie?

As far as my knowledge, his memory to most of his parents activities, was shadowed. Think of him walking a little confused in a fog, but only remembering just his child and teen years less than detached from the continuous heartaches of his protectors (parents).

 

Between the two martial adults, came five legal children, and seven miscarriages. The seventh came less than a year before Sara's birth. Twins. The story surrounding her made me suspicious of parentage. Ever since the first was unexpected, were the other unexpected to, were they planned? If it weren't for a strong encouragement from her family physician, to request her to conceive another child, the title of Gynecology, would slip into the archives so that, he could continue his normal practice as General Practitioner for his patient. And if she really didn't want an-other man's child, or any child, then why didn't she figure out not to have anymore with her husband? Did he violate her with force the way he did with other females of various ages, like his brother? 

"Living with Donald," Gean once spoke to her youngest daughter on the balcony with her boyfriend Keith at her once former residence on Jane Street. "I never predicted when he gave it to me good, but I always got it good."

 

Just after she spoke her last words, Sara could have sworn she saw a genuine smile or smirk, the same sarcastic expression Cheyenne always gave each time she never believed a tale or a vision of the same. It was extremely creepy. Especially since the man was not around to agree or defend himself from what by then, ten percent truthful from seventy. Oh my God, I thought with disgust, this woman is really sick! Something incomprehensible happened to him and is siblings from the time they were young, to adulthood, for him behave the same way. Whatever fear he gave, affected his wife and kids throughout their own lives, in which Donald later admitted a year before his death. And all his estranged wife do (Gean), could do was, give the 'there, there,' reaction that she had anytime she barely showed emotion. I wondered how Keith could have tolerated this after it came through. The tension with him, must have been thicker than a black smoke from a fire. Not due to jealousy, far from it, but due to her lack of compassion and forgive-ness which she should've had. I believe those in this woman's family had more knowledge than what anyone else had known. She must've had plenty of skeletons in these closets,  that she wanted sealed,  except any closet can be pried open. And to anyone that saw the remaining flesh, which were the stories still attached, read the secrets that still lingered. The results led to ongoing torments in various forms on those this man loved. Friends, family and social scenes in public, were mostly affected. There are always some sort psychological behavioral trait patterns that follow with youngsters that witness these repeated scenarios throughout ones life,  repeats them. The same applies to anything positive a youngster learns and sees children, and uses them at some point in their other adult life. According to my knowledege, nothing was as it seems. And Sara's family made me realize that. No one precisely knows where Gean learn to quick in self defense. Her brother(s) only believed she did it to keep what she had  wanted. That could have been anything, from privacey to self worth. Struggling to get out of poverty never changed the decades before the war years, nor after, only the shift in time. Stories of her husband's poverty stricken lifestyle, had familiarities all had the same stories with different endings.

No matter how this was, I question, as to how Children's Services never got involved. I must give an Oscar an Academy Award for a huge fantastiic performance to Gean, for best outstanding lead actress off screen and stage. Miraculously these outsiders like teachers and other parents from friends they knew, never caught on the suspicious. And if the agency were involved, what happened? Only her siblings, aunts and uncles knew. Stigmas always comes with horror such as these. Addict-ions and obsessions varied. From all six, only three actually got cleaned, and remained sober meanwhile, Gean washed her hands of ALL the lives broken. Therefore what had occurred in her past life remains locked away except for the reprocautions it left behind. She'd watched endlessly on the top of bleachers while her kids remained in the same field, and coaching her non sense knowledge and so-called experiences of her own parentage to them, as insignificant unsubstantial pain had caused the basic emotional signs of their childhood every now and then. Yet, her not quite so understanding tenderness showed under the genuineness, that I never saw only a few times in my life. But maybe Karen's consciousness appeared maybe worse than I had known. She was no actress. She could never win any awards for similar titles as her mother, but she could win for being the Drama Queen of the Parson family by showing emotional sadness, anger, fear, changes in appetite, headaches, migraines, nausea, dizziness, substance abuse, disintegrated disorders a.k.a mental health abuse and possibly shame. If any other girl showed any of these signs, Karen gave her the same title. I rarely seen Cheyenne behave this way because she believed she still had full control, where her mother didn't.  

Funny, I wonder if this is the reason for the oldest to seek her own retaliation against her mother unknowingly, by saying arrogant things like, 'I was supposed to be the only child.', or 'You were never planned.' 

The men that actually knew her; Joseph, Keith, Derek, Paul and Gean's brothers, all believed their sister, friend, mother in law, wife and partner, needed medical attention to separate the trash, from her mind, to reality. The damage had been too expensive, that it caused irreversible addictions.

Nymphomania led Cheyenne to sex at an early age. The drugs and alcohol came into the mixture in order to forget about both. Forgetting about the personal things she had done, and forgetting her father's personal and unexceptional behavior in the home, especially with her, only made things numb. Or so she thought. However, allowing to continue the same pattern of behavior upon others, like her own siblings and, having repercussions after, was never something she believed had to be done.

"Dad doesn't want virgins or slaves, look what he did to mom." Cheyenne said to the two girls unaware this manipulation came behind their mother's back. "He'd beat her because she always had a job. He'd beat her because she wanted to speak. Where dad comes from, the women are to stay home, keep quiet and, pop out little brats."

'She should know, I was told she had her first two with the male parentage and then, again during outside the home. Who knows how many kids she had before marrying Paul.'

Enough said.

 

                                    ***

Around the time I continued to support my child, three members of the Parsons family came into the cafe quite often in the late winter of 1974. Abbey was ten years old then, when Cheyenne was hospitalized for pneumonia. Sometime late Friday evening, while most of the staff had gone home, me,  Aunt Maggie, RHONDA and BARRY remaining an hour before closing. The busboy was behind the counter cleaning the dishes, when they came in, I was standing at the back counter clearing the coffee maker and sink with a warm rag. My back was turned, so I didn't see them. Aunt Maggie took their orders, while Rhonda prepared the meals or snacks. In the middle of completion, I carried a hot coffee pot filled with water in my left, and a coffee pot full of fresh brewed coffee in my left, towards their table, then poured each one the hot beverage of their choice in the mugs I turned right side up. Everything for a hot beverage was already on the table except for the creamer and the milk. Once the food was ready, I asked my aunt if I could take it over because I wanted to see if they had recognized me after all the time had past, the way I remembered them. I took the menus and an order pad from shelf under the register counter, and approached the table as I always did with customers. As I stood at the side of their table with a pen and order pad in hand, I handed each one a menu, then kindly asked whether they wanted water while reading the menus or something warm. Gean immediately wanted a large coffee. This meant in a paper cup. Karen asked for tea. Rylie asked for a cold glass of cola. Just as I continued to write everything down, I overheard Gean complain to her son critically of his choice in beverage. She thought he was an idiot for asking for a cold beverage instead of warm one after coming in from the cold, at the same time I immediately thought the woman hadn't changed at all. They all may have shown sign of age, including the 'old' lady, but the strong conceitedness held her in its tight grip. Afterall the years, turmoil, non, and possible happiness, which I didn't quite see in her eyes, continued to make her into the person she had been. Oh boy! I thought with a frustrated sigh, as I smiled and said politely to return to the table with their orders. I shook my head slightly in disbelief, then glanced up at the ceiling with my eyes closed thinking with gratitude to the Lord, 'thank you for the family you have given me.'

From whatever Sara had spoken of about her brother's Lester and Rylie during a family emergency, these two grown men knew how to handle tough situations their mother and Cheyenne had mysteriously took control of, instead of the other person. Thank God they still had the 'fuck you bitch' attitude towards these two, because I don't think  I could have tolerated them when my family lost members. I remember seeing this a long time ago, when one of Gean's younger uncles died of lung cancer, a chain smoker as most of the family were then, and it was Rylie who pried his mother loose from the late former family member, before she could do more damage unaware. It was his own family that had to arrange it all. If they required assistance, one would have. I am unsure of how far this story goes, I only can evaluate Karen's controversial opinions of the medical state at the time, and call her a dumb ass person to claim the medical field were quacks. Not the only time she used this word against a doctor she didn't like. If a doctor gave a medical diagnosis to her, she believed without a doubt, but to someone else, she called the doctors quacks. Over the past thirty five years, second, third, and sometimes fourth or maybe, fifth opinions, were what it took to settle any disgruntal views. 

Now I know I'm gonna get an earful, that's if she can remember taking her youngest sister to visit a Dermatologist at the age of twelve.  According to Sara, Karen has second stage Dementia, and thirty percent hearing loss.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh the games people play now

Every night and every day now

Never meaning what they say now

Never saying what they mean

People walking up to ya

Singing glory Hallelujah

And they're tryin' to sock it to you

In the name of the Lord

They're gonna teach you how to meditate

Read your horoscope, cheat your fate

And further more to hell with hate

Come on and get on board-Joe South

THE GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

 

The title of this entry is perfect for a chapter to which, I still need to sort through with a writing pad and pen. In the mean-time, I wonder which part of the lyrics to use from the old song that would give an idea to my reader's an idea what laid ahead. Joe South sang about what was happening at a time of flower power and the unsettled eara, that was the turbulent sixties. As I write in my journal and looking upon my life, from my old diaries, so much has changed not in this world per say, but with the people that remain. As you know, Gean resides in a nursing home, she's bed ridden, and on oxygen, Karen resides alone, and uses an electric wheel-chair for mobility, her back has been fractured in several places, and never healed properly, Lester no longer drives, but resides with his younger brother again, and Rylie's second wife, while Donald Jr, resides in a retirement home, where his daughter had placed him, after he fractured his left knee, climbing onto the city's bus. So to proceed with my intended project, I have to respect the names, by keeping their true identity a secret. I can still hear Karen's arrogant voice telling me, not to use her name, or she would she me and my high school. She stopped. She never continued. She never did though, was read any of my articles in the high school newspaper because the school's newspaper, wasn't real paper with real news.

 

We all have demons we fought against, or just accepted accordingly without resolve, as what Karen had done for example. It was obvious

that, she carried a full luggage of everything from happy to sad, to the forgotten moments. I liked Karen, up until Joseph's death. Anyway, the last of the Parson girls, had qualities that could have gotten her far in life if A, she had a complete education, and B, if she stood strong against any obstacles. Like many of us me included, worked at jobs where we could find it, in Brock County after graduating from Robert E. Lee high school, Loretta offered me a part time job at the movie theatre she managed for ten years before Gus, Aunt Maggie and I visited. She had a head for business like my aunt except, Loretta always encountered criticisms from both sexes condemning her for work-ing instead of being at home, 'barefoot and pregnant'. With my immediate skills at the cafe, Loretta believed she could use an extra pair of hands cleaning the two room theatre. Cheyenne could've gone far, if she hadn't dropped out of high school to see the real world the same way her mother did. She had no diploma or degree, but she took any job that paid well as well as gave her the opportunity to step up, by taking the man higher rank to bed with her. Sure she had variety of jobs. Meager. None were full filling. Basically, she just wanted a man to spoil her, if not, she dropped him like a freezer

burn steak. Her overall ideal of a good time. Many men never realized how lethal she could be, and had mixed reactions when or if they found out what she did, just to get her 'kicks'. Dinah completed high school. She was the only one of the three girls that did, other than Sara years later. Lester was the only one to attend a post secondary education facility. He never graduated.

Nathan Hawthorne

Summary of The Scarlet Letter novel.

-It can be viewed as separating the book into the beginning, middle, and end. It symbolizes shame, revelation of sin, and guilt for it is where Hester received her scarlet letter as punishment and where Dimmesdale experiences his revelation through the meteor.

 

Shame and punishment brought self guilt for Karen and Evangeline. Due to her own shameless relationship with her own father, Cheyenne brought emotional and mental scars to her young brother and younger sister, in an incestuous relationship, that carried the physical scars of a tragic loss before the first month. With the same feelings and emotions overwhelmed

him, he wished he was in control in order to have made that mistake from occurring. Cheyenne knew her father had an eye for her including what he wanted. Several times she caught his eyes while covered in makeup, and wearing a revealing dress that followed the lines of the pre-teen's silhouette. She hid a couple of A-line dress with corset bodice,  a long flowing ruffled skirt and heels. She wore them  for her dates her father approved of. And although they brought shame and disgrace, Gean could not leave on account of fear and, because she believed there was nowhere to go with two older kids, and another on another on the way. Nine months led to two physical cover ups. One, was physical appearances, and the second, was to re-stablish her older daughter back in school.

Remember, Cheyenne never had shame or guilt. Nonetheless, her storyline sounded too familiar to Jessica, a young girl Joseph knew in New Brunswick, whose mother had a relationship with.

And how did an orphan ended up with this family, has stumplified me?

 

 

I mentioned Evangeline's name once before. Reminder, she was Joseph's sister. She was an extraordinary woman on account, that she never allowed her last to get to her any time because, she was no longer ashamed of it, and neither was her husband. He accepted her, and desired to make her his wife. When she was a teenager, and still in school, she met a Madame of a Burlesque and Brothel House at a bank in town where she deposited her mother's income into the bank upon her way home from school, the woman was dressed elegantly in a Mrs. C. Donovan evening dress from New York. None of the women she had seen, wore dresses as elegant as this, not by any standards. In her eyes, the mid fifties woman, looked like a queen in a divisive marsala satin, contrast colour of soft sage green and violet velvet evening dress of the sparkle sequins and lustre of the unusual silk to reflect the shine. She admired every detail with intrigue including, the tulle and lace insets in the skirt and bodice that showed the trend towards increasingly delicate and fragile feminism, that she had seen in pictures from European houses.

 

The teenager remain in the kitchen preparing silverware an dishes properly in linen, before putting them properly away. On the weekends, she worked as maid cleaning the bathrooms, while a female custodian cleaned and bedroom. She was forbidden to leave wander throughout the house during business hours, on account she was just fourteen. During the week, she attended school and worked at night, but not before any school work. The Madame made sure the teen completed her school work first, even if it interfered with Evangeline's pay.

I suppose Emma Gaudet had reasons to feel the way she did but, having sons to watch over their sisters well being, must have eased a little even if rivalries always popped up like a weeds in a yard. I can't imagine her inter-secting upon her children's grown lives the way Gean had. Oh no. I can say Emma had expressed her own opinions to whomever, but I strongly doubt she had ruined either of their lives. She once expressed her dislike to her youngest son towards Gean, and though there might have been something she liked about her (think of a yellow beacon yielding traffic in an intersection), this was how Emma had seen her daughter in law. The same thing could be said about her oldest step daughter, to whom she only met twice before she died.

 

In one of the school's newspaper, was a commentary written by another writer,  expressing her views on the 'curfew' restrictions at the time where adults were concerned about the illegal perpetrators of crimes and misdemeanors of mischiefs teenager got into, like stealing hub caps or sneaking into the movie theatres. I like the article. It was direct and straight to the point be-tween honest teens, and troubled teens, which the writer, and many teens and staff, realized the split was typed unfairly. Local councils believed nine o’clock was an appropriate time to clear the streets. 

So in relation to unjust and unfairly, I wrote about the incest between Lester and Karen without details, but placed Cheyenne as the perpetrator and, their parents' neglect for allowing their oldest daughter to br in charge of their other children.  awhile baby-sitting their Although such stories in this family were true, I also added the parents' exhausted work to keep a roof over their heads, where the husband most times had lost himself within himself due to selfish egotism so his wife had to work twice as hard. My story hit plenty of girls whose lives were similar, and thanked me for bringing this situation to lite, where they could not due to fear of shyness from other students that were arrogant to under-stand. And titled it, Petite Maison Douce.

 

Emma Gaudet never stopped being a mother, nor did she stop worrying about her six children even if they had lives of their own from the time they were young, up until adult hood. She knew their friends, and their parents knew her. I was told, she rarely interfered in their adult relationships because expected they would take first hand the values taught about humanity, and the lessons towards earning respect, and an honest living. Evangeline's occupation may have been sinful to outsiders but, she made money to help her family, just like her older sister who worked part-time as a seamstress at their neighbors home and buis-ness. I can't imagine Emma being Gean and, surprising herself into her six children's lives, the way Gean did with her own six children relation-ships. There might have been alarm bells where Gean was concerned, to which Emma strongly disapproved of, including her oldest step daughter, but there were many likes between the two women.

Emma had expressed opinions to her youngest son about her, whether he listened, the answers were never made clear. However, she strongly disliked the fact that Gean opposed of her mother-in-laws distaste in Joseph's pejorative behavior towards social statuses. If there's one thing I believe, Gean was the one to subject to this term. No outsider was good enough for her children. The ladies in Lester's life for instance,  that bore him heirs to the Parsons name, were not good enough due to whichever class they fell under or, whether they were suited to meet her standards of work ethics.

If I ever got married, the sancitity of the word continued to mean some-thing. Not once did I predict to lose my partner so soon. I always thought it'll be til death do us part and live well through our golden years. We did not marry in name only the same way Gean did. Joseph married for love and happiness. I suppose when fourteen year Olga had introduced him to her oldest sister at the Broadview Tavern where he played guitar with a few friends, she hoped both would be as happy as she predicted her own life to be once she got older to marry. I never married for money plus, all I received from Billy's Will, was the house and half of his investments in cousin Corey's  auto repair shops his cousin had around the county. 

                     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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