CREOLE LADY MARMALADE

If you've been up all night and need a little something at 5:30 am to keep your motor going...

Does God Read Blogs?

[Reposted from 2010]
Bonjour God! Let's have a little chat! I respect each person's right to believe and to worship in any manner they feel most appropriate. I also respect the right of each person to modify their beliefs throughout their lifetimes as they grow, learn and become more enlightened. For many of us, religion was introduced to us as a child and what we learned from that exposure was what our parents and religious leaders felt we needed to know of God and the mysteries of life and death. Most important, I respect anyone's right to non-belief...a life free of rules that everyone breaks because THEY ARE SINNERS! Okay, so life can't be completely free of rules, but it can be free of some of the senseless guilt and shame.

As children, we were expected to accept certain things that can't be explained because "God works in mysterious ways" and "when God closes one door, He opens another." Questioning God was frowned upon and if a person harbored any doubts, that person was expected to do so in silence. God wasn't a topic of debate! Some people developed a deep faith as they grew up and it has given them great comfort at times of sorrow and loss throughout their lives. Some people believe God answers prayers and that He never turns his back upon His faithful. They believe He never gives anyone more than they can handle. Those people seem to be able to accept anything that happens without questioning it. And then there's people like me...

What I learned as I grew up was that "God" has many faces and names throughout the world. As a child, that confused me. Perhaps that confusion acted as a catalyst for my exploration of various religions without finding one that truly fits. You see, I've always fallen short of allowing myself to believe in the existence of loving, merciful God who allows some of His most faithful to perish in pain and suffering. I have no problem believing that some greater force than myself is responsible for life as we know it, but I'm afraid that's where it stops. I simply can't give that credit to some supreme all-powerful being who allows the unpredictable acts of Mother Nature, the epidemics that sometimes scourge mankind and all the other major boo boos everywhere like wars, accidents, disease and hunger just to name a few? Why would a God, any god allow those things to happen?

I've really tried to envision some omnipotent being sitting plugged into a gigantic database that constantly oversees all things everywhere throughout the entire universe and it quite frankly blows my mind and makes me laugh. I know what many religious people think and say about people like me. Trust me, I'm not writing this so any of you will leave me mini sermons on the virtues of Christianity and the need to be saved. I'm just having a momentary hard time watching the news and wondering if a merciful and loving God is alive and well and living on the same planet I call home then why is this planet in such peril? Surely, there isn't some obscure Bible verse that says blessed are the nitwits for they shall inherit the Earth.

Logic and reason has always kept me from finding the essence of God because for me the concept of God is anything, but logical or reasonable. Taking a leap of faith to me is like walking off a cliff and expecting not to plunge to my death. Throughout my life whenever I've had questions regarding various aspects of the Bible, no one has been able to adequately give me answers that make sense. For example, if incest is wrong and most everyone knows it is, then explain Adam and Eve and how the world was initially populated without telling me it's JUST a story. NO! NO! NO! The word of God is infallible and who are we to say that anything written in the Bible is JUST a story? It seems like there's no real consistency in God's plan except doom and gloom. There's too many loopholes and excuses for God's complacency and absence.

I've always been a "show me" type of person and quite frankly, I've never been shown any proof that God truly exists. I've been told to just open my eyes and to look at the world around me. When I do that, I gain no enlightenment. The majority of what I see makes me sad. I don't know exactly what it would take to turn me into a believer. The parting of a sea perhaps? World peace? Eradication of disease and hunger? All I know is whatever it is, it hasn't happened and I'm not holding my breath waiting for it to happen. To the world, I say, "c'est la vie!"

Sometimes I feel awkward when in the company of religious people because I have nothing to contribute towards their Christian fellowship. Sometimes I don't know what to say when someone asks me to pray for them or for someone else in need. It's an uncomfortable feeling at times being the odd man out. I never seem to have the right words to let anyone know I'm with them in spirit and thought, but that I feel praying is a bunch of hogwash and a waste of time. I can only imagine telling that to someone and the reaction I would get in return. Instead of an intervention, people would plan an exorcism for me. Get your bells and holy water together! We're giving Mildred an exorcism! Now, that's what I call fun!

When I was younger, I yearned to fit in with everyone else. I wanted to be able to see what they saw

and feel what they felt. Now, fitting in is about the last thing I want to do. Tolerance for heathens everywhere would be nice. Real heartfelt tolerance of anything different would also be nice. Instead of preaching and passing judgment so quickly, shouldn't everyone be living proof of what they believe and desire in others? Shouldn't people lead by example? Don't just talk the talk! You need to walk the walk! All I know is that life has taught me that compassion and true empathy plant the seeds of brotherly love so much quicker than negativity and judgment does. And in my garden, my paradise the seeds of love have been planted long ago and the weeds of nitwits are pulled up quickly before they can firmly root and spread.


Note to self: Mildred, stop writing posts/revising old posts when you can't sleep! You tend to ramble!

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART X

Are you still with me? If you are, then you've reached the moment of the big reveal. From 1975 when my daughter was born until about 2 years ago (2016) my daughter always believed  her father was Kenny Rowe. I never for one moment thought he was an actual possibility. All one had to do was do some simple math. That's why we have fingers and toes! For my daughter to be his, she would have had to have been born prematurely at about 7 months. Have you ever heard of a 7 month old fetus weighing over 9 lbs? 

I'm to blame for this lie and do take full responsibility for telling it and for letting others tell it. You see, way back when I was still in Chipley before I came back to Pensacola to give birth and I told Kenny I was pregnant.  But before I could tell him it wasn't his, he beat me to the punch by assuming that he was the father.  Instead of setting the record straight right then and there, I got my ass bent out of shape when he jumped in before I could tell him and he beat me to the punch by expecting me to get an abortion. I guess his initial reaction about my situation pissed me off and I just let the whole thing ride and let him continue to believe a lie. For the longest time, I thought my secret would never come back to bite me. I thought my secret was safe and that I was protecting my daughter when in reality all I was doing was taking the easy way out by protecting myself from dealing with the truth.

Like most lies, they may not catch up to you at first and sometimes they never catch up to you, but anyone with a conscience eventually feels guilty for telling a lie especially when it's a huge lie. At that point, any honorable person will decide to finally do the right thing if they can. Sure, I felt pangs of guilt over the years, but I wasn't ready to do the right thing until a few years ago. About the time I decided to come clean, I also decided to do some genealogy research so my daughter could at least have a more complete picture of the gene pool that created her. Before that all she knew were all the kooks on my side of her tree.  Doing genealogy research has been an on again off again project of mine for about 20+ years and include being related to many of the Salem witches, Laura Ingalls Wilder, several passengers on the Mayflower, William the Conqueror and thousands of weirdos and misfits that have given me a certain flair.

Telling my daughter the truth was difficult, but I did it without making any excuses for my deceitful behavior. I did what I did many years ago and it was wrong. Period! I was then faced with an entire new set of decisions to make. I figured tracking Donnie down would be relatively easy, but that wasn't the case. Doesn't Murphy's Laws state "nothing is ever as easy as you think it will be?" For the last two years I've chased a "ghost." At some point, I thought "maybe he's dead," but if that was true, there would have been a record of his death and I couldn't find one. 

When I started my "project, I had my daughter do a DNA test through Ancestry.com to give me a place to start my search. Until very late on August 10, 2018, I wasn't able to connect all the dots that would lead me to finding Donnie. Up until then I found plenty of people who showed up as DNA matches for my daughter, but the closest match I had to work with was a couple first and second cousins. Those people never responded to my request for help filling in the blank spots on my daughter's tree. Go figure! I guess on August 10th all the stars and planets were in perfect alignment because I finally located him. The Donnie Arnold I knew long ago is Martin Eudon Arnold. A couple details I discovered made me laugh out loud. The first was that he lives in a place I lived about 30 years ago. It really is a small world when you get right down to it! The next thing that amused me was that I found out when I located him that his birthday was on August 11th...the very next day. Happy birthday, Donnie!

As I dug deeper, my amusement turned into a really sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I discovered out he had gotten married in 1973.  OMG! Was he married when we had our little brouhaha in Panama City Beach?  The answer to that was no. He had gotten divorced the month before I met him in August 1974. I guess I was both his birthday gift and celebratory freedom lay that summer.  He did however manage to get his ex-wife pregnant after they divorced and she had a baby boy a month after my daughter was born. He also got married in 1988, but his wife died in 1991. Since that time, he appears to have remained single or at least never married again.

Now, I'm faced with what should I do next. Should I do nothing and just be content with handing my daughter all the info I've found or should I rock Donnie's world by contacting him with a "hey dude, remember me and guess what we did?"  I think my daughter deserves an opportunity to know her father if he's open to that, but I definitely don't want to hurt her by throwing her to the wolves. I have a letter written and saved on my computer, but I don't know who I should send it to. Should I send it to his two adult children and let them be the bearer of good tidings and joy or should I bite the bullet and send him the letter? I'm not usually this indecisive, but then again I've never been in this situation before.  Any advice anyone wants to toss my way will be deeply appreciated. I'm seriously running on empty. I haven't had a normal sleep pattern for a long, long time. I feel anxious whenever I start thinking about this and I just want to put this behind me once and for all, but I can't do that until I do something...and hopefully that something I ultimately decide to do is the right thing for everyone concerned.  I used to keep an 8-ball on my desk at work for situations that required decision making. Maybe I should dust it off and consult it now!

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART IX

If the mistakes we all make make and the regrets we all have were made into a game show, I think many people would stand in line waiting to be crowned king and queen. I think a large, shiny trophy to stick on a shelf as a conversation piece and dust collector might be a nice thing to have for all the time and effort we all devote to making mistakes and having regrets. I don't necessarily want to be crowned, but I want a trophy! Damn it! Wait a minute I do have a trophy. In fact, I have a few trophies. 

Once in awhile I stumble into doing the right thing. Although I truly didn't want to go back to Pensacola to give birth,  I did because it was the right thing to do. Changing my mindset to think of the life growing inside me FIRST before anything else didn't take long to accomplish. The remaining months of my pregnancy were spent getting healthy and preparing myself for motherhood. In my spare time, I couldn't help, but reminisce and wonder if all the abuse I put my body through would ultimately affect the child I was about to have. Everything I had experienced in the last few years was still fresh in my memory...sometimes too fresh! 

My mind didn't just linger on past lovers. I thought more often of my friends and the zany times we shared together. I can't help but smile when I think about the time Carol and I burned a cross in Gene's wife's front yard or how Carol would go topless on Panama City Beach like she was sunbathing on the French Riviera instead of on the Redneck Riviera. 

I couldn't help but smile when I thought of how we shamelessly flirted with Larry Gilley and Chip Coatney (one of many Coatneys in that area), but did so not because we wanted either of them. We did it because we could. We did it to give people something to talk about. And I guess we did it because we were bored and they always seemed to be around. One time we pulled them over just to mess with their heads. That act never required too much effort because it was like shooting fish in a barrel. I proceeded to rub myself all over Larry and told him I was getting him ready for Lana Carol (now, there's a great Southern belle's name) and believe it or not her last name was the icing on the cake. Lana Carol Duck lived conveniently directly across from the Cat's Eye and Larry Gilley "belonged" to her and Chip was her younger brother. In those days the  word "cougar" hadn't been coined just yet, but that's exactly what Lana Carol was...a hot mess who was an older blonde hussy with big boobs and a southern accent most Southerners would kill to have. When I used the word "foreplay," Larry looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Now, tell me how one goes about explaining what foreplay is with a straight face. At that point, the mood was gone and we sent them along their merry way while Carol and I laughed our asses off.

Two of my favorite Chip Coatney memories involved me playing strip poker with him and a group of people. Chip designated himself as being dealer and thought he was slick by cheating. I knew what he was up to, but kept my mouth shut. I just played along then told him I knew he had been cheating when I was sitting there as naked as a jay bird (how naked do jay birds get?). I earned his respect for doing that, but that respect was short-lived. Not long after Mr. Cardshark saw me without my clothes, he decided he'd annoy me one evening at the Cat's Eye. He kept razzing me until I had my fill. As we were told to take it outside by Leon Anderson, the owner of The Cat's Eye, Chip decided that calling me a "lanky-legged Yankee bitch" was a smart thing to do. It might have been a great strategic move for most people, but Chip wasn't a

fighter. Chip was a hemophiliac, and when I tackled him and we started rolling around on the ground in the parking lot outside, I told him I was going to make him bleed if he didn't apologize. Guess what? The thought of profusely bleeding and not being able to make it stop, made him apologize quickly. When in Rome, do as the Romans do! Be fierce! Be a gladiator! And never give up!

My list of doing stupid stuff included a trip to the woods one night to be shown an actual KKK meeting place. It was a small church stuck in the middle of nowhere and the inside was set up like a courtroom. The thought of white-hooded racists possibly showing up made it a quick trip. Being inside that place really did give me the heebie jeebies. Add going for a leisurely trip down the snake and alligator infested swamp (the local creek) with the sole purpose of shooting down hornet nests that were hanging from the cascading branches. The hornets were only part of my concern...what about the HUGE spiders, the water moccasins and the rather hungry looking alligators? All the rocket scientists I was with assured me that the swarm of hornets would fly the opposite way and not towards us, but to this day I don't know how certain they really were of that. To me that's called wishful thinking while being willfully ignorant. The odds were 50/50 at best and I guess that makes me a dumb ass for going along for the ride.

Do you know how you know know when you're truly fried? It's when you make a 14 year old drive a stick shift about 20 miles because no one else was able to do it. That same 14 year old tagged along most places with us because he was the younger brother of my current boy toy, Kenny Rowe. One night when all of us had our fill of Vincent, we made him go sit in the closet in my bedroom with the door closed. Everyone was surprised he stayed there and we all assumed he had fallen asleep. When Theresa came home, she went into my room to change her clothes. Let's just say Vincent feasted his eyes on seeing his first living breathing naked female and Theresa wanted to poke his eyes out for sitting in the closet with the door cracked open just enough to get a good look at her.  

Let's not forget the time Theresa thought drinking homemade moonshine was a great idea. What wasn't so great was how it took four grown men to get her out of the car. Moonshine will make you CRAZY and when you're already crazy to begin with, moonshine makes your inner redneck shine brightly.  Those four brave men (bless their hearts) got the shit kicked out of them and Theresa never remembered it the next day, but they did.

I remembered the toilet paper we would steal from the wayside park at the creek because when you're on a tight budget you have to cut corners somewhere. Sometimes it was either buy toilet paper or buy food (bologna.) Hmmm! It's not too difficult to figure out what we bought and what we ripped off. It was all good until we actually had to use the "free" toilet paper. Isn't it said that in life "you get what you pay for?" I kid you not that state of Florida spares no expense when supplying toilet paper for its public restrooms. Only the best for for our rumps. Let's just say the toilet paper was like wiping your backside with a course piece of sandpaper that had wood splinters attached to it, but thank goodness all of us became very skilled at removing sphincter splinters.

What story would be complete without it including someone who shoots any insects that find their way inside their house? Yes, you read that correctly. When it comes to oak roaches and if you live somewhere that oak roaches thrive, you know no matter who you are or where you live they will find their way inside. I think they like air conditioning! When it's 90+ degrees outside and almost 100% humidity, every living creature likes air conditioning. Now, you can cut down on the number of the little bastards that find their way inside by having an exterminator

service spray around the outside of your house, but things in Nub City aren't done that way. While visiting some people one night, we all were sitting around the kitchen table when an oak roach rudely made an uninvited appearance on the kitchen wall. The next thing I know, the resident gunslinger pulled out a handgun and blew a hole in the wall. I think the proper terminology for doing that is the word "overkill." 

Last, but not least, what story is complete without revealing a truly bitchy moment that doesn't paint me in a very favorable light? Yes, I know most of my stories don't paint me as Miss Pristine Princess. One day while we were "in town" we saw Gary Harris and Judy Wood just about fell over and most of the female in those parts chased after him. Yes, he was fine looking, but there was something about him that just didn't appeal to me. Maybe it was because he knew he looked good. The day before he had stopped me while I was taking a walk and asked me to ride with him out to Lucas Pond. His thinking was that the police wouldn't harass him between point A and point B if he had a girl in the car with him. He had a whole trunk load of weed to deliver, so in I got and away we went to Lucas Pond. I could tell Royce was surprised to see me with Gary even though I wasn't really "with" him. 

When Carol and I saw Gary the next day, Judy couldn't wait to invite him to the party we were going to have that night. I guess she thought by inviting him, it would give her exclusive rights to him and what I thought was that she needed a lesson in rules of the meat market. First come! First serve! When Gary showed up that night, I never gave Judy a chance to claim her prize. As he and I slid past her, I whispered to her, "Sorry, Judy. He's mine tonight." I really didn't want him, but for some reason I didn't want Judy to have him and he seemed more than eager to get me alone. What can I say? I was just smoother than she was and maybe she learned a lesson not to assume anything when it came to the meat market. Gary never spoke to Judy at all that night

    

and the next day she decided to go back to Orlando where she lived. Another one bites the dust! I hate when that happens!

For all of you who have made it this far...Part Ten is the last segment of this glorious year long tale of woe. At this rate,  it'll take me the rest of my life and then some to write my entire life story so my descendants can see the gene pool from which they come. 

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART VIII

I've always believed in the philosophy "when in Rome, do as the Romans do" or in other words, I was a chameleon who changed colors to fit into any environment. I learned early in life that deceptively assimilating to change is so much easier being a faux chameleon than it is constantly butting heads with the status quo. It was another thing I was great at in short bursts, but one huge problem with

being a chameleon, I didn't have a color for pregnancy and whoever came up with the asinine idea that all pregnant women are beautiful was either a fool, a damn liar, a man or a combination of all three...try fat and ugly with stretch marks and having some award-winning hemorrhoids and insane food cravings instead and you might have hit the nail directly on its head. I always loved the reaction people would have, when they addressed me as "Mrs. Ratched" assuming that because I was pregnant I was married and I would politely correct them by replying "Miss Ratched...I'm not married." To my response always came an immediate apology and I always assured the person not to be sorry because I wasn't.

Upon finding out I was pregnant, I made the decision to return home. My mother insisted I do that because she was worried I wouldn't take care of myself. For the life of me I couldn't understand why she would ever think that [please insert sarcasm and eye roll here], but returning home seemed like the right thing to do so home I went...for awhile at least.

While I had been having my misadventures in Nub City, my stepfather's niece, Teresa had moved in with my mother and him. She had no problem with making herself right at home. This included plundering through my belongings whenever she felt like it and wearing my clothes without asking me. When I confronted her, she simply told me that I wouldn't be wearing any of them any time soon...TRUE, but they still belonged to me and she should have asked me first. It didn't take me long to see the writing on the wall. My relationship with her would always be adversarial at best. So much for having a peaceful pregnancy with no stress...

One day when I had my fill of Teresa, I wrote my mother a short note, walked out of the house and hitch hiked back to Chipley. Surprise, bitches! I'm back! Bring on the bologna sandwiches, but hold the mushroom tea!



In reality I was no closer to figuring out what I was going to do than I was before I left Pensacola. With plenty of time on my hands, I couldn't help but think about all the days that led to my present situation dilemma delicate condition. I think getting a birthday card from Bruce (remember him?) effected me more than I cared to admit. It made me think once again of Stacy and the huge mistake I had made. I never did tell my friends I was hurting. None of them knew of my adventures at Kinsman Hall. They knew nothing about the pain I carried with me. I missed my friends I had left behind and although I know the door had been slammed in my face months before from never returning there even though I had tried, I knew a part of me would always remain in Jackman. I just did what I always do...put on a convincing act as if and everyone saw me as a free spirit with not a care in the world (another thing to add to my list of things I do well.)

Everyone always assumes Florida has no winter. Up here on the Redneck Riviera, winter does exist! It may not get into sub-zero temperatures like those in Maine, but it gets in the 20's several times throughout the winter months (not exactly considered ideal camping weather) On one of those chilly nights in January, Theresa and I went by to visit her family and ended up spending the night at her mother's house. Her brothers had built a nice, toasty fire in the backyard and had pitched a tent. We thought camping out sounded like a splendid idea until about 3am when I hadn't slept a wink and was colder than a witch's tit (an old Maine saying.)  No matter what position I got in, I couldn't get comfortable laying on the ground in a sleeping bag. The crackle of the inviting fire had long died out and was replaced with the sound of Theresa grinding her teeth in her sleep. And yes, Theresa could sleep through anything!

I woke her up and told her I was going inside the house because I was freezing. I was either going to kick one of her brothers out of their bed or I was going to crawl in with one of them. Upon waking, Theresa discovered she was cold also and thought going inside was a great idea so in we went and out came her brothers bitching at how rude we both were. Being pregnant definitely had its advantages.

The next day Theresa and I made our way back to Chipley. Our first stop before going "home" was to make a bologna run at the local Piggly Wiggly. Murphy Laws states that whenever you don't want to run into someone, that person will always show up unexpectedly so one should always be prepared for such inauspicious occasions. When we came out of the store, there was Rickey Brooks and Kent French waiting for us. Naturally, after the customary greetings, Theresa thought it would be a friendly gesture inviting them back to our place. This would have been a great time to have Theresa wear a shock collar set on "kill the bitch," but I smiled and agreed to the visit.

By this time, there was no hiding that I was pregnant. I could see the wheels grinding away as Rickey did some quick math in his head. It seems like I went from being able to wear my normal clothes to nothing fitting overnight. Being pregnant definitely has a way of spreading the news without ever having to say a word. The visit was somewhat awkward. Rickey eyes never left me and I kept trying to avoid looking at him as much as possible. He looked like he was waiting for me to say something acknowledging being pregnant, but I never said a word. Add that to my list of things I'm great at doing! A simple discreet "the baby isn't not yours" would have adequately sufficed, but no such  words ever left my lips.

Rickey looked good...he always looked good. But more important, there were no visible signs of the horrific accident he had been in a few months earlier. After awhile Rickey fell into his normal playful banter with everyone and he even tried convincing me he was crazy because his car rolled on his head. To that, I kindly reminded him that the car rolling on his head had nothing to do with him being crazy. That ship had sailed a long time before his accident! When it came time to say our farewells, I did manage to tell him I was glad he was okay and that I was moving back to Pensacola even though I hadn't actually decided to do so. I just knew I couldn't tolerate anymore visits from him. I had some real regrets where he was concerned, but dealing with them now had been placed on the back burner. Maybe someday I'd address those regrets, but today wasn't that day.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART VII

The remnants of a broken heart linger for a long time. To cope with all those ugly feelings I felt I made myself believe I didn't want someone tagging along after me like a puppy in search of yummies. Just fuck me hard and go your ass home or wherever, but remember your way back just in case my itch needs to be scratched again. That's how I came off, but it wasn't really how I felt. Like anyone else, I wanted to be loved by a special someone...my special someone, but I was quite clueless when it came to making that happen so instead I threw up my wall and acted like an alley cat in heat. That was easier than admitting what I really wanted. I had myself convinced I didn't deserve to have a normal life with someone who loved me. It was definitely a dangerous slippery sloop! Yes, it was easier to be a saucy tart...it was familiar territory and I was good at it. The other option scared the hell out of me and I was clueless. REALLY CLUELESS!

With the holidays fast approaching I set up my monthly doctor appointments to fall so I could spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family. That meant I'd be eating actual food instead of bologna sandwiches. My mother was a fantastic cook and I was really looking forward to all the goodies I knew she'd make. So off to Pensacola I went with an insatiable appetite and a bag full of dirty laundry. 

I was keeping my fingers crossed that my "Christmas" follow-up appointment would be my last since the pain in my abdomen was finally getting better. My mother chauffeured me to the base and patiently waited for me outside the examination room.  The doctor I saw wasn't who I had been seeing, but that was normal for the military way of life.  Patients got stuck with whatever doctor was available at the time. Rotations sucked and I hated it because no one was ever given the luxury of having their doctor get to know them. Patients were merely a number and a name and nothing more. I had been fortunate to have seen the same doctor for my last few appointments, but that had abruptly ended. Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!

Now with my feet up in the stirrups and the white sheet strategically draped across my legs, the doctor readied me for a pelvic exam. I knew the drill, but liked it about as well as any woman liked being poked and prodded without any foreplay or a few kind words. This doctor took a little longer examining me than the last one had. When he was finished, he stood up and casually asked me if I knew that I was 4 months pregnant. What? Did I know what? I told him that I had been being treated for an ovarian cyst. The last doctor told me it was quite normal not to have a period, so I never got too concerned about it. As reality set in, I felt the color drain from my face and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. What in hell was I going to do with a baby? Babies can't survive on bologna sandwiches and mushroom tea. When I left the room I was totally dazed and confused.  My mother took one look at me and said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" No lecture followed. No sermon. No interrogation. No bright lights and rubber hoses. Whatever followed would be entirely my decision to make...alone.

So what do you get when you have a lot of unprotected sex? BINGO! The previous idiot doctor had been treating me for an ovarian cyst. Did he get his medical degree from the University of Hard Knocks? Guess what, Einstein? My cyst grew arms, legs and a head and was eventually named Christina and nothing quite slows your roll like facing an unplanned pregnancy. 

Those days seem like so long ago, yet when I get together with any old friend from those days it all seems like yesterday. All our lives have changed immensely over the years, but I think the more things change the more they ultimately remain the same. So in remembrance of those good old days and the people who imprinted themselves upon my life, I inhale slowly…deeply until my smile glows from within and the memories warm my chilly heart.