TO STACY WHEREVER YOU ARE

WHY CAN'T JOHNNY READ AND WRITE?

I woke up this morning thinking about why so many people are up in arms about prayer not being allowed in schools. I remember as a child praying in school, but now I look back and see how wrong it was to impose Christianity upon everyone. It's great if you believe in a Christian god, but what if you don't? What if you're family is Jewish or Muslim? What if your family is Buddhist or Hindu? What if your family is Wiccan or Scientologists? What if your family is Agnostic or Atheist? What's wrong with just having a moment of silence in respect of all belief systems and not just favoring one? What's wrong with teaching tolerance and respecting all differences? What's wrong with teaching a child God has many faces and sometimes God is a faceless entity called science and reason? Shouldn't schools be more concerned with teaching our children math, reading and science than instilling religious doctrine? I guess it's okay not to be able to read or write as long as you can recite the Lord's prayer because God takes care of all His followers and will provide for you when you can't get a job. If I sound angry, I am! Religion is not the cure all to everything! It belongs in church and not in our public schools!

A CRY FOR HELP

Each summer during my mother's vacation from work my family would go stay at my Aunt Leah's camp on Eddington Pond. My family wasn't fortunate enough to own a camp so we had to rely on the generosity of others. As I got older, my brothers stopped going to camp and opted to stay home so they could have legendary parties. While the cat's away the mice will play! 

I hadn't reached the "I don't want to go to camp" stage yet. The highlight of my days at camp as I got older were the boys who had a camp next door. As with any 13 almost 14 year old girl, I immediately developed a crush on one of the boys named Jimmy. I've always had a run of bad luck with guys with that name, but I finally learned my lesson after marrying one.  This "ginger" Jimmy gave me my first real taste of what rejection felt like. How humiliating it is to feel like the ugly duckling and the odd man out. I hated feeling not good enough. I hated being me. Why couldn't I have been born short, petite and gorgeous? 

I've always had self-destructive tendencies as far back as I can remember. Although I've only halfheartedly tried the big "S" a few times, I now wonder what was my actual goal when I downed a whole bottle of aspirin chased by a massive amount of straight whisky. Did I have any idea that it could have killed me? Was I disappointed when it didn't kill me? 

My mother brought a whole gallon of Canadian Club whisky to camp that summer and now I wonder why she did that. My mother wasn't a drinker. Did she have plans of entertaining after the children were tucked snugly into bed in the loft overlooking the pond? If so, I never saw any evidence of it. Were my actions a cry for help or was I just looking for the attention I obviously wasn't getting? So many questions in hindsight, but never any beforehand.

After going on a very animated teenage tirade that probably resembled the Tasmanian Devil going after Bugs Bunny and ingesting the only things available to me at the time...a bottle of aspirin and whisky, I remember continually vomiting until all I could do is dry heave and heave and heave. At that point the desire to die was more than just a fleeting impulse. I felt so bad, dying would have been a welcome relief. The next morning when asked about my "illness" I passed off what was wrong with me as being some type of intestinal ailment when in reality I probably should have been in the hospital. 

It always amazed me how strong my mother's sense of denial was. She was a nurse and never "saw" all the classic signs I exhibited of a teenager in crisis. All my stunts went unnoticed until I eventually overdosed on barbiturates at school less than two years later and was rushed to the ER. Since she worked at that hospital, it was out of the question for me to try to cover up that one. Oops! I got too high and forgot how many I had taken! Actually, that was the truth. I ate pills like candy. If 3 were good, 6 or more were spectacular. Who knew how many drugs I had in my system at any given time? Like an alcoholic, one could never be too high unless unconscious or comatose. Oh, what a wonderful gene pool from which I come!

My ears rang so loudly for the better part of a week that I could hard hear anything, but the ringing. I felt like I had a severe case of the flu. I hurt all over and I couldn't keep anything in my stomach for several days. My best friend, Margie witnessed me sink into my dark era. She accompanied me to camp that summer and fretted over me. When I look back, I wonder how close she came to ratting me out. It must have been hard for her to watch me be in so much pain and self-destruct. (I'm sorry, Margie!) 

Now, I look back and wonder where my mother was during all my brouhahas and why she had left my friend and I unattended that evening. The unattended theme carried through the next summer as well when I did have a boyfriend and that boyfriend was allowed to come stay at camp with me. Oh, what a summer that was! I was 14. He was 16. Skinny-dipping, frolicking in the summer sun and lazy nights and early mornings spent listening to the loons while wrapped in each other's arms. For awhile, I got the attention I needed and wanted and then poof! It was gone and so was I. And to this day just the smell of whisky makes me nauseous.

THE LAST MILE

This is dedicated to Helen Evancheck who recently passed away at 98 years young on September 21, 2022. 

When I walked away there was no turning back. I knew from that point on my life would never be the same. Yes, I longed for the familiar surroundings I called home, yet that house would always remain with me no matter where I went. Running away only made the things I loved no longer a physical part of my life. I could hold them close in my mind and take them with me.

Looking back on it, I know now that my decision to leave was totally wrong, yet at the time it seemed I was trapped and had no other choice. That few weeks I spent on the psych ward after my first overdose, made me realize I had very few real friends. Each night when Wayne's mother came on duty, I would sit with her at the nurse's station and talk until I could fall asleep. We never once discussed her son or why I was on her floor. I knew she had read my chart and was familiar with all the notes written in it. What was there to discuss? I know I should have been ashamed, but she never made me feel uncomfortable. She talked to me as if she truly cared for my well-being and I always appreciated that. She was kind and gentle: warm and loving...all the things I needed most at that time.

I acted horrible during the day...defiant and always questioning authority. I refused to participate in any group therapy and used any recreation time to create weird things to decorate my room. My pride and joy were the bats I had made from modeling clay. I had painted them black with red eyes and then hung them with sewing thread from the pipe near the ceiling in my room. It seemed everything I did was aimed at getting a reaction. But no matter how outrageous I acted Mrs. Evancheck treated me the same way she treated me from the first time she met me when Wayne brought me home to meet his parents. She treated me like one of her own. 

I still remember the outrage I felt when my mother had brought me an electric razor so I could shave my legs and underarms and it was immediately taken away from me. I quickly challenged them by asking if they thought I was going to shave myself to death. Surely, they couldn't think I would try to hang myself with the cord...it wasn't long enough for that and besides hanging just wasn't my style. They never did give me a reason why they took it. They didn't have to give me a reason, so I went on being my usual obnoxious self. Why they didn't just medicate me was a mystery to me, but it probably had something to do with the fact that I would have enjoyed zoning out on some good psychiatric drugs. 

The law required any drug overdoses to be sent to the psych ward for 2 weeks of observation after surviving the ER and the ICU, but many people weren't that lucky. For most the only trip they took was to the morgue! The two weeks I was on C-4 was some of the hardest decision making time I have ever had. Due to my impaired judgment and being so screwed up, I made all the wrong decisions at that time! I had no adult I could turn to for guidance.  I just didn't trust anyone that way.

So I was alive! The overdose had not been intentional...I simply was out of control and on a very self-destructive path. I loved getting high and staying high. I feared nothing...not even death itself. I slowly retreated into a silent, safe place where I no longer felt any pain. Along with feeling no pain, I discovered I also felt no happiness, joy or love. Wayne had threatened to leave me if I didn't stop getting high as if that was going to stop me! Ha! Now, he was gone and I was truly alone...except for my drugs. Somehow they had replaced everything that was good or right in my life. They dulled the pain and I learned how to live being comfortable numb. 

Lynne, someone I considered a friend, offered me a way out and I took it.  I believed that nothing could be worse than what I had been experiencing. It wasn't until much later until I discovered that things always can get worse. It only took me a few days after being discharged from the hospital to realize going back to school and trying to straighten out my life was just not going to happen like everyone else wanted it to happen. The day I left home, I took one last look at Wayne's house before I walked down my street and walked towards the interstate with Lynne. That last mile was my point of no return. As we set out on the road, I left some of my pain behind but the biggest portion was something I would carry with me until I learned how to forgive.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost-

HANDPRINTS IN THE ATTIC

Yes, there were actual handprints attic.  They were put there to imprint my legacy on the house I grew up calling home.  When I was young, my attic always had an air of mystique to it.  Often times a strong draft would make the door creek open and shut causing the appearance of it being haunted.  Who am I to say it wasn't haunted?  I only lived there and it was built in the 1830's! But the fear I had of the attic when I younger soon dissipated when I discovered its true value.  It was a great place to skip school when I had no other place to go. My friend, Linda and I spent many a day tucked away in the attic discussing boys, very quietly listening to all the best songs on the radio and practicing the latest dance moves.  And then in later years it was an excellent party central!

The attic had 3 rooms.  One room was sealed off from the rest of the attic.  It was dark and foreboding.  I never explored it nor did I ever shine a flashlight into the window size opening that was on the top of right side of the stairway.  As silly as it sounds, I was always afraid of what I might see.  The other two rooms were on the left side of the stairway.  The room directly at the top of the stairs had exposed rafters, but had finished walls and a wide plank wooden floor.  It had a large closet partitioned along the back wall.  That made a great place to stash pillows and blankets for when it was cold and we used that space as a pseudo bedroom because it was so cozy and secluded from everything else.  The other room had two windows in it that looked out to the street that ran past my house.  That room was completely finished and had a crawlspace the length of the room along the  left side.  Upon exploring it, I found old papers and other things stashed in it, but none of it seemed of any value to me.   

Slowly the attic became transformed into a semi-furnished place to hang out. The transformation began as soon as I started hauling discarded furniture up there.  Soon the attic had 2 old sofas, several chairs, a table, a radio, lamps and other various items I collected and hauled up there.  What I remember most about the attic is its musty smell.  I thought of many ways to eliminate that musty smell and tried things like burning incense and spraying air freshener, but what helped most was when I decide to paint the walls and floors of the 2 useable rooms. 

The transformation hit high gear when I organized  a painting party.  Each person who planned to attend brought whatever remnants of old paint they could find.  My contribution was tangerine colored paint that was used to paint an old sea captain's trunk (I always thought my mother was crazy for painting that trunk any color), lemon colored paint from my bedroom and lavender colored paint from one of the bathrooms.  The wide plank floor was painted in stripes.  Each plank was a different color.  Then the room took on a whole new life of its own when we all used the rest of the paint in a much more creative way.  We put multi-colored handprints all over the walls.  The final result looked like something out of a lunatic's mind or perhaps a scene from a Dr. Seuss poem. 

One hand
Two hands
Red hand
Blue hand

Black hand
Blue hand
Old hand
New hand

Some are red and some are blue.
Some are old and some are new.
Some are sad and some are glad.
And some are very, very bad.

Why are they sad and glad and bad?
I don't know. Go ask your dad.

Some are thin and some are fat.
The fat one has a yellow hat.
From there to here, from here to there,
Funny things everywhere.

Here are some who like to run.
They run for fun in the hot, hot sun
Oh me! Oh my!
Oh me! Oh my!

What a lot of funny things go by.
Some have two hands and some have four.
Some have six hands and some have more.
Where do they come from?

I cant say.
But I bet they have come a long, long way.

We see them come.
We see them go.
Some are fast.
And some are slow.
Some are high.
And some are low

Not one of them is like another.
Don't as us why.
Go ask your mother.

(adapted from "Red Fish Blue Fish" by Dr. Seuss)

Many years later the plot thickened into a sort of silly jiggly jello kind of mess.  My home was sold and converted into 3 apartments.  My cousin, Debbie still lived next door and the new owner asked her if she knew who used to live there.  I think she must have been a little hesitant to commit to answering that question until she was asked if she knew that someone had painted handprints all over the walls in the attic.  With that she laughed and nodded her head.  It was that crazy Mildred Ratched who joyfully left her imprint on that very old, very bold yellow brick house on Walter Street.  

THE SAGE OF THE SPIDER BITE

I didn’t quite know what to expect yesterday going into my angiogram. I had a basic concept of the procedure but when I got in the procedure room and on the table, it was like I was in Marquis de Sade’s torture chamber. They started strapping me down to the table where conscious sedation would be used. I guess no wiggling is allowed! So you know me I couldn't resist asking which one of the six or seven people in the room was the dominatrix. OMG! That’s all it took! Those people erupted and off it went…

So the procedure went well, but no blockage was found. They used a device called a mynx to plug my femoral artery to stop the bleeding and I swear they used a sledge hammer to put the mynx in. No joke! I'm sore from my waist to half way down my right thigh. An interesting thing about the procedure is that they go in from the opposite side. The bite is on my left ankle and my whole right side is hurting today. My left underarm even hurts today and I have no valid reason for that. It feels like someone grabbed me hard by the armpit. My right side of my neck feels like it got tweeked somehow. I think they may have had a squad of little kids jumping up and down on me while I was unconscious. On the up side, I get to be a lady of leisure for the next several days. 

Because the doctor found no blockage, he now wants me to have a MRI of the area because he thinks it may be an infection in the bone that’s preventing the wound from healing. I just hope the MRI is a little earier on my body than this was! [lol] So the saga of the spider bite continues…

ITSY BITSY SPIDER

As I worked outside in my yard in early January, I got bit by "something" on my left outer ankle.  I never thought much about it until months later when it didn't heal and started to get worse. The bite was located so I couldn't get a good look at it straight on so I started taking pictures of it periodically to compare to see what it was actually doing. I'm no expert, but to me it looked like a spider bite. It would appear like it would start to heal and then it would break open again and that process kept happening repeatedly. 

Around July, I decided it was time to have my primary care doctor look at it because I'm diabetic and although wounds do heal slower for diabetics, I figured six months was more than enough time for anything to heal. She immediately told me she was sending me to a vascular surgeon to have him evaluate it. I got all the particulars on why she thought that was necessary and it made sense so off I went to wait to hear from the vascular surgeons office.

It took about two weeks to get a call to set up an appointment. Yesterday I had my appoinment with that doctor. With much trepidation, I envisioned him poking and prodding my wound, but none of that happened. When he and his PA entered the room they both asked me questions, examined the wound and they both felt the pulse in my foot. I showed them the pictures I had taken of the wound and they agreed that it was a spider bite. The doctor stood back and told me I have no pulse in my left foot. He said I was going to first need an ultrasound done which they did of both legs and blood drawn to prepare me for having an angiogram done that would be scheduled for Friday morning. Hopefully, the angiogram will restore the blood flow to my foot so the wound will finally heal.

The moral of the story is: Don't delay getting wounds looked at assuming they will heal on their own without any assistance (BUT I had it looked at in the ER in June and they said it looked fine! I guess because my foot wasn't falling off it looked fine to them! IDIOTS!) And this goes with double or triple caution if you're a diabetic because you can end up losing a limb. I am in no way completely out of the woods yet and that scares me.  The reality of the situation really is a slap in the face and an eye opener. I need to be more careful. The wound still needs to heal. I'm just thankful it was caught in time to restore the blood flow to my foot to give it a chance to heal.

I'VE BEEN NOMINATED!

I won't bore anyone with where I've been or why I've been there. I know I've been neglectful and probably deserve a good flogging! Who's up for the task? The line forms out back behind the art studio. Take a number and wait for your turn!

OMG! I can’t stop laughing! I just got an email this morning letting me know I was nominated to be in the Professional Who’s Who. Ordinarily this might be considered an honor, but I (Karen) wasn’t the one nominated! Mildred Ratched was the one they want to include in their publication! I have half a mind to go for it, but then the other half...that seldomly used rational side of my brain, wants to know who nominated me and why. Hmmm! Perhaps I can offer a free shock treatment and an enema to the person who nominated me!

THANKSGIVING WITH MILDRED

So with everything that this past year has thrown my way, I can only hope my Thanksgiving will look similar to this...

 

THE TIME I ALMOST KISSED YOUNG MILDRED GOOD-BYE

Ramping up to the Cuban Missile Crisis and as things started heating up with Russia way back in the late1950's and early1960's (The Pre-Stoned Age) students used to have air raid drills and were instructed on what to do if attacked by enemy missiles.  Was the term "friendly fire" even used then? What would have happened if one of out own missile silos had blown up or misfired or something?  Were we ever instructed on that?  Just a thought!  Oh, Uncle Sam doesn't make those kind of boo-boo's we all know that! Just ask any Republican. Weren't the big right-wingers back then the John Birch Society?

I lived in a city that had an air force base and can attest to the fact that when the Missile Crisis and nuclear war was a real threat we had frequent drills. Thank you for scaring the bejesus out of me, Nikita Khrushchev! Perhaps Vladimir Putin could learn a thing or two from you. [That's being written with Maine sarcasm if you aren't one who is fluent in Mildred...] 

The one thing they didn't tell us or give us any instructions about was what to do if a nuclear warhead hit and we were ground zero or anywhere close to ground zero. They weren't honest! No one told us that we could kiss our sweet young asses good-bye, but even as a small child I could see the real worry, the real concern in the adults eyes.  That's when I knew something was amiss.  That's when I knew something wasn't right in the world and it needed to be fixed pronto! 

Of course, they weren't going to frighten children like that and cause an outbreak of panic and and hysteria. I may have been just a kid, but I caught enough on the evening news to know what was going on and knew David Brinkley, Chet Huntley and Walter Cronkite were not some blowhards like Tucker Carlson, Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh or Bill O'Reilly.  Can you even imagine that?  My mother would have popped a vein in her head if Walter Cronkite came off sounding like Rush Limbaugh.  OMG!  Or David Brinkley sounded like Tucker Carlson? Holy Christ! Say it isn't so! My father would dropped kicked the television set across the dooryard. And those were the days when people only had one television set per household.  It wasn't like how it is now with our pampered asses of today! Oh by the way, for those of you who weren't born and raised in Maine, a "dooryard" is your yard where you go to play as a child. 

That was back in the days when the news was just the news before it became fake and filled with guff from conspiracy theorists. We knew the threat was real because they told us it was real.  Why did we know that? Because they didn't lie! They told it like it was and only like it was. When exactly did that stop? 

The newspaper article is dated October 20, 1959. 

GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

As I look back at the past twenty years, one thing that has become the elephant in the room for me is the book that I have been jabbing at finishing. Oh, I have a list of excuses a mile long as to why this pet project never got completed.  Just to defend myself all of my excuses are valid ones, but I have to admit I have lollygagged when I could have plowed through the emotional angst and written THE END many times over.  One could assume I have a problem with completing things or with procrastination...both is probably true.  I've noticed in the last few years how unorganized I've become and how overwhelming everything seems to be at times.  I guess instead of just jumping in and getting things done at times when I feel overwhelmed, I back off.  Perhaps, the fear of success rattles my cage.  Perhaps if I complete my project, what's next?  Does something have to come next? Why can't I just exist in troglodytic nothingness?

So I'm recommitting myself to finishing this "project" and it's purely for my own satisfaction.  This story I'm writing is about my time in drug rehab.  Needless to say, it was a time of great emotional upheaval and self-discovery...among other things.  I'm going to be posting it online in blog form so if any of you are interested in reading it, I'll be posting the link to it soon.

As I've been working on it, names and faces have flooded my head.  One such name and face is that of Sharon Smith, a girl I once knew from what was once referred to as reform school (Stevens School For Girls).  Sharon and I escaped together and headed to Boston together where I ended up leaving her with some friends of mine there (long story).  I never saw Sharon again after that, but I always wondered what became of her until I discovered many year later that fate had been unkind to her and her family.  

Below is Sharon's story according to Noi Noi Ricker published on July 16, 2016 in the Bangor Daily News:

BANGOR, Maine — When Sharon Smith disappeared nearly 36 years ago, her siblings weren’t immediately worried.

“She had run away so many times, she was that type of person,” her brother Randy Smith of Lakeland, Florida, said Monday by phone. “It wasn’t like, ‘Oh my God, she’s missing.’ It was more, ‘She’ll be back next week.’”

But she didn’t come back.

The 25-year-old mother of two was last seen on or about Aug. 25, 1980, when she worked an evening shift at the Paramount Lounge, a gritty hotel bar in downtown Bangor known for its adult entertainment where she worked as a waitress and, occasionally, as a stripper.

Her mother, Carolee Smith, reported Sharon Smith missing at the time, resulting in a police investigation that appeared to go nowhere over the years until last month, when investigators dug up a property in Hermon looking for Sharon Smith’s body.

Suddenly, the surviving members of Sharon Smith’s family were given hope for resolution, and memories of the young woman and her disappearance came flooding back.


“My first thought was, ‘Here we go again.’ Then, I was hoping they would find something to give the family closure,” Randy Smith, who was 15 at the time his sister went missing, said Friday.

“My sister was my big sister, very protective and loving,” he recalled. “She really spoiled me. I was the youngest, and I could do no wrong.”

The Smith family, which included Sharon Smith, her parents and five siblings, was in the process of moving to Florida when she disappeared, Randy Smith said.


Their father, Sgt. Harold Leroy Smith, was an Air Force aircraft engineer and was stationed at the Maine Air National Guard in Bangor when he met and married Carolee Smith, who was a Bangor native.

The family’s move may have led some to mistakenly believe the Smiths had abandoned Sharon Smith, Randy Smith said.

“My oldest sister and brother were already down there. Some people said, ‘You took off.’ We didn’t take off, we were moving,” he said. “We had already sold everything. We just figured she would come back. For real.

“Then as years go by, you realize … ,” Randy Smith said, letting his sentence trail off.
A daughter’s search

In addition to her parents and siblings, Sharon Smith left behind two children. Mandi Clark of Bangor was 5 when her mother vanished. Clark said Tuesday that she doesn’t remember Sharon Smith but does remember asking, as a little girl, “How come mom hasn’t come to visit?”

Clark’s brother, Jamie Clark, was a year older. He died at the age of 15. They were both raised by her father, David Clark, who had custody of them before Sharon Smith disappeared and now also is deceased.


Mandi Clark has her own opinions about what happened to her mother, but she does not believe she is alive after all these years.

“In 1995, my friend Wendy and I decided I would try to find my mom,” Clark said, sitting in the living room of her Bangor apartment with a collage of family pictures behind her, one featuring her as a toddler being held by her mother.

Because her mother’s family had moved to Florida and they didn’t really stay in touch, the two friends had little information to start with. They found Sharon Smith’s birth date and Social Security number, which had not been used since 1980, and started talking to anyone with connections to her or the Paramount Lounge.

Stories about what happened the night her mother went missing run the gamut of a jealous boyfriend killing her to gun running, Clark said she discovered.

During her investigation, which is referred to in a recently filed police affidavit, she got a call from an anonymous man who told her Franklin “George” Gilks killed her mother and that “things got carried away, accidents happen.”

Clark said the conversation scared her after the man told her to “leave things alone,” or something similar might happen to her. She reported the call to police.

While she stopped digging around at that point, she never stopped believing her mother would be found.

“I don’t care what happened. I just want her body,” Clark said.

“I just want closure. I just want to bury her here,” she said.
Cold case

The place where Sharon Smith worked, the Paramount Lounge, was located on the ground floor of the hotel built in 1911 on Harlow Street. Sharon Smith, who also went by the names Sharon Clark and Sharon Beaudoin, was renting a room there. The hotel and lounge changed hands and closed about three years after Sharon Smith vanished.

Asked what their parents thought about Sharon Smith’s lifestyle, Randy Smith paused.

“They were just happy she had a job,” he recalled. “She was a fun-loving spirit.”

The Paramount is the last place Sharon Smith was seen alive, Bangor police Detective Jeremy Brock, who took over the case last fall, discovered when he reviewed the case file.

Despite the case remaining unsolved for years, law enforcement investigators didn’t forget about Sharon Smith. Her missing person’s case in the 1990s was handled by now retired Detective Ed Thorne, who interviewed several people who pointed the finger at Gilks. He also interviewed a co-worker of Sharon Smith’s who is believed to be one of the last people to see her alive. The co-worker reported that she stopped by and saw Sharon Smith at the Paramount and that Sharon Smith was supposed to come by her apartment afterward but never showed.

The case file also contains references to two people who told police that Gilks admitted to killing Sharon Smith while at a drinking party, where he was “quite intoxicated.” They reported that Gilks told them he broke Sharon Smith’s neck during an argument.

An anonymous letter was sent to Bangor police in May 1999, according to an affidavit filed with a search warrant for the Hermon property. The letter, which was postmarked from Ohio, implicates Gilks, Sharon Smith’s “on and off again” boyfriend, as a suspect and states, “you will find the body of Sharon Clark under the living room part of this old ugly home on the right hand side of the road where George Gilks used to live in Hermon.”

Despite the reference to Hermon in the letter, a majority of the other evidence led investigators to where Gilks, who died in 2008, lived at the time Sharon Smith went missing, which was a trailer in Carmel. The Carmel location was mentioned by several others who implicated Gilks in Sharon Smith’s disappearance, the affidavit states.

In 1999, cadaver dogs searched the Carmel property for evidence related to the case but didn’t find a scent. The affidavit doesn’t indicate if the Hermon property was located and searched at that time.

Thorne and another Bangor officer went to Florida shortly after receiving the letter to provide the entire Smith family with an update.

“The detectives came down here 20 years ago. They said they knew who did it but they didn’t have enough evidence,” Randy Smith said. “They told us her apartment was left open and her purse was inside.”

When he heard those details, Randy Smith realized his sister was never coming back.

“It just seemed crazy to me,” he said.
Search yields new leads

After taking over the case, Brock found more leads to pursue, according to the affidavit. He and Detective Tim Shaw searched property records and discovered Gilks had indeed lived in Hermon in his youth, and his mother and brother still lived at the location of his childhood home, 147 New Boston Road. The old barn that once served as the family’s home was torn down 20 years ago and replaced by a rain pond with a small fountain made out of concrete surrounded by rocks and a garden.

The detectives met with the Gilks who agreed to allow a cadaver dog to search the property. Deborah Palman, a former Maine Game Warden who is a special deputy for the Penobscot County Sheriff’s Office, brought her dog, Raven, to the scene on June 14.

“Raven gave a positive indication for the scent of human decomposition at an area near the rain pond where the house used to stand,” the affidavit for the search warrant states. “After probing the ground where the house used to stand, Raven positively indicated several more times in the same area as before.”

The positive indications were enough to convince a judge to allow the June 23 excavation.

Gilks’ family members told police at the time of the search they didn’t believe Gilks had anything to do with Sharon Smith’s disappearance.

The June search for evidence related to Sharon Smith’s case resulted in no evidence being seized, the affidavit filed by Brock at the Penobscot Judicial Center states.

While no items were seized, new leads are now being followed, Sgt. David Bushey, who leads the detective’s division, said Thursday.

“People are starting to call again,” Bushey said. “We don’t have any good solid leads, but we’re creating a list of people to do follow up interviews with. We’ve had a couple people reach out by email as well.”

The family heard about the Hermon excavation after Maine relatives called to let them know it was happening, said Randy Smith and his brother Larry Smith of Tallahassee, Florida, who is more than a decade older than his missing sister.

Larry Smith said his sister loved music and was “kinda crazy.” He also believes she is dead and added that while a part of him wants to know what happened, another part just wants closure.

“I thought it all went away,” Larry Smith said by phone.

For Sharon Smith’s daughter and two grandsons, Micheal and Caleb, there will be no closure until she is found.

“I just want her to know, I’m still here,” Mandi Clark said. “So she’ll know nobody forgot about her.”

FOREVER YOUNG

I just realized something. The thought really did just pop into my head from out in the cosmos somewhere floating amongst the galactic matter that I, Mildred Ratched have gotten old.  How this happened I don't quite know. I'm puzzled! Confused! Vexed! Flummoxed! Just good old plain mind-blown. I have become THAT OLD WOMAN who bitches and criticizes and complains. When did I start disliking people so much? Is it everyone that I dislike? Am I becoming a crabby troglodyte again? I'll really start to worry if I feel the urge to paint my bedroom Bohemian Red like my previous "cave" was painted. When did I get old? It seems like it happened overnight. Yesterday, I was young and vibrant and today, I'm The Sea Hag. My body doesn't seem to know what muscle tone and tight flesh means anymore. Things grow where they shouldn't and stuff falls out that I wish would stay put. I'm the female version of Archie Bunker, except I'm more pitiful because I don't have anyone to call "Meathead" and unfortunately, Mildred doesn't have a "Judith" or a "Jack/John/Joe or who really cares"...that is, unless one of you dear creatures want to fix me up so I'll have someone of my very own to love, honor and abuse.  I'll bring my own recliner and remote control, of course. Geez! It sounds like a righteous deal to me and on a good day I might even cook a meal. What more could anyone dream for or expect from a relationship? 

Let It Be!

[Rant on] When it comes to ignorance in its purest form Facebook never disappoints me.  Recently, an old friend of mine passed away and while everyone else managed to express their heartfelt condolences, a true wingnut twatnozzle named Gail made it all about herself.  Imagine the audacity of Bruce and his wife for unfriending Gail for her "political" posts (i.e. Qanon, Trump, etc) because Bruce and his wife found what Gail posts to be insane, distasteful, rude, nonsense and outright lies and that's on her good days.  I think she might be working for Marjorie Taylor Greene or maybe she's Marjorie's mother...a crusty old cunt tucked away on Long Island! I'm sorry, but I truly can't help myself.  I control my fingers on Facebook and they shake terribly because they want to let loose, but my brain says, "NO! DON'T GO THERE, MILDRED! DO NOT ENGAGE WITH IDIOTS!"  I do as John Lennon and Paul McCartney instruct me to do.  I let it be. I come here instead to bitch.  Lucky you! You get to read Mildred blow off steam. The thought has often crossed my mind that if I didn't have a blog, my eyeballs probably would pop out or I would pop a vein in my head. Either way the result would not be very pretty.

Oh, I'm not quite done yet...

This same "compassionate conservative," I hate to admit I have known since I was 16.  OMG! Say it isn't so! I'm sitting here shaking my head so you're allowed to do the same. Oh yes, I have a long history with her, but we won't go into all of it.  Just that we were in drug rehab together many, many moons ago.  In 2002, I created a website so people from said rehab could reconnect with each other.  When Facebook got rolling, I switched everything over from the website I had created and managed to Facebook and that's where we've been ever since.  About 7 or so years ago Her Royal Twatnozzle and I had a horrible falling out and hadn't spoken since until recently. What caused the falling out was due to me deleting a few of the jokes she posted and that put her in a tailspin. I was called everything, but human and because of it, she humiliated me in front of the entire group. Mildred is now about to make a confession! Buckle your seat belts, everyone! I'd like to confess that I'm weak! I caved in! After 7 years I let her back on the site against my better judgment because I feel everyone deserves a second chance and after all she is a former resident of this rehab also. WHAT WAS I THINKING? AM I FUCKING NUTS OR BRAINDEAD? IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE? ISN'T THE DEFINITION OF INSANITY DOING THE SAME THING OVER AND OVER AGAIN BUT ALWAYS EXPECTING A DIFFERENT RESULT? HELLO, MILDRED! IT'S TIME TO WAKE UP!!! OMG!

Below is the heartfelt condolence Gail wrote so judge for yourself if you think it's something you'd like to read if your husband or wife had just passed away:

I am very sorry to hear about the passing of Bruce. I feel so bad, up until about 3 months ago, him and I were very good friends and I have been on 3 reunions with him plus there were many times we would meet in the city when he was in NY and I have great memories and pictures of those times. About 3 months ago, his wife got mad at me for some political posts I put on my own timeline page and him and her unfriended me and I felt very bad, hurt and angry, but still, I loved him and thought of him as a very good friend. Bruce, may you rest in peace.

In the short time Gail's been back on the site, she's done nothing, but insult people (posted about someone's botched facelift, bitched about some guy she dated from the rehab who wasn't very punctual about picking her up for dates and called him a pain in the ass, slammed another guy about calling her drunk all the time and talked trash about people, yet she made a special point of asking how he is, where he is and if he's mad at her because she hasn't heard from him in a long time and he hasn't accepted her friend request on Facebook.) I had almost resigned myself to the status quo of life with Gail again until today when I went to check my messages, etc. and found she had started posting her political bullshit on the rehab site. I don't know what Gab is and I don't want to know, but from what she claims it's where the conservatives hang out.  Oh boy! You know I'll be running right over there for some giggles and grins.  I'm having a hard time believing that after being thrown off Facebook for a year, she's going to come on and start her crap again.  The only reason she's back on Facebook now is because she changed the spelling of her name slightly and started a new account.  Some people learn absolutely nothing...NADA! They get all their plays right out of the Trump playbook and think the rules don't apply to them and it's always someone else's fault. What I think is that she might need to be introduced to Mildred's tagline...anything is possible with the right attitude, a sledge hammer and a roll of duct tape! [Rant off]

I slept on this and instead of using duct tape, I employed the easiest solution possible. I deleted Gail from the group. No drama! No fuss! Just a click of the button and hit the road, Gail! 

Let Us Whip Your Property Into Shape

Okay, so I can't really complain about my company car after driving around for I don't know for how long with a bumper sticker saying: STICKS AND STONES WILL BREAK MY BONES BUT WHIPS AND CHAINS EXCITE ME on the back of my car.  Before you get all rattled and wonder why I would put something like that on my car...I didn't!!!This happened to me years ago as what I'm assuming was supposed be a practical joke when I managed a motel on the beach. Someone pulled me aside one day and let me know I might want to go check out the back of my car. I thought immediately that someone had backed into my car so I went running out of the office in a panic only to find that friggin' bumper sticker larger than life displayed across the back of my car. And do you think I could get anyone to own up to doing it? To this day, I'm still waiting for the coward to come forward. 

Oh by the way, the company car thing is just a joke.  Marquis de Sod! OMG! What a marketing genius! I would send my employees out on jobs dressed in whips and chains just for effect and you know people would LOVE it.

Like A Fart In Church

Well, that last post was as popular as a fart in church, so in its honor let me follow it up with a post I'm sure that will be as equally as popular. I want to follow up with my response to Kathy.  If anyone bothered to hurt their eyes by reading through that last post, they can be a true glutton for punishment by reading this one also.  If you're scratching your head and wondering if I've gone completely crazy...fear not! I'm not there! Not quite yet! The point of the last blog post was to illustrate just how different things are these days around here in the blogosphere. The early days could be dastardly! It was brutal out there. I'm even more peaceful. I haven't had my feathers ruffled for awhile and that isn't an invitation or a challenge because I do like to exist in peace and harmony. I was simply observing how most people have settled into their groove and just do their own thing these days.

So where were we? Oh yeah!

In 2005, I had reached a precipice...

A strange thing happened to me on my way to blogging retirement. I found some inspiration! Was it in music like Psychedelic Pariah suggested? No, but thank you Pariah for not taking the opportunity to kick me when I was down and for giving me some hope that inspiration does still exist. Late last night when I was deeply entrenched in what most likely amounts to self-pity, I made an amazing discovery. I was inspired by unadulterated anger. There’s nothing like getting a little pissed off to perk a person up!

Back when we ("The Clique," Spaces dysfunctional family) were using weekends to do silly little things like show off our legs (gams and stems, as we so fondly called them) to each other, I created National Confession Weekend (NCW.)  My confession was simply that I had a pole in my living room. NCW went over well and all who chose to participate had fun with it. However, one visitor to my site that weekend did not come in the spirit of fun, but came to spread pharisaism. While most playfully bantered that weekend, this self-appointed morality monitor chose to leave the following comment on my site under my entry titled, National Confession Weekend:

My confession is that I really have great hate feelings for anyone so superficial and pointless as to take up a space on this planet who calls themselves "Red Kitten" and, from the photo, looks like a typical walking aides and syphilis cocktail. Excuse me for being so frank but I have never seen such a total waste of space on the internet in my life. People like you are the reasons why scientists are working on genetic engineering. We really must do somethhing about these degenerates and have some rules to this msn spaces. Where are the cyber-police? Arrest this hooker! And I think you know what you can do with your pole!

Published By WebWolfe (http://Don’t come by) – 6/25/2005 9:25 AM

Since I’m a supporter of the 1st Amendment, I didn’t delete WebWolfe’s venomous accusations.  Each person has a right to disagree, but some spineless amoeboids like to perpetrate sneak attacks cloaked by anonymity (this type of mentality can be seen on a much larger scale through the acts we witnessed on 9/11).  I simply let WebWolfe’s words stand as an example of cowardice and also how one can abuse the 1st Amendment. 

I waited in silence hoping that eventually WebWolfe would resurface.  While browsing through some old entries on a friend’s blog late last night, the cyber gods smiled down at me and gave me what I had wanted. There before me was WebWolfe’s URL! Since the gauntlet had already been thrown down, it would have been fair for me to go to WebWolfe’s site and give her a taste of her own medicine.  I decided against doing that.  What I have to say, I will say here where the initial attack was made so nothing will be deleted or altered. 

Disagreeing with what someone writes can be done in tactful manner.  Most people adhere to having good manners while disagreeing. Obviously, WebWolfe’s pseudo-intellect doesn’t grasp the concept of fair play and she cannot disagree without using tactics like character assassinations and plain old muckraking.  She’s entitled to her opinion of me and my blog, but general consensus puts her opinion in the minority.   Furthermore, if a person doesn’t like the content of someone else’s blog, then just don’t visit it.  It’s as easy as that! Does writing a comment like the one left for me by WebWolfe show anything more than her obvious immaturity and lack of tact?

Out of curiosity, I visited Webwolfe’s site, THE FUTURE OF EVOLUTION.  I have to admit what I found didn’t surprise me.  The site was rather sterile and lacked any real originality.  What it screamed out at me was "please, someone (anyone, it doesn’t matter who) come along and be impressed with what I’ve posted!" To date, not many people have been impressed with her and somehow I doubt they ever will.  I could be wrong, but I bet she’ll get more hits from me posting this rebuttal than she ever has on her own merit. For me, the best part of the whole blog was the quote she used as her favorite quote on her profile:

"This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness."

Dalai Lama 

It made me wonder if she intended that as a feeble attempt to display her twisted sense of humor.  It certainly made me laugh! Surely, a person who had made such an unprovoked attack on anyone wouldn’t use the Dalai Lama’s words as a serious quote!  I wonder what the Dalai Lama would think of WebWolfe’s act of kindness towards me.  I’m sure he wouldn’t consider me  "a typical walking aides and syphilis cocktail."  In her sagely comments she speaks of genetic engineering… surely, scientists aren’t trying to create a superior race of beings from a pharisaical, warmongering genepool like the one to which she belongs.  If so, please let me find some place else to live!

Webwolfe, I do agree with one thing you wrote.  Yes, there needs to be some rules on MSN Spaces.  A rule protecting people against libelous harassment might be a nice place to start.  Also, if you think any scientist would select your DNA to mix in the genepool to make the ideal specimen, you’re sadly mistaken.  Not only do you have some very obvious major flaws in your character, but you have some small ones as well.  Next time you want to attempt to sound intelligent, use spellcheck and try making grammatically correct sentences.  There’s nothing more annoying than some hit and run flamer trying to dazzle people with their non-existent intellect.  Furthermore, yes I do know what I can do with my pole.  I believe it might fit very nicely up your unlubricated, puritanical ass. 

"Excuse me for being so frank," but in unison and loud enough for this frigid  "missing link" to hear, will everyone please:

Give me a "C"! 

Give me a "U"! 

Give me a "N"! 

Give me a "T"!

What’s that spell? W-E-B-W-O-L-F-E!!!

 Thank you for reminding me of what the true meaning of the word "cunt" is… you depict it well.  One last thing, thank you for being my inspiration!  There’s no way in hell that I’ll ever give someone like you the satisfaction of seeing me leave here.  I’m here to stay!!!

Comments from "The Clique":

KENTUCKYBETH23 July 17, 2005 at 3:15 PM

YOU GO GIRL!!!!!!!!!!

 

ALE M. July 17, 2005 at 3:37 PM

wow! I never thought someone could "attack" like that you go girl:)

MONTY July 17, 2005 at 4:26 PM

I wouldn’t get too bothered about comments, I don't take negative comments from people who don’t know me seriously and especially via the internet. If you consider that 10% of the population is at any one time suffering from a mental health problem there are bound to be some "strange" comments posted from time to time. My best was a death threat left on my Space earlier in the year by a Spanish guy. I found that funny as he left it in Spanish and I only picked out the word "muerte" and I had to translate it. In a way it felt all a bit "spaghetti western." The only other negative comment I got that drew any reaction from me was from a guy who thought he needed, every now and then, to discredit my preferred internet browser through comments. I left a simple, concise response to his last comment ….."tosser"

P July 17, 2005 at 4:41 PM

woohooo…well said

JOSE July 17, 2005 at 4:57 PM

Bravo! Well said… Now, lets see what we can do about WebWolfe’s Space… };-) Her view on developing a genetically engineered super-race has an erie ring of Nazi racist views… It is an embarassment (for me) that she lives in the same city as I do! (Houston, Texas) I assure whoever reads this comment that most Houstonians are very nice people and that she is the exception, not the rule, in Texas.

DARLENE July 17, 2005 at 5:11 PM

CUNT! Am I too late? I tip my baseball cap….nice flame! MCP

NASCAR DAN July 17, 2005 at 5:31 PM

AFTER GOING TO WEBWOLFE'S WEB SITE I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD GO OUT AND CLIMB A TREE WITH A BANANA IN MY MOUTH. DID I REALLY COME FROM A MONKEY OR GORILLA THAT MUST EXPLAIN WHY I LOVE TO CLIMB TREES IN THE FIRST PLACE I FEEL SO MUCH BETTER NOW.

RK July 17, 2005 at 5:45 PM

Bethy, thank you…thank you very much (done in my best Elvis voice) PrematureCrab, you haven’t been attacked until you feel the wrath of the dysfunctional ones! BestMonty, would that "tosser" be a salad-tosser, perhaps? pamalajane2000…or is it just Pam? Looks like I’ve had too many beers too! Stick around and see who else jumps in this bitchfest. flyingtower, I don’t think all people from Houston are ignorant…just the ones into genetic engineering. We might get a few of these gents around here to donate alittle DNA to the cause! Pariah? Jnuts? Calling all sperm donors! We need to create a master race! Are you up to it? MCP, one is never too later to jump into a nice flame. See how that word just rolled off your fingertips. BTW, long time no see…how have you been doing? RebornTIGERDAN974, I believe the CUNT is handing out bananas to anyone who donates a little DNA. Maybe you should offer her some…

EBONYWYVERNDRAGON July 17, 2005 at 5:51 PM

U all that an a bag o chips, woman! 🙂

 

JOHN July 17, 2005 at 7:04 PM

That’s MUCH better… 🙂

RICK July 17, 2005 at 7:26 PM

Ouch! You know I have been to that site, but have yet to see it updated, so I don’t think it is in much use. And I have yet to see a posted comment of hers anywhere. But it’s funny that she would leave such an idiotic comment, while proclaiming the advancement of the human race. Of course she could be talking about reverse evolution where the neanderthal is the primary goal. In which case she is right on target. Either way it was inappropriate, and tasteless, and the obvious product of a small mind. And as a proponent of Darwinism, this woman is an embarrassment, and a bad example of natural selection. I mean funny, stupid, not funny, ha-ha.

NASCAR DAN July 17, 2005 at 7:42 PM

I'LL PASS ON THAT

CHERYL July 17, 2005 at 10:24 PM

fear, envy possibly and definitely misunderstanding or her part, she got you wrong and I’d be pissed too

STEPHEN CRAIG July 17, 2005 at 11:16 PM

Karen………………I am laughing so so very much that wine may spill out my nose….Loves ya my dear…..Be well. Stephen

AMANDA July 17, 2005 at 11:34 PM

wow. that was great. I wonder what she is thinking… no I really dont wonder. Its probably something rather uncomplex and degrading. or something "evolutional" which is far worse. But anyways, I do believe what you had to say is awesome. just thought I'd say that.

REDVELVET July 18, 2005 at 12:13 AM

All Hail Red Kitten!!! 🙂

BARBARA July 18, 2005 at 1:41 AM

I will come to the defense of that poor webwolf. Give her a break people. That wood alcohol and cheap ’radiator’ moonshine she has been ingesting is taking its toll on her little gray cells. There just aren’t that many of them left after her steady diet of those cocktails. I am sure she will close down her website soon so she can go into rehab. Karen, you have come to life! I think "Emily" got a wiff of your power and got pushed away from your coastline.

 

PSYCHEDELIC PARIAH July 18, 2005 at 11:58 AM

I’m somewhat hesitant to step into this having been guilty of similar acts in the not too recent past. However, I like to believe that I’ve cleared the air and have set things straight. Hell, I even helped create the Red Dyke persona that you like to don every once in a while. So, to comment on something like this might sound a bit disengenous coming from me, but I think you know me well enough, Karen, to know that people can de-jerk themselves. Maybe this wolf will one day do the same. You can read it in her name; on the prowl, hunting, cunning. If she’s like me, she pushes away before she can be pushed away. Sometimes the pain only subsides when it’s shared. What she did was wrong and I’m not making excuses for her.

RK July 18, 2005 at 3:44 PM

Laoch Ceilteach said I am the Wizard and if that’s the case, what’s the odds on one of you bringing me her broomstick?

RK July 18, 2005 at 3:48 PM

Just bring me anything except her panties….I’m not that kind of girl (you’ll have to hook up with the Red Dyke for that stuff)

RK July 18, 2005 at 3:50 PM

Medication time, everyone!

MONICA July 18, 2005 at 4:47 PM

Very well put. I love your space. Bravo I say to you. Mo

REEKING HAVOC'S LAIR July 18, 2005 at 5:20 PM

Flamers must expect to get flamed back…Wolfie, if you want to present yourself as a highly-evolved and spiritual person, best not to do this silly crap….It gives the lie to everything else you have to say.

HEATHER July 18, 2005 at 6:04 PM

***Stands and applauds***

UNKNOWN July 18, 2005 at 8:40 PM

for the record. I think red kitten is an adorable name and I love your blog. You sure told ol’ "whats er name"!

RHONDA AND SCOTT July 18, 2005 at 8:45 PM

Ok, if we came from monkeys, etc…then why do we still have monkeys? Wouldn’t they evolve? Sad when she’s gotta try to trample you to make herself feel better! You go frog stomp her! She won’t even know what hit her-she has TWO spaces and they are both BORING!!!~WD

RK July 18, 2005 at 9:05 PM

Two spaces? I only know of one she has. The one I have listed in this entry, The Future Of Evolution. Does the other space she have show monkeys mating? No wait…you said they were boring…that must mean it showed her mating with a monkey.

TWILA July 19, 2005 at 7:58 AM

RK, Hey! G’mornin’! BRAVO! That little missy needs a little red tractor to pull her head out of her ass! Here’s the link to her other site…http://spaces.msn.com/members/citichic/. Got it right out of her comments section. And I suspect you’re right….she’ll have more bloggers checking her site from your blog than she’ll ever have otherwise! And thanks for reposting her comments. I’d missed it originally and often wondered what she was all about. Obviously NOT much! Have a great day and please don’t retire. Those of us in the ’know’ love to read your blogs! Twila

BRUCE July 19, 2005 at 12:14 PM

Let me try that one again…B-R-A-V-O

HAIRROLD July 19, 2005 at 9:16 PM

How is that U always find the bipedious scum. Man, I love all this excitement! Time 4 a tour of the net ala flames. Take it easy, & keep up the amazing werk. Luv ya 2 death!!>;\’}

AMY July 20, 2005 at 7:45 AM

Oh geez…you both made my night and destroyed it with this one masterpiece. Hilarious, but how am I ever to be crowned as the Cyber-Bitch-Queen while you’re still blogging away? I shall have to continue reading and enjoying your blog while accepting my mediocrity.

MARCIE July 20, 2005 at 7:33 PM

You do decide who is IN…I am happy I have not met your quick tongue in battle…I am glad to see anger is leading the way to some great blogging…I am not checking out her blog solely because I don’t want to attest to any hit that might make her head any bigger. You rock, kitten! By the way, kittens make me happy…and you have made my night!

MORIAH July 20, 2005 at 9:09 PM

LMAO!!! Great job slamming her!!! Serves the pompous B***h right…lol Glad you are staying…I enjoy your site…

KENNY July 21, 2005 at 6:37 PM

You can scoff at this one RK !…Like a famous song & album of the same name "All things must pass"…it won’t be this way forever. Tongue in cheek, you know you are so much better than anyone who badmouths your brilliant space. All said & done…You will always be the Queen of blogs to most of us – your ardent followers. Happiness!