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About blueeyedblonds

Every life has a story. This is mine.

In Defense of The Woman with the Rock in her Shoe

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It’s convenient that the Pretend Father has told the Sad Girl never to speak to him.

It’s convenient that people the Sad Girl has known all her life, won’t speak with her either.

It’s convenient that the Pretend Father hides behind an open newspaper and a disdainful attitude.

But that’s the way it’s always been.

Honor your Father and Mother. It’s convenient to forget the Greatest is Love.

Old age doesn’t give you a pass nor does “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

But it is convenient isn’t it?

Righteous umbrage to shut down every conversation so you conveniently don’t have to answer any questions.

What were you doing to cause the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe to stray?

The Sad Girl would ask her but she’s dead.

Is that why the Sad Girl was not allowed to see her before she died?

Were you punishing the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe one last time?

She was only a woman not the Saint you proclaimed her to be.

Did you stray from her side?

Do you have another family?

Did you make her so miserable that she feigned allergies to stop eating and hasten her own death?

Were you cold and distant with her like you are with the Sad Girl?

Did you ever love her enough to forgive her?

Was everything she did a desperate plea for your attention?

How much did you know?

Why did you stop loving Favorite Sister and the Sad Girl?

Clear your conscience.

The Sad Girl still wants to know who her father is.

 

 

The Sad Girl graduated from Felician College in 1987 with both a degree in elementary education and an offer from the University of Delaware for a fellowship to study history at the graduate level. She declined the offer of graduate school. She was tired of studying. She preferred to begin a career in teaching, and hopefully, get married and have a family.

 

The Pretend Father presented the Sad Girl with a beautiful watch for her graduation. The watch was his idea and he selected it himself. The Sad Girl cherished that watch because it was from him, even though both parents had signed the graduation card.

 

Whenever she fastened the watch to her wrist, she remembered how proud he was of her on her graduation day. The Sad Girl has pictures of him just beaming with pride. On her graduation day, she felt his love.

 

The Sad Girl still remembers. She still wants him to be proud of her. She still want his eyes to sparkle and say “that’s MY daughter”, even if it is only in his heart.

 

( Many things happened during the in- between years before the deli opened. If inquiring minds want to know how you can catch chlamydia from the water at the Jersey Shore, or other fun incidences from the last of our semi-harmonic years I would be happy to make a special post. Just put it in the comment section and I will.)

 

 

One curtain may have closed but another opened to reveal the Sad Girl’s Pretend Father’s lifelong dream. He, along with Brother II, were determined to open a deli.

This business would subsidize the Pretend Father’s upcoming retirement and give him an occupation to enjoy during his golden years. A deli also appealed to Brother II. He had been a short-order cook through college and dreamed of having his own eating establishment.

 

At this point in our story, Brother II was self-employed writing software programs for large corporations. He reasoned he could write programs in the deli office during the lull hours.

 

If he needed to travel, someone could cover his hours. Brother II’s traveling had not made his wife happy. She was pregnant with their daughter and not able travel with him. A successful deli would enable Brother II to stop traveling.

 

The Woman with the Rock in her Shoe did not want this business. It would entail the Pretend Father procuring a small mortgage on their mortgage free house. Pretend father, with Brother II behind him, prevailed. The Woman with the Rock in her Shoe, dutiful wife that she was, began planning the new business venture.

Let me stress this again-

 

THE WOMAN WITH THE ROCK IN HER SHOE DID NOT WANT THIS BUSINESS.

 

 

 

Goldilocks

Poking the Hornet’s Nest

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Favorite Sister’s phone rang.

“Who sent the poem and the DNA results to Dad?”

“What are you talking about?” queried Favorite Sister.

“Somebody sent Dad a poem and the DNA results. It had to be you or the Sad Girl, or both of you together.”

“Huh, really. That’s a shame that happened to him,” answered Favorite Sister.

“Tell me…which one of you wrote the poem? Which one of you did it?”

“It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I am the Oldest in this family and I told you to stop this bullshit with the DNA. Just drop it.”

Favorite Sister had had enough.

“YOU are not my Mother and you CERTAINLY are not my Father. You have no authority over me. Don’t EVER try to tell me what to do.”

“DNA is bullshit!”

“You know it’s not,” Favorite Sister replied. “If you want to continue in your disbelief, fine. That’s you prerogative.”

“Why are you bothering an old man? Then he calls giving me holy hell!”

“Why should he even bother you with it? You had nothing to do with this. The DNA will not stop being sent-. it WILL go to other family members. If you have a problem,if you can’t believe the truth, take it up with a Higher Authority.”

 

It seems that the Keys to the box known as Truth, have been passed on to be defended at all costs. To what end? What else are you protecting?

 

 

The December wedding day of the Sister Who Shall Not be Named opened with a bang.

Because of Sad Girl’s beauty school diploma, she was in charge of creating a chignon for the bride.

The Sad Girl had fashioned the hairstyle a few days before as a trial.

Everyone had been pleased with the results.

On the wedding day, she recreated the hairstyle. It was beautiful. The Sad Girl had outdone herself.

The chignon did not make the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe happy.

She accused the Sad Girl of intentionally trying to make the Sister Who Shall Not be Named look ugly on her wedding day.

As Auntie’s daughter was in the wedding party, the Woman With the Rock in her Shoe alleged the Sad Girl was trying to embarrass her on purpose.

The Sad Girl dutifully redid the hair of the Sister Who Shall Not be Named  to shut up the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe and silence all allegations.

Her hair had looked better the first time.

The Sad Girl, as the Maid of Honor, wore red shoes, while the rest of the bridal party wore black. That really ticked the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe off!

“Sad Girl is trying to sabotage the wedding of the Sister Who Shall Not be Named,” the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe announced to everyone within hearing. Repeatedly.

Does anyone doubt that the Sad Girl was happy the Sister Who Shall not be Named was getting married and moving out? She would not do anything to hinder it.

The Sad Girl is the type of person who will hold everything inside for twenty-five years and then write a tell-all book.

Or a blog.

She would never sabotage anyone’s wedding day.

The wedding day went off without any further hitches. Sad Girl’s Pretend Father had selected a polka band to play at the reception.

And Sad Girl was the one accused of sabotage!

Goldilocks

Things That Love Does, the next installment of The Sad Boy and the Sad Girl

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“What’s the number?”

Phone in hand, the Sad Boy glanced across the aisle.

The Sad Girl, sitting next to him, was enjoying the twilight bus ride.

“Wait, what?” She looked quizzically as she watched the Sad Boy dial a number. She thought he was giving Favorite Sister a hard time. Then he spoke-

“My wife is a son of bitch without a father. I would like to know who her father is.”

“Speak up, I can’t hear you.”

The Sad Boy repeated himself.

“You got the wrong number pal.”

Click.

The Sad Girl smiled. “You did that for me? Thank you.” And she kissed him. The Sad Boy had called the man who raised her and asked the question for the Sad Girl.

The Sad Girl never would have asked him to do that.

Somewhere through the years, the Sad Girl’s crusade for Truth and Favorite Sister’s Crusade for Truth, had become his as well.

On a bus ride in Florida at Disney. Mickey Mouse questions about Mickey Mouse DNA on a Mickey Mouse bus ride with Mickey Mouse Sisters. It was fitting.

The White Elephant of Truth is sitting in the room but we can’t talk about it.

Oh, but never fear, we certainly can blog about it.

And the silent war continues…

 

 

With the summer came the dawning of a brighter day. Favorite Sister and her family returned north after a year spent with Sister II. They rented a home nearby while construction continued on their new home.

Cue the floodlight! Before the Sad Girl goes further, let’s bring witty Favorite Sister, aka Lovelilly, to center stage. She plays an important part in our family dynamic. Primarily, she is not afraid of anyone. Middle aged siblings still snicker while calling her Frogmouth.

Secondly, she is gifted with total recall. Her instant detailed recall of family events would bring the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe to a stuttering stop. It was at these moments that the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe played at dementia, conveniently denying any and all adverse scenes played out on the stage of our family production.

Favorite Sister is fortunate to be alive. She was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. It was only before her death that the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe divulged to Favorite Sister that the cord was wrapped around her neck three times. She was clinically dead at birth. The doctor had worked frantically to resuscitate her.

Favorite Sister is beautiful both inside and out. (I’ll throw in the word pulchritudinous just so she’ll have to consult a dictionary!) She is always perfectly dressed and coiffed for every occasion. Dirt, literally, does not stick to her. She will enliven any room that she walks into; it’s just the way she is. You could talk to her for hours on end, everyday, and still find new topics to discuss the next day. She has a beautiful heart. The Sad Girl has loved and trusted her with the awe of a little sister her entire life.

Behind the fair face and larger than life personality lives a chronically ill person. What began as dizziness and migraine headaches at the age of nineteen has been diagnosed as a complex genetic disease. The medical terms are frightening for Sad Girl, her little sister.

Now when she actually tips over, the Sad Girl teases her and says it’s because she’s a dizzy blonde. She teases her or else she would cry.

Favorite Sister makes light of an illness that she has, until recently, been able to hide. Now when she tips, she laughs saying, “It’s all the drugs.”

Her daughter perpetually reminds her, “Your medicated mom. You have to say it like that.”

“Drugs” is wittier and as every stage actor knows, timing is everything.

Favorite Sister’s illness has meant that she spent most of her days by our house while her husband was working. She needed company. She needed her family. Actually, Baby Sister and the Sad Girl needed her more than she needed us. She brought common sense and a clear mind into our home.

By the time Favorite Sister returned from her sojourn by Sister II, the Sister Who Shall Not be Named was in full bridal whirl. Try as the Sad Girl might, she has no recollection of picking out the maid-of-honor gown. It probably was selected for her, and then fit to size.

During the course of the summer, the Sister Who Shall Not be Named traveled to Ohio with Blarney Boy to meet his family. She would telephone when she arrived in Ohio and when it was convenient for her. Under no circumstances was the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe to phone Blarney Boy’s home.

Gee, I wonder why.

The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe let the Sister Who Shall Not be Named do whatever it was that she wanted to do. After the car accident, she had doted on her. She was given more free reign than the rest of the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe’s daughters. Still, letting her go on the Ohio trip was out of character for the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe.

It was as if she was going to prove to her family that she believed and trusted the Sister Who Shall Not be Named and Blarney Boy daring someone to question her actions.

The only one who dared was Favorite Sister. She reminded the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe that she was disregarding the very morals that she had taught her children to follow.

 

 

Goldilocks

How the Sad Girl Got Sad

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On its 32nd Anniversary, it’s long past due. I give you How the Sad Girl Got Sad

 

Our grandmother had a full length mirror affixed to her closet door located in our long hallway. The closet was directly across from the girls’ bedroom. My grandmother never minded if you opened her closet door to use her mirror. The Sad Girl still remembers the time she and Favorite Sister observed a beautiful, young teenage Sister Who Shall Not Be Named in front of our grandmother’s mirror. She was brushing her long auburn hair while singing along with Charlie Pride to her reflection- “Hey…did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world…”

Recently, the Sad Girl sent the You-Tube video to Favorite Sister. She assures the Sad Girl that she is in fact very naughty, but the Sad Girl bets she can’t help laughing again when she reads this! Oh, Sister Who Shall Not Be Named, did you think the Sad Girl would leave this classic family moment out?

 

The Sad Girl had two choices for her college education. She was allowed to attend Felician College or she was permitted to enroll at Felician College. She chose to enroll at Felician College. Felician is located in Lodi, NJ. When she attended, it had been an all girls’ school run by the Felician Sisters. Her father’s cousin had been a Felician Sister. Clearly, it was not St. Elizabeth’s in Morristown, another all girls’ school but with a dormitory. None the less, she was happy to attend Felician.

 

The small class size, always under fifteen students per class, usually three or four per class, enabled her to receive a top notch education. The professors at Felician were committed to giving each student a college education. If you were having trouble understanding the material, they taught you until you understood. If you gave your best effort, you would learn. It really didn’t matter how much you knew before you enrolled at Felician. They did not give their diploma to all students enrolled at the school, only to the students who had earned it. When you received your diploma after four years, you were certifiably smart. The Felician Sisters had made sure that you were.

 

While the fall of 1983 had sent the Sad Girl to Felician, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named was permitted to enroll at the Joe Kubert School of Art and Graphic Design in Dover, New Jersey to purse a career in graphic arts. The Sad Girl was enrolled at an all girls’ school whereas the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named was learning to draw the male form from nude male models.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and the Sad Girl were the best of friends growing up. Together they did all the things that sisters do. They played and laughed. They shared a bedroom, their hopes and their dreams. They shared little girl secrets. They were the best of friends.

 

Reminiscing about the joy the Sad Girl and the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named were blessed with through childhood makes the division in adulthood very painful. The Sad Girl will keep those treasured memories to herself.

 

It is at the Joe Kubert School of Art and Graphic Design that the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named quickly met her future husband, Blarney Boy. Blarney Boy was a twenty-four year old man from Ohio. He was a student at the design school. The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named was seventeen years old. Without delay, she began to date Blarney Boy. As he had no car and no prospect for getting a car because he was unemployed, he was allowed to spend the weekends at our house.

 

The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe liked Blarney Boy very much. Both she and the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named found his Irish-American looks and ways charming. Blarney Boy was very artistic both with a canvas and with his stories. The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named quickly fell in love with him. The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe quickly fell in love with her prospective son-in-law. She was replacing the Oldest Brother with Blarney Boy. If memory serves correctly, at some point she told this to Oldest Brother.

 

Blarney Boy was embraced by the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe, placed in the family fold and given a leading role on our stage. The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe announced at dinner one evening that twenty-four year old Blarney Boy was still a virgin. As an aside comment, please refer to this when Chlamydia enters our theatrical piece.

 

Blarney Boy liked to chitchat. His character had many entertaining stories to humor the audience. He especially enjoyed sharing anecdotal tales characterizing his large family.

 

Using words, he sketched a beautiful picture to depict his delightful Irish ancestry. Blarney Boy came from strong family stock. His parents had emigrated from Ireland then produced a brood of a dozen children! Patiently Blarney Boy sketched his family portrait telling about each of his siblings. As the weeks went by, he amused everyone with funny anecdotal tales with each sibling sharing center stage. We were all vicariously friends with each member of Blarney Boy’s clan. We knew the names, ages, occupations and current life path of each sibling.

 

At some point, Blarney Boy confessed to using a broad brush stroke while painting the verbal canvas of his family life. His parents were not from Ireland. His father worked in business. His mother worked as an accountant. He had only a handful of siblings.

 

The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe excused it as Irish blarney. If I were a playwright, I would have him kissing the blarney stone before he spoke any line.

 

The family stage players, with the exception of The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe and the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named, concluded Blarney Boy was a liar. He was not a suitable match for the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named. Repeatedly, his lies were excused as “Irish blarney.” Blarney Boy grew closer to the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and was championed by the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe. She even accused Favorite Sister of being jealous of her close relationship with the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy.

************

 

In 19**, Favorite Sister and her husband Favorite Brother-in-Law decided to build a larger home. They wanted to move closer to both families. They sold their home and purchased a piece of land in the same rural town as both families.

 

Blarney Boy returned to Ohio for the summer. Before he left, he outlined his plan to drudge the summer weeks away working to earn enough money to purchase an engagement ring for the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named.

 

On another side note, the engagement ring he gave the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named turned her finger black. I guess he didn’t work excessively hard that summer.

 

During the summer weeks, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named beseeches the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe with a request for Blarney Boy to live with our family in the fall. If he did not, he would need to remain with his family in Ohio. He would be unable to complete his final year at the Joe Kubert School due to a shortage of funds for housing. The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named would not be able to see him anymore. She was in love with him. Blarney Boy was going to marry the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named. The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe readily agreed.

 

“At least now Favorite Sister won’t move in with her three noisy children while she builds her house,” was the justification of the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe.

 

Favorite Sister and Favorite Brother-in-Law, along with their three girls, spent the time with Sister II and her husband the First Italian, and Adorable Nephew.

 

The Sad Girl began her second year of college in September, 1984. She also continued her summer job working evenings and weekends at an Italian restaurant.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy became engaged. They were to be married the next December.

 

Baby Sister was unhappy with Blarney Boy in our home on a daily basis. Blarney Boy was not being nice to Baby Sister. He was nasty to her while poking fun at her adolescent pudginess. The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe, surprisingly, was letting Blarney Boy belittle Baby Sister. By this time, he was twenty-five and helpless Baby Sister was only thirteen. My father remained silent and enabled this hostility in our home continue.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named was not able to keep up with her assigned homework. Without our parents’ knowledge, Blarney Boy began to do her drawing assignments along with his own.

 

He was also drawing her feminine form behind closed doors. One evening Another Brother walked in on a naked Sister Who Shall Not Be Named provocatively sprawled across the bed. She swore she had a bathing suit on and that Another Brother was perpetually spying on her.

 

In the spring, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named shared her final secret with the Sad Girl.

 

 

Pontius Pilot asked Jesus the question of the ages- “What is truth?” before he sent Jesus off to be crucified.

Lightening does not strike Pontius Pilot dead.

So, does that mean if you put your hand on the Holy Bible, swear to Mommy, Daddy, and God Almighty that you are telling the truth , then blatantly lie about your sister and lightening doesn’t strike you dead, you’re good with God?
He understands why you had to do it?

I’m going to ask Him about that when I see Him.

************

 

It is about April, 1985 that the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named, now eighteen, approached the Sad Girl and shared a predicament that she was in. The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named, apparently, was very late with her monthly cycle. She thought she might be pregnant. What should she do? The Sad Girl doesn’t recall what she said to the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named.

 

But inside, the Sad Girl panicked. The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named missing her period meant only one thing, she and Blarney Boy REALLY had a relationship. Premarital sex was not tolerated in the Sad Girl’s home.

 

This information horrified the Sad Girl. She knew she had to inform the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe. She could not keep this secret for her sister. She needed advice.

 

The Sad Girl telephoned Favorite Sister down in Toms River. She advised her to ask the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named, again, if she had gotten her period.

 

The Sad Girl asked her the next day if she had gotten her period. She shook her head as she replied no.

 

The Sad Girl did not enlighten her to the fact that she had divulged her secret to Favorite Sister.

 

The Sad Girl knew it was absolutely necessary to tell the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe. If she didn’t tell her that the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named was pregnant, she would be blamed. If she knew the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named was having sex in the bedroom with Blarney Boy and her parents found out, she would be blamed. Anyway she looked at it, she would be blamed. Favorite Sister reassured her that, indeed, she must tell the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe.

 

The Sad Girl beckoned the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe outside. She wanted to speak to her without being over heard by Grandma or Baby Sister. Quietly, she shared the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named secret relating how she had not gotten her period and thought she might be pregnant. With a horrified expression, the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe used her hands to cover her face. She knew the Sad Girl was telling the truth.

 

Soon after, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy arrived home. Unable to contain her anguish, the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe screamed the secret the Sad Girl had just revealed to her, to the two of them. They got back into their car, and drove away without saying more than a few words.

 

Father came home to an upset household. Distressed, the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe apprised him of the current developments in our family drama. Her screaming had alerted and informed Grandma and Baby Sister.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy left the stage for nearly two hours while the Sad Girl sat with her parents answering questions and regretting that she had opened her mouth. The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe paced the stage worried that the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named had run away with Blarney Boy.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy returned, prepared to improvise the performance of a life time.

The pair sauntered confidently into the house. Sometime between when the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named told the Sad Girl and when she told their mother, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named had gotten her period. She was in the clear. All she had to do was damage control. The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named, with the help of Blarney Boy, had concocted their story during the time they were gone.

 

Affronted, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named commenced her battle with a display of shock and awe. She began by telling the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe that the Sad Girl was a liar. She was jealous of her relationship with Blarney Boy, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named had a boyfriend and the Sad Girl did not. She exclaimed that the Sad Girl was secretly in love with Blarney Boy.

 

What else does she say? What doesn’t she say would be simpler to answer.

 

Everything she could think of, every weapon she had in her verbal arsenal she threw.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named, expressing alarm and concern, informed their parent’s that the Sad Girl was a hard core drug addict. Drug induced delusions had caused her to fabricate a story about the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named being pregnant. The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe checked the Sad Girl’s arms for track marks.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named volunteered to go to a gynecologist to let him check that her virginity was still intact. And, to drag the Sad Girl with her because she was sure that the Sad Girl was not virginal anymore.

 

The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named assaulted the Sad Girl’s chastity. She knowingly advised the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe and anyone who would listen, that the Sad Girl was not virtuous with the men she worked with in the restaurant.

 

The nuclear missile was when the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy both put their hands on the family bible and swore to the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe, our father, and to God Almighty that they were telling the truth. That sealed the Sad Girl’s destruction. The Sister Who Shall Not Be Named would never put her hand on the bible and swear if she was lying. The Sad Girl swore on the bible as well, but it was to no avail.

 

Smugly, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy withdrew. Victory was theirs.
The parents’ audibly lamented over the loss of their sweet Anna Marie. The Sad Girl was born. Apparently, Sweet Anna Marie was no longer she and never would be again.

 

Cue the applause and grant a curtain call for the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Blarney Boy for acting the part of innocence personified.

 

The Sad Girl was branded a liar. She was bearing false witness against the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named. In the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe’s world, being a bearer of false witness was better than being a fornicator. For the record, they are both on God’s top ten list.

 

The medical term for what was done to the Sad Girl is “gas lighting”. May God have Mercy on all her tormentors and Bless and Keep Favorite Sister who stood staunchly by her side.

 

With one fell swoop, the Sister Who Shall Not Be Named severed their relationship. From one hour to the next, it was no more.

 

The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe severed her relationship with the Sad Girl as well.

 

It became very ugly. Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Beatified Blarney Boy donned the costume of martyrs. Poor Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Beatified Blarney Boy were almost burned at the stake by a jealous Sad Girl bearing false witness against them. Repeatedly, for six years, the Sad Girl listened to this mantra. Night and Day there was no stop to the words the looks the shaking of disappointed heads. Mind bending at it’s finest.

 

That night, the Sad Girl sobbed until she put herself to sleep. Rapidly, she began to descend into a deep, dark depression.

 

Two women helped her overcome the compulsion to slit her wrists and slowly bleed the burning pain out of her body and mind. The first was Favorite Sister who believed her and stood as a champion in her corner.

 

The second was a professor at Felician College. For some reason, during one class, she went off topic and began a discourse on the harshness of life. She reminded the Sad Girl and all the other students of God’s definitive purpose and plan for each of us. If no one else understood, God understood. God knew the truth. No one could hide the truth from God, not even Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Beatified Blarney Boy protected by the mantle of their mother’s love.

 

The Sad Girl, after great thought, did not purchase the straight razor. She, branded a liar and tainted bearer of false witness, internalized all her sorrow.

 

A few weeks later, when the professor had noticed a change in her, she beckoned the Sad Girl into her office. During their conversation, the Sad Girl thanked her for her impromptu talk disclosing how her words prevented the Sad Girl from suicide. While enfolding the Sad Girl in her motherly arms, they both cried. Wiping the Sad Girl’s tears and then her own, she exclaimed that if the Sad Girl was the only student she had ever reached, her thirty year teaching career was a success.

 

Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named repeatedly asked the Sad Girl why she was angry with her. The Sad Girl never responded. Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named maintained her proud affronted face along with her fable, intact, for the Sad Girl and for the world to behold. She openly complained to the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe concerning the dead friendship between her and the Sad Girl. “Woe is me,” became her mantra.

 

She deserved an Emmy Award for this performance. To this day, 32 years later, she sticks to her story.

 

The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe, noticing the Sad Girl’s deep depression, brought her to the family physician. On the doctor’s advice, the Sad Girl was sent to the hospital to be administered a glucose tolerance test. After ingesting a quart of liquid sugar, her blood sugar levels were checked every hour. When her blood sugar had risen to its highest point, she divulged to her mother her state of mind. She told her how much she hated her for believing she would lie about Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named. She screamed at her. She told her she wanted to run from her and never see her again.

 

All the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe kept calmly saying over and over again was, “Its okay, you’re just sick. The sugar is making you sick.”

 

That was her line and she was sticking to it.

 

The sugar was making the Sad Girl sick but so were the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe and Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named. Concern was in her voice but her once gentle arms were cold to the Sad Girl’s pleas for mercy.

 

Rapidly, the Sad Girls blood sugar level dropped severely. After venting all her emotional anguish, she was blessed with a comatose sleep for the sugar low. She did indeed have hypoglycemia. Her blood sugar levels had risen then fallen rapidly, leveling out at eight or ten before beginning to stabilize.

 

The Sad Girl was also diagnosed with a depressive disorder, most likely because the doctor and nurses witnessed her screaming at her mother.

 

Still, the Sad Girl is bitter. Her parents chose to believe Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named and Beatified Blarney Boy over her. Still, after thirty-two years, she can look back at this time and not understand. How could a sister lie about another sister? How could a mother prefer one child’s word over another? How could a father, who in later years admitted to an unnamed sibling he knew Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named was lying, stand by silently and let it continue? The Sad Girl still feels like screaming but now she knows why.

 

The Sad Girl is her mother’s child but not her father’s. She is a bastard. That’s how they justified it. In their eyes, the Sad Girl was a product of her mother’s sin. She was not “their” child. She was a rock in her mother’s shoe.

 

The Sad Girl stopped crying. She only shared her emotions with her Favorite Sister. Favorite Sister new how miserable the Sad Girl was. Like the first time she cut her leg shaving and Favorite Sister bandaged up her bloody ankle, she now bandaged up the Sad Girl’s spirit. The Sad Girl did not kill herself because Favorite Sister was there to love her when she was at the lowest state of her life. She, Favorite Brother-in-Law, her three beautiful nieces and Baby Sister loved her enough to pull her through. Thank you, with all my heart.

 

On a hypoglycemia diet, the Sad Girl dropped twenty-five pounds in less than a month. She was now a svelte size six. The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe admired her long blonde hair so she went to the beauty salon and cut it short, short, short. She applied a good amount of makeup everyday. She changed her style of clothing. Everyone noticed how fabulous she looked on the outside. Inside hasn’t ever really healed.

 

The Sad Girl picked up a smoking habit in an effort to calm her nerves. Coffee with heavy cream became her drink of choice to keep weight on. Her back broke out in blemishes. She devoted her to time studying, working and babysitting for her three young nieces. She went home only to sleep. The Sad Girl’s life had changed. She was miserable at home so she avoided it. As a person, she changed. She felt that she stood on the stage alone while the audience pointed and whispered their disapproval in mocking voices. I do believe that the Sad Girl had grown up overnight.

************

 

Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named continued to voice her “Woe is me” line, always fighting for center stage. The Sad Girl pushed her to the stage wing while Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named planned her upcoming nuptial celebration.

 

The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe echoed her line over and over. “Wasn’t Sainted Sister Who Shall Not Be Named so forgiving, she even is having the Sad Girl as her maid of honor.” Yippee for the Sad Girl.

Goldilocks

Banging Her Head on the Wall of Silence, the next part of The Sad Boy & Sad Girl

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My 80 year old father fluffs the dog’s ears while he kisses her furry head. His voice is gentle as he uses her nickname and smiles. Before the dog, I was the only one my father had crowned with a nickname.

The dog bathes wet kisses on his smiling face while she wags her tail. My dad talks to her in a special voice. He lets the dog sit in his big fluffy armchair. She is his four legged companion. He sets forth, in detail, the events leading up to the dog’s life-saving surgery. He underscores how the surgery was an emotionally bonding experience for the two of them.

The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe is silent.

The only thought swirling through my mind is, “Oh God, don’t let me be jealous of a dog!”

How sad is that? I only want the amount of love and attention my father bestows on the dog.

I think The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe is jealous of the dog, too.

After The Sad Boy’s disclosure, the Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe directly dialed the phone and called “Go ahead, use my real name it’s not like anyone will every read what you write” to now be known as Sister II.

From all accounts, The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe repeated the conversation between her and the Sad Boy.
In detail.
To what end? To malign his character? Yes. And, she further set the wheels of division in motion with one phone conversation. I wonder who else she repeated the conversation to.

Sister II hung up the phone. Fuming, she calls Favorite Sister.

Sister II promptly waylays into Favorite Sister about the Sad Boy and his past. Sister II was angry. In short, she felt that for any other daughter, the Sad Boy would have been rapidly dismissed as an unqualified candidate for a husband- “escorted to the door” or something to that effect. She was not happy with the upcoming nuptials.

Unlike Favorite Sister, Sister II did not like the Sad Boy.

Maybe Sister II just didn’t like him for the Sad Girl.

The Sad Girl was oblivious to all that went on behind her back. The Sad Boy was too.

The Wall of Silence stands like a sentinel- tall and wide surrounding us all. Set in full battle armor, it blocks all truth with whispers, smug remarks, eye rolls, innuendo and disapproval. It never answers questions.

It repeats a false story or overblown narrative over and over until it’s the only thing you know.

It is brainwashing in its elemental sense. One thing is said to your face another behind your back.

When that doesn’t work, you are viciously screamed at with threats of eternal damnation. If you still don’t toe the line, you are ignored with the attitude that it had to be done for your own good.

The mantle of effrontery and righteous umbrage becomes the fashion until you have groveled at the feet of The Woman with the Rock in Her Shoe while you bang your head repeatedly against the Wall of Silence.

I know you are reading along. You are closing your eyes to the Truth tied up behind the Wall of Silence. Deep inside you know the stories woven are bullshit at its finest. You know this because you are currently complicit in the story line. You are keeping the Truth to yourself. You refuse to share it. The Truth will not go away. Ever.
“What so ever you do to the least of my brothers…”

I would like to remind you that that is me. I am “the least of your brothers…”

Well, the least of your half-brothers to be exact.

In the immortal words of Bud Collyer the host of To Tell the Truth – Will my real Father please stand up?

Goldilocks

Nothing to Lose, the next part of The Sad Boy and the Sad Girl

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How far would she go? How much would she write?

Silence was motioning for the smelling salts to stave off the swoon from the approaching panic attack.

The Sad Girl called her Favorite Sister. “Would you take a DNA test with me?”

And because her Favorite Sister loved her, she agreed. “If it will put your mind at ease, I will. I know we are full sisters but I don’t want you to have this question hanging over your head.”

That’s what Love does- it looks to comfort.

The Favorite Sister hadn’t told the Sad Girl yet of the questions that were hanging over her own head.

When the results came in they confirmed what the Sad Girl had already understood- they were half-sisters.

It put her Favorite Sister into shock.

Finally, the Secret that destroyed generations of a family had come out of the darkness and into the light.

And with the results, predictably, came the Greek Chorus-

“You should find another hobby other than family history… If you continue asking about your parentage, I will take it as a personal insult and a slur against Mommy’s good name.”

“DNA isn’t real. It’s bullshit science. I don’t care what a geneticist says or how many doctors you have talked to. It was a Mickey Mouse test and it’s not true.”

“Go ahead…call Daddy and ask him.”

In one breath, “I swear I know nothing.” In another breath, “ask me when Dad’s been dead for a year. Then I’ll talk about it.”

Clearly the Sad Girl hit a nerve. The Woman with a Rock in her Shoe must have had an interesting deathbed confession. The Sad Girl wouldn’t know- she wasn’t allowed to say good bye to the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe.

But what they didn’t know, couldn’t know, because the Sad Girl didn’t tell them, was that she was happy. She always knew she was different and now she had the reason- she only shared half their blood.

Silence is going to need a heavy sedative. Or another pack of cigarettes.

“Tell me what kind of man you are,” the Woman with a Rock in Her Shoe asked the Sad Boy.

Using the Italian-English translation dictionary, she launched into an inquisition that no other prospective in-law had had to face asking questions that a father should have asked.

Rapidly she fired off her queries while the Sad Boy looked her in the eye and answered truthfully.

He told her about the women, the abortions, the drug use, the temper, the brushes with death, the contemplation of murder…

On and on he went in full disclosure to the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe.

The Sad Girl had squeezed his hand and left him to the interrogation. The Sad Boy had it well in hand and she didn’t care to hear anymore.

The Sad Boy ended the conversation on two notes- he was happy to tell the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe because he didn’t want her to hear it from anyone else, and, most importantly, that he was remorseful for his youthful indiscretions.

The Woman with the Rock in her Shoe hugged him and said that God loves a repentant sinner best.

Then she instructed the Sad Girl to take the Sad Boy to confession for God’s official forgiveness and blessing.

 

 

 

 

 

Goldilocks

The Sad Boy Keeps His Promise

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“What do you care? This is my family.”

The Sad Girl looked at her Father quizzically. She looked at her Baby Sister bitterly posed behind him. Then at the Woman with the Rock in her Shoe, who stood silently by, fascination playing on her face as if she were watching a scene from a movie play out in real time.

And once again the Sad Girl was confused.

As the Sad Girl left, she closed the door on the catchphrases- Neurotic-Crazy-Liar.

She thought her Father was just being cruel.

When she told the Sad Boy and her Favorite Sister, they echoed the sentiments of cruelty and added thief. The Sad Girl had asked for a notebook of her work that she left in their care detailing family history.

It was 2 years later, while putting ancestors in a picture frame that the scene replayed in the Sad Girl’s head.

She called the Sad Boy. “Holy shit! What if he meant that he wasn’t my father?”

And in that moment, science began to catch up to the lies.

 

 

He landed at John F. Kennedy Airport in New York on November 4, 1988. His long hair curled over the collar of his faded brown leather jacket as he walked out of Customs and into New York. Black boots and jeans complimented the serious expression on his face as he scanned the crowd for the Sad Girl. Maybe he worried that she wouldn’t be there.

The Sad Girl stood at JFK International Arrivals with her Favorite Brother-Law waiting for the Sad Boy. She was in a beautiful outfit borrowed from her Favorite Sister’s closet; Her Favorite Brother-in-Law in his mechanics clothes with a greased smudged face.

An eternity passed. “What if he didn’t arrive?” her mind whispered. But her heart, her heart knew he would. With her entire being, she knew he would.

She spotted the Sad Boy. She could barely breathe. Every step brought him closer to her. He saw her. Instantly the smile curled the sides of both their mouths. Their eyes locked on each other as they beheld forever and a day.

He kissed the Sad Girl on both cheeks in a traditional Italian greeting. She enfolded his hand in hers. She just needed to touch him. He tightly held on to hers as she introduced her Favorite Brother-in-Law.

In the car he handed her back her Teddy Bear.

Her Favorite Brother-in-Law turned to her and with a twinkle in his brown eyes, his mustache turned up in an approving smile exclaimed, “So, I see you went for the pretty face. I thought you were gonna go for the money!”

He should have known the Sad Girl better than that! You can’t sleep with a man’s bankbook wrapped around you.

When she arrived home with the Sad Boy, they were greeted by her Mother and Father, her Favorite Sister and her three girls, her Youngest Sister and her Grandmother.

The Sad Boy came with many gifts. Among them a beautiful wide band 18 carat Italian gold engagement ring with a diamond in the center for the Sad Girl. Both of her parents gave the ring the eye.

In later years, her parents said to her “…and he didn’t even buy you a real engagement ring and if you think that diamond was real…” They did not understand that the ring was worth just as much as any of her sisters’ rings and probably more. Moreover, the Sad Boy had selected it for her; it came with all his love. It was not a standard American engagement ring because the Sad Boy was not an American man. The Sad Girl did not want a typical American man- her parents did not know that. They still don’t comprehend the Sad Girl.

The sitting room was converted into a bedroom for the Sad Boy.

Her father asked the Sad Boy if he intended to marry the Sad Girl or if he was just in America on a vacation. The Sad Boy declared that he intended to marry the Sad Girl.

A Blog and a Dream

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Dear Tatiana and Marcus,

It has come to my attention that your current blog at Wilhelmina needs help. As I couldn’t find it on the home page, I thought you might be in need of a blog writer to help you.

For the past year I have been blogging at https://blueeyedblonds.com/2015/06/12/the-sad-boy-and-the-sad-girl-continued/. I have 458 followers and growing with every blog post.

Below you will find what I hope will be the first installment of your new blog.

If you like it and would like to discuss having me blog for Wilhelmina, I can be reached at  annamariecoticelli@gmail.com

I hope you are enjoying your summer!

AnnaMarie, also known as Goldilocks and Filomena’s Mom

BLOG MAKEOVER

By Blue Eyed Blonds of a Certain Age

The Sad Boy and The Sad Girl, continued

Everyone knows two types of people- the one who will say you look great no matter your poor fashion choices, and the one who will tell you to change your outfit because large Hawaiian flower print is not becoming on you.

The first type of person feels threatened and wants to look better than you. They will let you walk out of the house looking less than your best. The worse you look, the better they look.

The second type loves you enough to tell you the truth.

How important are your fashion choices?

Take for example the magnificent beauty Sophia Hellqvist. Have you seen how beautiful she looked as she married her Prince Charming Sweden’s Prince Carl? The dress, the make-up, the jewelry, the flowers were all to perfection. The love is shining on both of their faces. And there, on the 9th picture down, as Prince Carl struggles with the wedding ring, the Daily Mail photographs her neck tattoo.

Where were Sophia’s friends? Oh, there they are keeping her company in the tattoo parlor and smirking behind their hands because they could foresee photographers would just focus on the wearable art and not on her elation as she married the love of her life.

At least it wasn’t a freakin butterfly or a cluster of Chinese characters that no one understands.

I hope the generic compass rose tattoo has pointed poor Sophia into the direction of better friends. I wish both Sophia and her Prince Charming a lifetime of enchantment in each others arms. Hopefully she will never ask her friends for relationship advice.

The current age, is a Shakespearean fantasy. “All the world’s a stage” with digital photography and the internet cataloging your every fashion triumph and misstep.

I had very long hair at the age of 20. After a life altering emotional incident, I cut it to shoulder length.

When I went into the Italian restaurant I worked at, the owner’s cousin, who was a hairdresser, said to me with a frown on his face, “Who did that to your hair? Come into my salon tomorrow. I have to fix it- no charge because you are a beautiful girl but the hair has to change.”

Now that’s a true friend.

When my sister Lovelilly and I walked into the salon the next morning, he was not there but his portly Neapolitan father was.

He said in his Italian accented English, “My son-na got-ta little drunka last night. He’s a not a comin in. He didn’t-a do that to a you hair did he?’”

At this point Lovelilly puts on her best Italian accent and says, “Your son-na no give-a her thata haircut.” You could just hear the smirk in her voice as she took stock of the old man.

His son was at home on his knees worshiping the Porcelain God but he didn’t care. He looked up to heaven and made the sign of the cross thanking God that his kid was not responsible for such a bad haircut.

He said “AnnaMaria do you-a trust me?”

Many people in my life had just finished spectacularly proving they were not trustworthy. I said “Go ahead, Marcello, do what you want.”

He wet my hair with a spray bottle. No, he didn’t wash it. Put a cape on me and turned the chair away from the mirror.

He pulled out his scissors, no comb, and his hands began to fly faster than Edward Scissorhands.

I watched Lovelilly watching him. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide in horror.

I saw 8 inch pieces of my hair landing on the salon floor. I didn’t care. I was sunk in a deep depression and the hairdresser knew it.

He was done cutting in less than 2 minutes. As I was moussed and dried, Lovelilly’s face broke into a smile. “It looks fabulous,” she said.

When the chair was turned and I looked in the mirror, I did indeed look fabulous!

One haircut put confidence back in me. I may have felt sick at heart, it might have taken a few decades to heal, but on the outside I looked beautiful.

That haircut, on the cutting edge of fashion, was the first step that led me away from the edge of sorrow. By the way, 6 months later Madonna had the same hairstyle.

I have the words, Lovelilly has the fashion sense. Together we are Blue Eyed Blonds of a Certain Age.

We invite you to come with us as we go shopping for some new words to bring this blog into the 21st Century. We hope you enjoy it.

Goldilocks

The Sad Boy and The Sad Girl, continued

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As I type, the computer screen morphs into a phantom theater door. Cold fingers emerge from Microsoft Word as Silence reaches to still my typing hands. Anxiety rapidly follows, sitting heavily on my chest hissing words of panic into my ear, “What will your parents think? They will disown you again!”

Reason and Good Judgment arrive next. They stand side-by-side shaking my shoulders while echoing Anxiety’s panicked plea, “Don’t do it! Your family’s flaws are your flaws! You will only bring further destruction! Nobody will ever speak to you again!”

Silence, Anxiety, Reason and Good Judgment are startled into submission by the sound of harsh rattling. Silence quickly steps in front of a tarnished metal box marked Truth. It has been shackled outside the theater door for a generation or two. Banging from within, a muffled voice pleads, “Let me out! Let me play my part! I am the only one who can end the drama!”
Like a Greek chorus, the emotions shriek, “Don’t open the box! Don’t open the box! Whatever you do, don’t open the box!”

I stare at the box marked Truth while the pathetic emotions beside me have a collective nervous breakdown. Anxiety rapidly inhales a cigarette while contemplating the outcome of another court case. Reason mumbles about the consequences of coming face to face with the Italians. Good Judgment, mentally adding up the cost of a skilled lawyer, paces in front of the computer screen with a furrowed brow. Silence frantically tries to muffle the thunderous banging and screaming of Truth, enraged by decades spent locked inside a coffin consigned to oblivion.

With a mischievous smile, I invite Silence, Anxiety, Reason and Good Judgment to sit beside me while I open the box.

To the horror of the emotions, I settle myself in front of the computer screen to give Truth its debut on my family stage.

What the hell, Silence is too quiet, Anxiety smokes too much and Reason and Good Judgment are overrated anyway.

 

 

Her favorite brother-in-law picked her up at the airport.

The Sad Girl had known him since she was seven years old. She used to sit on his lap and pull on his mustache. She would tug on his long hair and he never got mad. He would give her a quarter to give him some peace. Another sister would hold out for a dollar.

He was always there, like a good brother. In fact, he was her brother. The Sad Girl knew him better than her brothers and had spent more time with him then with any of her brothers.

Indeed, She didn’t remember a time when he wasn’t a part of her daily life. He was always  dependable- whether she needed a ride or her car fixed. His home was always a safe haven. It was a place that was quiet; as quiet as could be with three little girls. It was a place where she was believed. He always let the Sad Girl love her big sister and nieces. He always had his refrigerator open and the coffee pot on.

He wanted to know all about the Sad Girl’s trip to Italy and her husband to be. He wanted the “scoop” and she gladly gave it to him. Her favorite Brother-in-Law was laid back and very easy to talk to with his faint Brooklyn accent. He left work early and drove all the way to JFK in New York for her because he knew she wanted to be home and not with the other sister. He hardly ever left his work as a diesel mechanic early. That’s the kind of guy he was, a true loving brother.

. The Sad Girl’s whole being was spinning with a medley of jubilation and jet-lag. There was a flurry of questions that she didn’t answer properly. She couldn’t. Her parents wouldn’t have understood.

Over the weekend, the Sister and Brother-in-Law she traveled with arrived by The Woman with The Rock in Her Shoe. She had been watching her dog while they were in Italy. It was a Sunday morning. The Sad Girl had been at Mass when they arrived to discuss the Sad Boy.

Apparently, they did not give the Sad Girl’s parents an exemplary report. They made it clear they would not be held responsible for the Sad Girl’s relationship with The Sad Boy, even though they were accountable for setting her up on the date. (Everybody was always on stage washing their hands in the Sad Girl’s family.) The particulars that were discussed were not told to the Sad Girl. There were no witnesses in attendance. The Sad Girl was sure her Grandmother had listened behind the close door. She would never divulge what she had heard.

For an instant, the stage spotlight illuminated the Sad Girl’s parents as they mentally unraveled the family register. With bifocals perched on the edge of his nose, the Sad Girl’s father tilted his chin up while he scanned the list. His index finger tapped his closed lips in thought. The Woman with the Rock in her Shoe peered over his shoulder, pointing first to an entry next to her sister’s name then to the listing below it. Directly beneath the sister’s name was the Sad Girl’s. Instantly their decision was made.

The sister and her husband did not know they were on the parent’s shit list. Anything they said would fall on deaf ears. Also, the parents wished to marry The Sad Girl off. They were not particular as to whom the groom was. In fact, a few months later, the Sad Girl’s mother thanked the Sad Boy for taking the rock out of her shoe. She can still see her pointing to her shoe and then to her calling her a small rock in Italian. She wanted to be a jewel in her crown, not an annoying rock in her shoe. She still does. At least she wasn’t the “No deposit, no return” daughter.

The parents decided they would decide for themselves. After all, Heaven rejoices when a sinner repents. They let the Sad Boy come to America and stay in their home.

Chasing the Muse for Lee

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I don’t have the words to finish the story of The Sad Boy and The Sad Girl at the moment so I will write something else and when the words come I’ll get back to it.

A few years ago, I was invited to a large 4th of July party on the Jersey side of the Hudson River, right in front of the Macy’s firework spectacular. It was among the best parties that I ever had the honor to be invited to and the pleasure to attend.

There, I was smart enough to introduce myself to a bashful man, who like me, didn’t know too many of the other hundred or so guests.

We started to talk and had such a conversation that here I am, a few years later remembering and writing about it.

I don’t remember the question I asked to spark that conversation and his reflection on the years that had passed. I only know I was lucky enough to ask it and listen to him recount a fascinating life.

He was of the baby boomer generation, born and bred in Manhattan. He had the good fortune to be on the street the day the Beatles landed in a New York hotel room for the first time. He told me about the first time he listened to their White Album, by a friends house in a drug induced haze because he said, that was the only way you listened to The White Album in the 60’s.

He told me about finding himself and cross country journeys and holding the hands of dying HIV patients before anyone knew what they were dying from.

He told me about his nephew; the only person he felt loved him in the entire world. He said it was okay but I could tell it wasn’t. He just wanted to be accepted for who he was and not judged for what he wasn’t.

He told me a piece of his life- so much that I told him he should write down his experiences. He said there was no one who cared- not a spouse or a sibling or a parent. And besides, he didn’t know how to write.

I told him that I cared. That all our lives and experiences put together made for the history of the world. There were so many stories that so many have shared with me and I love them all.

He told me I should write his story and all the rest that I hear. Just collect them and write them into a book, he said. Make a compilation because I cared and he didn’t think he was important or worthy enough to be included in the fabric of history.

So on your advice, Friend from the NY CBS office; I will relate the story and experiences of my friend Lee.

Life is funny. Sometimes it puts you next to people who are strangers one minute and friend the next.

Lee is one of my internet friends.

I met him many years ago while I was posting as an “Anonymous Coward” on a thread aspiring to be the longest on the internet, on GodLikeProductions.

My favorite was when he would post about the man he met in the late 1970’s called Mike. His posts referencing Mike were often cryptic. A sentence here, a comment there sprinkled enough to bait the curious reader knowing that there was a great experience behind the comments if only he would trust enough to share and others had the patience to listen.

“Mike said this, Mike said that…” Sometimes during an internet discussion Lee would say, “No, Goldilocks, you have it wrong…” and proceed to enlighten me and make me think in a manner I hadn’t before. Eventually, I had the courage to ask him how he came to meet Mike,

It has taken many years to pull the entire story out of Lee not because he didn’t want to tell it, but because the experience was so profound and life changing that he didn’t know how to relate it so that the listener would understand.

Slow and steady as the years have gone by, one question and answer at a time, he’s been able to more fully relate the experience. And I, with his permission, will share it with you and let you make your own conclusions.

I don’t know if this is the story of Lee or the story of Mike. Lee’s going to be upset and say “It’s not about me; it’s about Mike and the message. I’m nothing, just the fortunate man in the middle.”

I will dispute that Lee, because I feel it’s about being the vessel, in this case Lee, and watching God work in mysterious ways talking to us all. I also feel that Mike’s true name is Michael the Archangel but I will let each reader decide for themselves.

In order to understand the experience, you have to understand Lee.

Like many of us, Lee is immensely complex and extraordinarily simple. He has a beautiful singing voice and a heart filled with love. And like all my friends, he enjoys silliness and a gut busting laugh.

He is friends with a fox.

Lee is a master gardener. Loving the earth and gently coaxing seeds to sprout into glorious flowers and vegetables with an abundance of blooms and baskets of produce all from a piece of land in a small city in Middle America that is the size of my back porch.

Lee graciously lets his internet friends share his garden every year by posting photos of his daily labors and its progress from seed to glory. His plants always seem to turn just right when he snaps their photo.

Currently his garden is flooded and he has shared this small piece of land with a new neighbor. The gentleman’s name is Adam. I don’t really think it’s a coincidence. Lee is recovering from a stroke and I think God sent someone to help him with his little corner of the earth.

There is so much to what Lee relates, far too much for one blog post. But I’ll start by relying on quoting his internet posts because that’s the only way I’ll get it right.

~When I was in Arizona that January, I called my buddy Eric. He was telling me about this weird guy living there named “Mike Lucci.” I said “What makes you say that?”

Eric told me for instance that he could find lost (people who had lost contact with each other, not missing people) family friends or people just by making a short phone call”. He gave me several other examples of this guys “weirdness.”

Eric had recently been busted for pot, and was on a mild probation. He told me either this guy is a Narc …. is a CIA agent, or is an extraterrestrial! I laughed, told him he was being paranoid, and said I’d like to meet this Mike guy someday, and we said our goodbyes.

One thing Eric said was correct, and I already had a feeling which one.~

~I was a college student at the time. I was at ASU in Tempe, Arizona. I lived in Mesa.

It was spring break during mid-March of that year, and a strong urge was saying “go back home now” (that voice inside), so I packed up my car one night at 3:30 am, and started the long drive back east home. I went to Akron first to see friends and family, then it was off to Pittsburgh, to visit some friends. I was staying at a friends house whose father had abandoned them a few years before during a divorce. His mother had Multiple Sclerosis very bad, and was “bed-ridden” to a couch in the living room.

It was a large ranch style house with about 8 – 10 bedrooms. So, to help make ends meet, she rented out 4 or 5 rooms to “boarders” dirt cheap.

To my great luck, Mike was one of these boarders.

After we talked all evening, all night, and the next morning, it was time for me to leave, and start my journey back to Arizona. I was antsy to return, but looking back, I wish I would have delayed my departure a day or two.~

~Actually, my leaving was already delayed a few days. About 4 or 5 to be exact.

When I first arrived at the friends house, I had already known of this guy named Mike who was living there. I knew about him 2 months before (phone call) and was greatly looking forward to meeting him someday. What I was told about him, greatly intrigued me.

Thing was, he wasn’t there when I got there! He was in Florida! BUMMER!!!

I was delayed to leave due to a very odd circumstance. I wanted to bring my Raleigh 10 speed bike back with me. The summer before, I let my brother use it, and my parents divorce was finalized, and they sold our house when I was 19…! I had no home anymore at Pitt, and no place to crash while visiting, thus why I was staying at that friends house (Eric) the next year.

My brother, had left my bike at a old neighbors house for safe keeping for me. In March of 1977 he was in Miami, at college there (Univ. of Miami). Well, the lady/mother of the house didn’t realize it was my bike. She thought it was my brothers, and would NOT release it to me until she heard from him via phone that it was okay. That took 2 or 3 days.

It was during that period of waiting, that Mike came back from Florida on the very day I got my bike back and was going to leave, that we finally met.

Then I was delayed 2 or 3 more days!

The force was with me during that time in my life~

He showed me way to many things for him not to be real. He was telepathic, and amongst other things, was able to manifest things right in the sky. Plus, right before he manifested something right before me, he pointed out one of their space craft (they don’t need them to fly in), and told me what it’s purpose is.

Earlier in the evening when we first met, I asked him what we need to do on earth to have a better life and such.

He replied “If YOU people would just learn to live your lives in the true Spirit of Christmas, you would not die.”

Hours later, when we went outside, he pointed out a light in the sky to me and asked me to keep my eyes on it. It was a full or near full moon, and it was chilly out. When he told me it was one of their ships… what he called a “beacon ship” , I asked him if it was going to be there for a while.

He said yes. So while shivering, I said “Well I’m going in and grab my jacket.” I ran in, grabbed it, came back outside and sat down right in the driveway lotus style, and watched the craft. It was very far away.

I asked him if it was going to land, and he said “nope”. Drats I thought, I wanna go for a ride.

He told me that the ship was say 200,000 miles away, heading to the moon. He also told me what the real purpose of the beacon ships are.

I watched it for about 10 minutes, and during that time, had traveled about 20,000 more miles.

While I watched it, I suddenly noticed small puffy clouds that had a orange hue, were moving oddly. They weren’t moving with a current. They were moving towards each other!

The clouds then merged, and when they did, a silhouette of Santa Claus and 2 reindeer appeared and flew across the sky.

I started laughing my ass off at the appropriateness of it (the spirit of Christmas earlier), and he was cracking up as well.

He then told me that just days earlier while he was in Florida (Jupiter, FL) he did the same thing in front of 200 people at a huge beach party and it flipped and freaked many of them out!

I think he liked my response of not showing any fear, but laughing at it. ~

~Mike told me that our meeting was NOT planned at all. I asked.

I helped him, just as much as he helped me! I gave him a means to VENT! And believe me, he sure vented! just imagine what he was holding inside, for who knows how long? I come along, and he let’r rip!

Let’s just say he had a lot of pent-up frustrations and anger.~

MIKE

I met a man
From a distant land.
He stressed the point
That I Am that I Am.

He was a firm man
With eyes aflame.
The powers he possessed
Put me to shame.

He said;
“You can do
What I do, Lee.
The secret…,
Lies in brain capacity.”

We drove around
In his compact car.
While we talked of life
On his distant star.

Time seemed to stop,
You see,
For Mother Shakti
Was flowing through me.

He stressed a point
I must relate.
That man
Shouldn’t have to reach
The “Pearly Gate.”

He spoke of past civilizations
On Jupiter and Mars.
Are the ditches on the fourth planet
Battle scars?

The Earth may suffer
A similar fate
It’s in the Bible
They won’t set a date.

The Earth’s what’s so important
We shall see.
That NO ONE(!)
Messes with cosmic energies

They can spin us
If need be
To put Earth back on track.
Then we will implode
and if so,
Will we be allowed back?

He said;
“You should use fusion,
Instead of smashing apart.
Then pollution shall rid itself
When you are given this brand new start.”

Yes,
I met a man
From a distant land.
He made me “high”,
By the touch
Of his hand.

Lee Bell – May 1978

Maranatha, Lee
With all my love
Goldilocks