Chronic Pain Lifestyle

Welcome to the University of Wisconsin

I am dedicating this story to my dear friend Cheryl. If it weren't for your friendship and courage, I don't think I would have stayed at the UW. I know I wouldn't have made it through that first semester without you. And I know that I will never forget sharing that important first move away from home with you. You're a great friend.

In 1978 I was a freshman at the University of Wisconsin. I had never lived away from home before, and i had never lived in a big city before. Everything was new to me.

In my hometown, none of the buildings were over 5 stories high. In Madison I was going to live on the 12th floor of my dorm. Ogg East, 1272 was my room number.

I moved into my dorm room with my roommate Cheryl. We had known each other since kindergarten and had been through a lot together. Band practices, high school, brownies, we grew up together.

The day we left for Madison is one I’ll never forget. Our parents had seen us off at the Greyhound Bus Depot in Ashland that morning. It was a Sunday, the bus left Ashland around 10 AM and didn’t pull into Madison until 6PM. An 8 hour trip that you can easily drive in 5 1/2 hours but Cheryl’s parents had to work and so did my Mom. My Dad wasn’t well enough to drive us, so the bus was our only alternative.

When we boarded the bus we each had 3 or 4 suitcases, my electric typewriter, my 9-inch black-and-white TV and two carry on bags each, plus purses and I don’t mean a little purse either. A big one. Back then I only carried big purses.

We both wanted to look nice. It was the end of August. Living on the shores of Lake Superior all of our lives, the end of August was fall. Sweaters and long pants are what we started each school year with.

I will never forget what I was wearing that day. It will become clear to you why I can remember this detail by the end of the story. I was wearing my long off white polyester pants, an argyle sweater and my suede baseball jacket. An outfit that with a change of tops, was also great for going to a disco.

Cheryl was also in long pants and a sweater. I believe she was wearing dark blue polyester pants and a sweater. I remember the pants she was wearing because I loved them and would later borrow them from her. It was great having a roommate with such cool clothes.
So we endured the bus trip. We talked nonstop. We were so both so nervous and it was taking it’s toll. We had only been to Madison to look at the campus once and frankly, between the entrance exams and the registration form preview, I was terrified. They had given us a map of the campus and the location of our dorm, but I’m terrible with maps. i was praying someone would help us.

We got to the bus depot in Madison at around 6 PM as scheduled. When I stepped off the bus I knew we were in trouble. We were terrified, exhausted and

it was at least 80 degrees!!!
It was like summer, it was after dinner and it was like summer!!

So here we were, two 18 year old girls, 6 pieces of luggage, one TV, an electric typewriter 4 carryon bags and 2 big purses. We were sweating right through our polyester pants. And since they don’t breathe or absorb moisture, you can just imagine how uncomfortable we were. It was like being dressed in a giant fitted Hefty garbage bag. It doesn’t wrinkle but it’s hot, very hot.

Did I mention I was also wearing my Frye boots? Oh yes, nothing says uncomfortable like knee-high boots in hot weather with socks of course. Our faces were a sweaty mess. Our clothes were holding in every bit of heat and moisture. I felt like I was in a sauna and wearing a plastic bag. Thank goodness Final Net never stops holding your hair. It was the only thing that was working for us.

We managed to commandeer a taxi outside the depot. After we loaded up, the driver informed us we had to wait for more passengers. I didn’t know that taxis in Madison wait for other passengers to fill up the car. So we had to sit there for a few minutes, sweating, feeling anxious, and trying to hold onto all of our stuff.

After a few minutes 2 other students got in and we were off on our ride to our dorm or as it is more commonly known “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride”. Why do taxi drivers drive like they are stunt drivers? Is that part of the test?

We finally arrived at our dorm, Ogg East. Two towering buildings connected on the first floor and basement. We went to the desk and retrieved our keys. That was our first encounter with the woman who worked at the desk. She informed us, in a tone that I can only describe as "bitchy" that normally the keys are picked up by 4 PM. She would later be referred to as “The Witch of the Desk”. She controlled our meal tickets which let us eat and laundry tickets which let us wash our clothes. She knew she had power and like other dictators, she was a little nuts.

We were not in the mood for a lecture. I thanked the Witch and steered Cheryl toward the elevator.

We were pushing the luggage with our feet and dragging the rest. I still don’t know how we got it all upstairs. We found our room and sat down on our beds. We were exhausted and we were also pretty sure that we had just made a huge mistake.

What were we doing here? In a dorm? We didn’t know anyone, it was hot like summer, we were basically lost and it didn’t look like things were going to change anytime soon.

There was a note on our door that said we needed to go upstairs to see the “house fellow”. Cheryl and i were in no mood to see a house fellow, a house gal, a house princess , a king or even the Pope. But we didn’t want to get in any trouble and the note did say it was mandatory. so we went upstairs to the men’s floor and found the “housefellow’s” room.

We got to his door and he told us to come in. He introduced himself as “Scott” and started to go over what happened at the House meeting whatever that was, which we had also missed. This must have been the mandatory part of our visit. He seemed really nice, but we really couldn’t listen to any new information. We were melting into two big smelly polyester wearing puddles right there in his room. He was wearing shorts, no shirt and he was barefoot.

After just a few minutes Cheryl interrupted him and said “Where is the nearest liquor store?”. He looked stunned, but he told us there was one across the street in the little mini-mall. She thanked him and turned and left. I thanked him for the information and followed her.

We bought a 6 pack of Michelob and a bag of ice and returned to our dorm room. We put the ice in a waste basket and cracked open our beers and put the rest of the beer on ice.

As we sat there drinking our beer, we remembered that we had to call home. I went first. I told my Mom the most important thing that she had to do was to pack up all of my shorts, t-shirts and anything else that looks like summer clothes, including my sandals. and put them in the mail. Express mail if it wasn’t too expensive. I assured her we found our room and gave her our new phone number. Mom kept saying she was proud of me. But I just kept saying "Please mail all my summer clothes."

Cheryl basically had the same conversation with her parents . Please mail all summer clothes and sandals. Although if I remember correctly she said it more dramatically than that.

We finished our beer and went to find the ladies room and review the shower situation. Tomorrow we would begin our adventure, but tonight, we were going to each drink 3 bottles of beer and make a list of the things we needed to do before we registered on Friday. It was going to be ok.

As I look back on that day, i wonder how I ever got through it. I know that if it weren’t for Cheryl, I wouldn’t have had the courage to go to such a big school so far away from home. I’ll always be grateful for that. Cheryl and I would become very close over the next few months. We depended on each other to help us get over our homesickness, get through exams and figure out how to survive in the Big Ten.

Getting AA is just like being a freshman at the University of Wisconsin. I’m lost, I have a map but I’m not good with maps. I’m spending a lot of time alone in my room because I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. I have catalogues of resources to use, but I’m afraid to try any of them. And I have appointments in buildings I’ve never been in before with people I don’t know who are trying to help me.

Being a freshman in college is hard, scary and lonesome, so is being a freshman with AA. But just like college, I have people I can depend on and they are helping me a lot. I just need to figure out what I want to be. That’s the next hard decision. After you’re a freshman, you need to pick a major. When you have AA you need to pick the kind of disabled person you are going to be.

Will you be grumpy, grouchy and complaining? or maybe angry at the world? or maybe you’ll just be a normal sophomore.

A normal sophomore has more confidence than a freshman. The sophomore knows where most of his/her appointments are and is starting to achieve success. That’s the kind of sophomore with AA that I hope to be.

So no more sitting around browsing through catalogues, get out there and participate. You need to participate in your health care in order to conquer this disease. You can’t do it alone. Now get up, get dressed and get moving, after all these are the best years of your life. On Wisconsin!

Happy 4th of July

Republishing this oldie, I can't believe it's been more than 10 years since I wrote this, enjoy.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior, Ashland Wisconsin. For as long as I could remember, the population sign at the city limits said 9615. I didn’t know then that it was a little place or that it was pretty far north. To me it was just home.

Summer would arrive and we would hurry to get to do everything we wanted in the 12 short weeks we were out of school. We built forts, went swimming, went to the Little League park, rode our bikes and ran around like our pants were on fire. We played a lot of wiffle ball, which was good because the chances of breaking a window were almost zero. We had a regular diamond in our front yard. Grass never grew on the bases, home plate or the pitcher’s mound. My parent’s never minded.

The Little League season would start and we would have our duties to fulfill at the ball park. Back then girls weren’t allowed to play in Little League. I don’t even think it occurred to us to complain about that. Instead we would raise up the flag at the ball park before the games started, we would help sell popcorn, candy and soda from the concession stand, we would go around with collection boxes during the 7th inning and we would lower the flag at the end of the night and fold it just like we learned in Girl Scouts.

But that wasn’t the only civic duty we took part in. We also participated in the 4th of July parade every year. We would pick a theme, dress up, and off we would go. Sometimes we just decorated our bikes with red,white and blue and wore our new 4th of July outfits that our Gramma bought us. Other times we wore costumes to present some famous moment in history.

My parents bought a 1929 International Pickup truck for my sister when she was in college. We would usually talk her into driving the truck while we rode in the back. The first year we did this, we all dressed up in colonial costumes (ok, to us they were colonial costumes, they were just old clothes to everyone else) and we had a big sheet and some red and blue cloth. We were reenacting Betsy Ross sewing the first American Flag. Oh and the best part was Jody was playing the Star Spangled Banner on her kazoo!!!! We had music and everything.

Another year we dressed up as characters from the Wizard of Oz. We had great costumes that year. My sister Clare was the wicked witch and I was the tin man. Clare’s green make-up was really scary for a little kid. I was a little afraid of her that year.

I always loved the part in the parade when you could hear the announcer say your name and describe your entry in the parade. I also enjoyed hearing my sister Mary say that she hoped no one recognized her. I secretly hoped everyone she knew saw her.

After the parade, we went home, took off the costumes, washed off any make-up we were wearing and peddled our bikes to the carnival down on the west end in the parking lot of Monk’s Bowling Lanes.

Clare would always win gold fish. The poor things would never live very long, but she loved getting them. She was always good at winning things. We always gave her money for the cake walk during the school fun night. She always brought home at least one cake.

The 4th of July was a busy day for us. The parade in the morning, the carnival in the afternoon and then the fireworks at night. In the evening, we would walk down to the post office and sit on a blanket across the street from the band shell. Sometimes we heard the tail end of the concert, it was always patriotic music of course.

As we sat on our blankets on the damp, sweet smelling grass, we allowed ourselves to quiet down for the first time since early morning. We had been running at 100 mph all day and now it was time to wind down.

We would lay on the blanket and watch as the beautiful fireworks painted the sky and clouds with droplets and streaks of color. I always like the blue ones, the big puffs of color remind me of flowers.

And all too soon, the grand finale and then they were done. Sometimes we had to wake up to walk home, we weren’t very far. People didn’t drive everywhere back then. We all bundled up the little kids, folded the blankets, put on our shoes (if we wore them, most of the time we didn’t). and walked home in a quiet hush. All of the anxious talking and laughing happened before the fireworks. When they were done, it was quiet and comfortable, like the day after Christmas.

After we got home, we would lay in our bunk beds and talk, Clare and I. We would talk about our favorite color, the fun rides at the carnival and the excitement of the parade. We had our fill of fun for one day, tomorrow would be spent on other adventures. Maybe a ball game, maybe we would build a raft and float out into the bay, or maybe it would rain so we would spend the day with our Barbies.

I’ll never forget those summer days and nights. It always seemed like the warm weather was magical. It felt like the night was softer when it was warm. Like the night was made of a dark blue velvet cloak that wound around us when we played tag in the dark and kept us safe.

I still look at the stars every night. Since we don’t live near a city, we see millions of stars and it feels like they are close enough to touch. I look up to the stars and the dark blue sky to talk to God, to say hi to my Dad and to pray.

Today I wasn’t in a parade and I didn’t pedal my bike to the carnival. There’s no chance of me getting on a tilt-a-whirl and I don’t have a goldfish in a bowl. But I still have the warm blue velvet nights of my youth. They wrap around me and my pain and give me the strength I need. My prayers are answered and my faith is restored.

God bless America, God bless the summer nights and God bless all of you .

Thanks for listening.

Anne

No Surfing For Jimmy in the Edmund Fitzgerald's Backyard

Every November, the weather in Wisconsin reminds me of a day in 1975, that is memorialized in a song by Gordon Lightfoot forever.  Cold gray skies and freezing rain bring back that day like a shoe-full of sand reminds me of a sunny day at the beach.

I am a huge Jimmy Buffett fan.  That becomes obvious if you see my tattoos.  Yes that’s a plural and no I wasn’t drunk when I got them and no I wasn’t in my 20’s.  I took a long time before deciding to get a tattoo and 9 years later I got another one.  A big one on my back.  Just my little way of showing that I may not be able to do the things I did in my past, but I can certainly make my back look any way I want it to. The tattoo on my back is  important to me.  It shows that I accept my back as it is right now, titanium cages and all. I wil not make excuses for my choices, I just put a lovely bit of ink over them.

Anyway, I was reading in a newspaper recently that a woman was shopping in a little store on Long Island and heard a voice that sounded very familiar to her.  It was Jimmy Buffett. He was talking to the store owner about surfing.  Jimmy tries to surf daily.

When the lady (I’ll just refer to her as “Lucky”) went to the counter, she didn’t want to sound like another gushing fan, so she said that Jimmy should try surfing in the Great Lakes, they get some big waves up there.  Jimmy responded that he didn’t want to surf in Edmund Fitzgerald’s backyard.

The Edmund Fitzgerald.  The ship that sank on November 10, 1975 in Lake Superior.  That’s not just a song by Gordon Lightfoot, it was a real ship and it really sank and there were 29 men on board who never made it home.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  Ashland was my home until I went away to college in Madison in 1978.  I’ve lived in Southern Wisconsin since then.  I returned for summers while in college, but I did not move home after I graduated.  I stayed in the Madison area, and in fact live only 30 miles north of Madison right now.  If my back were ok, I would be working in Madison right now.

A few years ago, I went back to school to earn a degree in computer programming.  I have a bachelors degree from the University of Wisconsin, but after working for several years in the insurance industry, I decided that I wanted to learn how to be a programmer/analyst.  As part of my degree program, I had to take a speech class.

I hate public speaking, I can do it, I just hate it.  The first speech we had to do, was an informational speech.  I thought this would be a good opportunity to deal with a fear that I have.  I’m afraid of being on a ship that sinks. 

When the Fitzgerald sank in 1975, I remember they lowered a camera and located the wreckage.  I can still see the grainy black and white images of the bow of the ship, upside down in the frigid icy lake.  It has haunted my dreams for many years.

So I thought if I wrote a speech about what happened, I’ll be able to help myself overcome my fear of shipwrecks.  I’ll learn all about what happened and conquer my fear.  How can you be afraid of something after you have all the facts, right?  Well it sounded good anyway.

Read on.

November 10, 1975 was a gloomy November day.  Most of the time our November weather is cold and icy at the top of Wisconsin along the shore of Lake Superior and this day was no different.  It was the kind of day where you aren’t sure if the sun rose at all.  The gloomy skies were a dark gray, dark enough so that the street lights didn’t go off and stayed on all day, to light your way if you happened to be outside.  An icy north wind was blowing and howling.  Snapping small tree branches and causing the larger ones to creak and groan.

There was an icy rain that felt like razor blades slicing into your cheek as you hurried to get wherever you were going.  You didn’t want to be outside for very long.  The route from the high school to my home was straight down 11th avenue 1 1/ miles toward the lake.  Walking directly into the north wind was not my favorite thing to do, but it certainly made you walk directly home after school.  No time for goofing around or getting into trouble.

On this day the Edmund Fitzgerald was being loaded with iron ore in Superior, WI at the Burlington Northern Railroad Dock #1.  At about 4:30PM the Fitzgerald set out on her final cargo run that was supposed to end in Detroit.  The Fitzgerald was carrying 29 crew members and 26,116 tons of iron ore.  Among the men was my cousin ( a distant one) Blaine Wilhelm.  He was 52 years old and was an oiler on the Fitzgerald.

The Edmund Fitzgerald was 711.2 feet long and 75.1 feet wide.  During her years in service the Fitzgerald set many records for carrying cargo in the great Lakes.  She was the first ship to carry over one million tons of cargo through the locks at Sault Ste. Marie earning her the nickname “The Pride of the American Flag”.  Her normal route was between Silver Bay, Minnesota and Detroit, Michigan.

During the trip, another ship, the Arthur M. Anderson joined the Fitzgerald.  Since the Fitzgerald was faster, she was about 15 miles ahead of the Anderson.

Captain McSorley of the Fitzgerald and Captain Cooper of the Anderson decided take a northern route through Lake Superior in order to avoid the worst part of the storm.

The weather got worse as the trip moved along.  The Fitzgerald and the Anderson were in radio contact.  Captain McSorley of the Fitzgerald radioed that he had a fence rail down and had lost two vents.  He indicated he was slowing down so the Anderson would be closer.  Captain McSorley requested that the Anderson stay close until they reached Whitefish Point.

At 6:55 PM Captain Cooper of the Anderson and his men reported that they felt a bump and turned to see a huge wave crash over the entire ship driving the bow of the Anderson into the lake.  This was followed by another wave which was even bigger.  Captain Cooper watched as the waves headed toward the Fitzgerald.

By this time the Anderson had lost visual sight of the Fitzgerald but was tracking her on radar.  At 7:10PM the first mate of the Anderson, Morgan Clark radioed the Fitzgerald.  After discussing the course Morgan asked the Captain  “By the way Fitzgerald, how are you making out with your problems?”.  The reply from the Fitzgerald was “We are holding our own.”

At 7:15PM the Fitzgerald disappeared from the Anderson’s radar screen.  No radio contact could be established.

The Captain of the Anderson radioed the Coast Guard.  The storm was getting worse and they couldn’t locate the Fitzgerald.  The Coast Guard asked the captain of the Anderson if they could turn and go back to look for the Fitzgerald, Captain Cooper agreed.

The crew of the Anderson, recovered two life boats from the Fitzgerald and some debris.  There were no signs of survivors.

The search for the Edmund Fitzgerald began immediately.  The US Coast Guard cutter Woodrush located wreckage 17 miles north northwest of Whitefish Point on November 14, 1975.  On May 20, 1976 the Coast Guard’s underwater recovery unit filmed the wreckage and in reviewing the film the words “Edmund Fitzgerald” were clearly seen on the stern.  The ship was in two pieces, the stern was resting upside down.

The Edmund Fitzgerald, “The Pride of the American Flag” sank in 530 feet of water in Lake Superior.  All 29 men aboard were lost.

In reviewing the Coast Guard report of August 2, 1977 concluded that the Fitzgerald sank due to faulty hatch covers and cargo hold bulkheads.  However the Lake Carriers Association and the National Transportation Safety Board voted to unanimously reject the Coast Guard’s findings.

Captain Cooper of the Anderson believes that the Fitzgerald traveled into shallow water and was then hit with the enormous waves he saw.  He believes that’s what sank her.  Others believe the cargo shifted which caused the boat to roll.

The bell of the Edmund Fitzgerald was recovered at the request of the relatives of the crew and is on display at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum in Whitefish Point, Michigan as a memorial to the men who lost their lives that fateful day.  The shipwreck is now a “no diving” area because it serves as a graveyard to the crew.

There are regular reminders of this shipwreck, the Gordon Lightfoot song plays regularly on the radio stations up north and is often requested when Gordon Lightfoot makes an appearance in Duluth Minnesota.  The song eirily and accurately, tells the tale of that fateful day.

On the anniversary of the shipwreck every year, there are church services at the Mariners Church in Detroit and probably in the little towns that the crew called home.

So about that fear of mine;did I conquer it?????

No, I just made the images more vivid.

November is almost over folks.  I have no fears about reindeer.

Thanks for listening.

Anne

Thanksgiving Memories 1966

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior. When Halloween was over and Thanksgiving was coming, we almost always had snow on the ground and were already wearing boots to school along with our mittens and hats.

Since we had to wear dresses to school every day, we wore tights although they did not really keep you very warm. Often times we would wear snow pants and tuck our dress or skirt in. This was the most sensible way to stay warm, so of course we didn’t think it was necessary.

When Thanksgiving would finally arrive, Clare and I would pile into the back seat of the blue Buick wagon. We were off to Gramma Al and Grampa Jack’s house. My Dad’s parents lived in Washburn which is about eleven miles each way. It’s on the other side of Chequamagon Bay. For some reason we thought this was a very long drive. So of course we sang and sang for the entire 15 minute trip. At least the singing took our minds off of how cold the car was, it didn't get warm in the car until we were pulling up in front of Gramma's house.

When we finally got to Gramma Al’s house we would run down from the drive way all the way to her door. In we ran and we were immediately hugged and kissed by Gramma and Aunt Susie who were in the kitchen cooking up a storm. They looked us over and decided we had grown very tall since summer, especially my brother Mike who is in fact very tall. Grampa Jack and Uncle Mac (who had one of those deep voices that guys on FM radio stations have) were already watching football on TV and it didn't seem to matter which teams were playing, they watched every game.

Clare and I would try and stay out of the way and would do whatever little thing we were trusted to do. We could do little jobs like set the table and put the turkey made out of pine cones in the center of the table. After that we just tried to stay out of the way and keep still. At about 1pm we gathered around the table for our meal. Clare and I,Mike, Mary, Mom, Dad, Aunt Susie, Uncle Mac, Gramma and Grampa all bowed our heads and prayed and then it began, the Thanksgiving feast.

This is probably the easiest holiday for a kid to understand next to Halloween. Basically, you watch football and eat a lot of food. I realize now that the celebration of Thanksgiving is not really a great thing. I know that we all need to think about what really happened to the Native Americans and accept that Thanksgiving is not really a celebration of our finest hour. The fact is we invaded another country and then slaughtered many of the natives. At this point in my young life in the 1960’s, Thanksgiving  just meant having a big lunch at Gramma’s house.

There were some obstacles that we had to deal with during big family dinners.  One of them was the fact that we were too little and not strong enough to pass the big platters and heavy serving bowls full of food. The adults would help us by putting stuff on our plates.  Unfortunately we ended up with food we would not eat  Thanksgiving dinner is one of our favorite meals, I love all the food except as a child I wouldn't eat rutabagas.  But the worst thing for me was gravy.  I don’t care for gravy and I still don’t eat anything with gravy on it. There is a really funny picture of me as a little girl. My Grampa Jack is putting gravy on my food and I’m making a face that says “yuck”.  

In less than an hour, which is about 1/5th of the time it took to make the food, we were done eating lunch and Dad and Grampa and Uncle Mac were almost asleep watching a football game. Mike was stretched out on the couch, which was easy for him to do. He is so tall that stretching comes naturally to him.

There wasn’t a lot to do on Thanksgiving after lunch. We were little girls and too little to cook and also too little to be much help in the clean-up effort.  Since this holiday is not like Christmas when you get new toys, we had to be creative to find something to keep us busy and not get in anyone's way or make too much noise. There was a heating grate in the floor upstairs. This grate was open to the downstairs. So every year after lunch, we would go get a pencil, tie a string to it and lower it down from above and try to keep the pencil away from anyone who tried to grab it. We lay on the floor upstairs, giggling like crazy for hours lowering that pencil and quickly pulling it up when someone tried to grab it.

Looking back I can’t believe how long that amused us. And we played with the pencil and string thing for years. I think my brother Mike showed us how to do it. Seriously we did this a lot. And it wasn't a different pencil and string, it was the same one. We had a little keepsake box made of cedar and we kept our pencil and string in it.

Occasionally we stayed overnight at Gramma Al''s house.  If I spent the night I would sleep in Dad's room.  There were 3 comic books in the nightstand.  One was Jonny Quest and it had something to do with frogmen and submarines. I read those comics over and over again.  Just like the pencil and the string, I never got tired of them.  

Gramma told me that when my Dad was a little boy, he couldn’t go to sleep in a bed that hadn’t been made. She said he would get up in the middle of the night and remake his bed if it got messed up while he was sleeping. I don’t know if he really did that, but after Gramma told me that-- I can’t sleep in a bed that hasn’t been made and I have gotten up and turned on the light and remade my bed, sometimes with my husband in it.

Aunt Susie’s room was really just the opposite of my Dad's room, her room was very girly. She had a fancy striped bedspread, with matching pillow shams, curtains and a dressing table with the same matching fabric made into a skirt for the table. On the dressing table she had a little round box all decorated with ribbon and in it were 3 little bottles of French perfume. I was always very careful when I looked at those things.  They were really fancy and I did not to want to do anything to wreck Aunt Susie’s stuff. I wasn't a very girly little girl. I'm still not very girly so for me looking at Aunt Susie's room was a like a peek into another world. The fancy fabric, a dressing table, French perfume none of those things were a part of my childhood. I wanted to be John Wayne when I was little, there was no room in my plans for a dressing table and perfume.

When the sun went down and we had eaten as much as humanly possible, it was time to go home. We were all worn out and quiet from the big meal and the effects of turkey. There was no singing on the way home and we normally went to bed without much complaining after the busy day of eating and pencil and string playing.  It’s almost like I can still see the friendly faces and hear their voices.   Gramma Al’s happy laughter, Mom’s smile, Dad’s snoring, Grampa Jack’s silence (he didn't talk a lot) and Uncle Mac’s deep booming voice cheering on one of the football teams. Clare and I giggling about the pencil and Mike taking a nap and Mary helping in the kitchen.

The little house on Main St. in Washburn. The one with the big picture window and the pretty trees. Below the big picture window on the front of the house was a sign with our family name, "Lamoreaux". It always made me feel good to drive by the house and see our name there. To know that part of our family was there and that's where my Dad and Aunt Susie grew up and where our Gramma and Grampa had a big garden and always made us feel welcome and loved.

My Dad and both his parents died in 1980 within a few months of each other. Dad first and then Grampa and Gramma right before Christmas. No matter how many years go by, I can still see Gramma’s blue eyes and hear her voice and laughter. I can see Grampa’s big strong hands and his dark eyes. And I can still see Clare as a little girl, she and I in our dresses, laying on the hardwood floor upstairs, with a pencil and some string, giggling while we taunted someone downstairs with our pencil.

It is the little things that make your memories special. It’s not fancy china or crystal glassware. It’s the hands your hold when you pray and the hugs and kisses you get when you come in the door and before you go home. Those are the things you keep in your heart forever. Thanks for listening.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Anne

Adult Supervison

 

How old are you when you no longer need adult supervision? Will I ever be the one providing the adult supervision?  The answer may surprise you.

I grew up in a little town Lake Superior.  Ashland had 9,615 people , at least that’s what the sign said when I was growing up.  I was the third kid in a family with four children.  Clare is my little sister and Mike is my big brother, the oldest is Mary.

For as long as I can remember, we had to ask permission to go somewhere at night or to go spend time at someone’s house.  “Who’s going with you? Who’s driving? Are her parent’s home?  Who else is invited?”  All valid questions that are often met with a heavy sigh and an eye roll by the kid being asked those questions  That’s the way it goes when you are a child. 

Before you know it, you turn 18 and move away to college.  No one to tell you to go to bed, or what to eat for dinner or even what to wear.  My upbringing must have been pretty good, because I did go to most classes and study and believe it or not, I wore a lot of skirts in college after never wearing one in high school.  

I suspect all of the supervision I received growing up, set in stone my behavior for my adult life.  All of the times I could have chosen to skip school or not do my homework, I immediately thought of the disapproving glance of my parents and it stopped me from doing anything really bad. 

In high school I was so afraid of disappointing my parents that I never strayed too far from home.  I can clearly remember my Dad giving me the car keys and telling me to go buy a pound of butter.  It was Friday night, what did they need butter for?  I realize now that they just wanted me to get out of the house for a while, so I bought the butter and went to the library.

That doesn't mean I didn't have some good times in college.  We had some great parties in college, we went to State Street in Madison on Halloween and had fun attending Summerfest in Milwaukee and spring break in Florida.  Still the adult supervision I received as a child is still in my head.

When I met my husband, his children became the focus of adult supervision.  I know they didn’t always agree with their curfew and other household rules.  I was not a perfect step-parent, I made mistakes but we all survived and they grew up to be fine young adults who make us very proud.  Sometimes I am shocked that they turned out so well, we really lucked out.

So you would think the adult supervision years would be a thing of the past right?  The kids are in their 30’s, they both have long term relationships, they work hard and have their own homes. Jerry and I are both retired now, so what’s left?  Adult supervision is surely over when you retire and the kids grow up right?  No, no, no, no, was I ever wrong about that. 

You see as an adult you have momentary lapses, times when you forget you are in fact a grownup and believe me adult supervision is necessary all of your life.  

Just a few years ago (before my husband started a business where he goes to car shows and sells car parts and accessories), my husband Jerry went to the Jefferson Car Show and Swap meet.  He goes every spring and fall.  While I am tired of walking through mud up to my ankles and dealing with the high wind and rain that normally accompanies this show, Jerry loves it so he goes by himself, sort of.  You see Jerry is a very outgoing man and has a lot of friends, so even if he goes there alone, he knows he will run into a lot of people he knows, while he is looking for car parts and other treasures.

One year he ran into some friends, the Nelson brothers, Ron, Rick and Bob.  They kicked tires and looked at car parts all day and decided to go out and have a couple of beers on the way home.  They drove back to Lodi and decided to drink beer at a local bar.  As usual, when good friends get together, they had more than just a couple.

As I sat home in front of my computer working on a program for a class I was taking, Jerry was a few miles from home drinking beer and talking with his friends.  Mostly they all sat there and talked about cars.  Seriously, they looked at them all day then went to a bar and drank beer and talked about cars well into the night.  Cars never lose their fascination for these guys. I was more irritated than worried, it was getting late and Jerry had left at 6AM to go to the show, but he had called so at least I knew he wasn’t too far from home.

Meanwhile, Jerry and his friends drank beer,they drank a lot of beer.  In fact, they had so much beer that our dog Dallis, didn’t recognize the stumbling, wreck of a man coming through our door at midnight.  Jerry was about as “happy” as I had ever seen him.  He was smiling, stumbling and smelled like he had fallen into a barrel of beer.  Not happy to have just drank the stuff, he smelled like he had done laps in a big pool of beer and was sprayed with a heady mixture of cigarette smoke and just a hint of cheap cigars.

Fortunately Jerry had not driven himself home, he had enough sense to leave his car and let a friend drive.  I was both relieved he was OK but angry he was in such a state.  I had a six foot tall Irishman walking and defying the laws of gravity with every step.  He was like a puppet made of Jello.  He was bouncing off of walls, knocking things over, but never hit the floor.  Dallis was not sure it was really Jerry, she just kept watching him and trying to figure out why he was walking so funny. 

It was amazing, he was walking like he was on board a boat in stormy seas with twenty foot waves, he stumbled forward and back, left and right and the smile never left his face.  One thing about Jerry, he is a happy man.  As I struggled to get his boots off, he told me what a great time he had with the Nelsons, yes indeed by the smell of him, he had a very good time.

Jerry survived his fun with the Nelsons.  He slept late the next day and after some food and aspirin, he was on the road to feeling better. He told me later that he had been “over-served” by the bartender it was really the bartender’s fault, sure it was.  

A few weeks after the Jefferson Car Show (and Beer Drinking Championship), Jerry told me he was going to Iowa to look at an old car.  I know that sounds like a lie, but he was telling the truth.  I asked him who he was going with and he said Ron Nelson.  Yes, Ron Nelson of the beer drinking, turning my husband into Jello-Man Nelsons.

Without missing a beat I looked at him and asked “And just who is providing the adult supervision?”  

My question about adult supervision has become something of a legend among our friends.  Everyone around here still laughs about it.  Just a few weeks ago we ran into Ron Nelson and another friend Rudy at a car show.  As we drove away Rudy yelled “ Hey Anne, I’m the adult supervision today!” 

Jerry and I both burst out laughing and waved goodbye . It's nice to know the “adults” are still looking out for the ‘kids”, no matter how old we get.   

Thanks for listening.

 

Anne

My Life Has Changed

 

Well it’s been a while since I’ve written any kind of story, but it’s only because I really didn’t have anything to write about.  That has changed.  I realize now after the past two months that I have something to say and now is the time to say it.

 

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior.  Ashland was the home of my parents and my grandparents lived close by.  I was very lucky living so close to them.  Growing up seemed like it took forever, but now when I look back, it zoomed by faster than the Starship Enterprise chasing among the stars.  It was over in an minute and then I was a young adult. 

 

Off to college, then to my first job and then much too soon the end of my working years due to an unfortunate back condition.  Adhesive arachnoiditis, wish I could forget I ever heard those words.  But it was the end of the line for me and try as I might I can not seem to overcome the pain enough to do any kind of work, part-time, volunteer, etc.  I can not even depend on feeling well enough to go out for breakfast most days.

 

And then September 2013 came.   It was a normal day, I had been feeling tired and very angry about a family issue that I do not care to delve into right here.  Let’s just say, money does things to some folks, even folks you have known all your life, turn out to be people you don’t know at all.

 

I couldn’t sleep so I got up because my scalp itched.  It has been going on for a while, I saw a dermatologist who prescribed an antibiotic a few months ago.  I complained that the medication gave me a stomach ache but like a good patient, I took the medication.  I had some of the medication left over, and it was sitting there right next to a bottle of Benadryl spray.  I thought about just spraying my head, it’s just a little spot, but then I saw the medication and took it.  I fell back asleep in the chair in the living room and a few hours later woke up to the most terrible pain in my back I had ever felt.  

 

I had to call out to Jerry to help me to the bathroom because I was going to be very sick.  He came running and soon we were on the way to the hospital.  Within 5 hours of taking that pill, my skin was orange, my eyes were yellow, my feet were so swollen I could not get my shoes off and had the nurse pull them off.  It wasn’t long before they admitted me to the hospital.

 

I can’t remember a lot about the first 8 days in the hospital.  I know people were there, but I can’t tell you all their names and I have no idea what we talked about.  I know that the doctors kept asking me if I remembered anything else I had done before I felt sick.  I did not remember taking that antibiotic so they didn’t know I took it.

 

My liver and kidneys shut down as did the rest of my organs one by one.  I was not getting any better and no one knew why.  I asked Jerry to bring me my CD player that I used to take to work and my CD’s in the case I took to work.  I knew there was something I had to tell the doctors, but I couldn’ t remember anything.  By this time a lot of poison was going through my brain and I could barely remember my own name.

 

Jerry apparently tore the house apart looking for my old CD player and the CD’s but he found it and brought it to me.  I turned off all the lights in my room and put in, do I even have to say it?  Jimmy Buffett, “ Meet Me In Margaritaville” the 2nd CD.  I listened to it with my eyes shut and I kept going over that day in my head.  I knew there was something more, but I just couldn’t think.  And then the third time I heard “ Schoolboy Heart”, it clicked!  I took an antibiotic, I wrote it down so when the doctor came in the next day I told him what I had taken.

 

I know I was taken to dialysis many times during the 13 days I was in the hospital, but I don’t remember most of them, actually I only remember going up there twice.  It was a weird feeling having tubes hanging out of my neck and having all my blood taken out and put back.  It was very weird.  It didn’t really hurt, but I had miserable headaches at night after dialysis, but since I was so sick they gave me really strong painkillers, stronger than the ones I normally take for back pain.

 

And now for the astonishing part.  I didn’t really know I was that sick.  I didn’t have a clue I was laying there dying, but I was.  My husband was terrified, I also didn’t know that. I knew he was concerned but I was so out of it, I didn’t really understand how serious it was.  I guess that’s a blessing not to know you are in real trouble.

 

And now that it is over and my last labs confirm that my kidneys and liver and everything else is working just fine I have a few things to say.   First, my family and friends mean the world to me.  I can’t imagine life without any of you, even if I don’t see you for a long time believe me you are always in my thoughts and I am always wishing for nothing but good things for each and every one of you.

 

Secondly,  as far as those folks who have gone out of their way to hurt my family in the past year, I don’t wish to be mean, but I am taking my brother’s advice and I am no longer devoting any of my time trying to rationalize your awful behavior and will not try to repair our relationship.  Life is too short to spend it with people like you; to put it more plainly,  mean people suck.

 

Finally, having a disability is a terrible thing.  I don’t like being in pain all the time and I am sure that those of you going through this hate it too.  But, I welcome feeling this pain because it means I am alive to feel it.  So even it I complain and yes sometimes feel very sorry for myself, I will try to remember that this pain can only be felt by the living and I am damned glad to be among the living.

 

Thanks for listening.

 

Anne 

 

PS  And thank you Jimmy Buffett for restoring this Parrothead back to life.

Please, Please, Please Can I Go See The Movie Dark Shadows????

This movie is on TCM tonight at 9. Enjoy if you dare......

When I was in the fifth grade a movie came out based on the popular soap opera Dark Shadows. For those of you who didn’t see the show, it was a gothic soap opera set in modern day with a lot of witches, vampires, ghosts, etc.

During the summertime, I would ride my bike over to my friend Kim’s house and at 3 PM we would all gather around her TV and watch, Dark Shadows. There were two main characters, Barnabas who was a vampire and there was a lady doctor, whose name I don’t recall. Anyway, the show always had a scary, bite scene where Barnabas would show his fangs and lean in to bite someone. We always screamed and covered our faces at that part of the show.

So that was our routine Monday through Friday at 3 PM we would have the beJesus scared out of us and then go back to playing with our Little Kiddles or Barbies. All in all, a very fun summer for girls.

So in the fall when the Dark Shadows movie came to the Bay Theater, we all wanted to go. All of my friends had permission to go, except me and my sister Clare.

I begged and begged my Mom to let me go but she said no. Then my little sister tried, she begged and begged. Finally we both started crying during the begging. But nothing worked. Dark Shadows was opening on Friday and we just had to go.

So we gave it one more college try. I don’t remember what we did differently, but whatever it was, it worked. Mom gave in and let us go to see Dark Shadows at 7 PM on a Friday with all of our friends.

When Friday came we could hardly control ourselves. We all walked downtown to go to the show. Me, my sister Clare, Jody, Terry, Kim, Kathy, Cheryl, I’m not sure if there were others there, but that is all I can remember.

It was dark in the theater and the movie started. We were all sitting together. We were so tense with excitement, we could barely sit in our seats.

As the music got louder and louder we knew what was going to happen, sooner or later Barnabas was going to bite someone. And sure enough, the fangs came out, and he bit someone. Only this time, they showed it!!

During the daytime soap we were used to, we never actually saw the blood squirting out, we would see him lean in and then we would see the body, but not the actual bite.

We were all stunned and we all screamed, very loudly.

The movie went on and it seemed like it was leading up to something pretty big. I’m not good at scary movies especially when I was a little kid, so I got up to go and get something to drink. I thought that the black cherry soda, would calm me down. Or at least give me an excuse not to see whatever was coming up.

I got my soda and opened the door to go back into the theater and saw, all of my friends running up the aisle toward me, screaming. I looked up at the screen and I saw why.

Someone had just shot Barnabas through the heart with a wooden stake and he had his fangs out and was chasing someone. It was really gory. It was the bloodiest thing I had ever seen.

Did I mention that Dark Shadows the soap opera was in black and white? This movie was not in black and white. It was mostly in red.

I turned around and started running myself. Soda and all we ran down to the ladies room in the basement. We just had to calm down but we were all so scared. And it didn’t help that the sound from the movie was being piped into the ladies room. We couldn’t escape.

We all took deep breaths and calmed down. Then we marched back up to see the end of the movie. i don’t even remember what happened after that, but the movie finally ended and we went outside.

It was early fall, so it was dark outside, and it was foggy. Just like the movie. There we were a bunch of little girls walking in the fog, and the dark on the way home from a vampire movie. We jumped at every thing we saw. If the wind blew a leaf across the street, we screamed and ran. Basically we screamed and ran the whole way home.

We got in the house and locked the door. Went to our room and kept the lights on. All night for many nights to come. I don’t recall ever being that scared of a movie, ever.

The blood and gore was hard to ignore and seeing it in color didn’t help. Color. That movie made me long for the good old black and white TV show. And just why was our house surrounded with big scary trees? I didn’t notice that before, why all the trees? Why all the leaves blowing and making that rustling sound? Why the fog? We were sure that Barnabas was coming for us.

I never begged my Mom to let me go to another movie again. Even at the age of 11 I realized that perhaps she did know a little more than I did about whether or not something was ok for me to see. If I had known that the movie was as bloody as it was, I wouldn’t have asked to go. Honestly, I wouldn’t have asked.

It’s a hard thing to admit when something is too much for you. As an adult, we rarely have to admit that we can't do things anymore, unless of course you have a problem like ohh, let me see, like AA for example.

When I can’t do something that I’ve done in the past, it makes me crazy. Even worse is the fact that everyone expects that I can’t do something. Like the laundry.

The other day my husband called and asked what I was doing and I told him I was laying down and that my back hurt a lot. He asked me what I had been doing. I admitted that I had done 3 loads of laundry.

I knew that I shouldn’t have done it, but I wanted to help out and I wanted to prove that I could still do things around the house and so I did the laundry. That was Monday, today is Friday, it still hurts and I’ve had to get stronger pain meds from my doctor to deal with this level of pain. All because I thought it would be ok to try something that I knew I shouldn’t do.

So will I do it again? Probably Why can’t I learn to accept these limits? I don’t know, I think I’m probably a little stubborn, but I think the real reason is that for each thing I stop doing, like laundry, working, weeding the garden, etc. I give up a little part of me. And that hurts.

I have already given up a lot of things in the past three years, it doesn’t seem fair to keep giving away more of me. I’m afraid there will be nothing left so I am holding on to things I know I should let go.

Eventually I know that I’ll learn from my mistakes and stop doing things that hurt. In the meantime, just like when I begged to go see that movie, I’ll do things that I know I shouldn’t just so I can be like the other “kids on the block”. After all these years I still want to fit in with my friends and be like everyone else. I still want to be me.

The Ties That Bind

A few months ago, I was shocked to find out that a friend of mine has been missing since January of 1980. A young man who lived in a house two doors up from our house, walked out his own front door and hasn't been seen since. He walked out the door of his family home at 4AM in a blizzard, took a right and where the sidewalk ends at the end of the block, the footprints stopped.

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior. Ashland was a cold place to be in winter, all six months of it. Especially at our house. We were only a couple of blocks off the lake, on a corner lot. Everytime we walked outside, the north wind felt like a slap in your face. It really got you moving quickly to get wherever you were going. During blizzards, I remember loving the lack of human sounds and the loud sounds of Mother Nature really raising Hell. No voices of kids playing, or dogs barking. No piano playing could be heard above the sounds of a blizzard with a lot of snow and howling winds. The wind rattled the windows and shook the house. The trees groaned and creaked under the weight of ice and snow. The small branches would snap and slap at the windows.

A great war was being fought outside, Mother Nature herself was trying to regain the land that the foolish humans were claiming for themselves. The war raged on outside our house for days at a time. When the battle was won and Mother Nature had been victorious a calmness would settle in and the snow would subside.

In the morning we would blink at the bright sunlight and shiver in the icy cold temperature. The new layer of snow created a pretty white landscape all perfectly smooth, like frosting on a birthday cake. We would put on our layers of clothes, snowpants, extra thick socks, boots, scarves, mittens and hats and the adventure would begin. First up, jump off the front porch right into the snow. It wasn't very high, but we believed we were fearless to jump right in. Sometimes it was up to our hips and we had a hard time getting out of the snow, but it was fun. Cold but fun. We would go sledding or build a snowfort or go skating at the rink down the street. Even in winter we were outside, having fun and rarely complaining about the cold.

If it was too cold, like below zero, we went inside and stood by a heating vent until we could feel our toes again. Sometimes we were so tired we fell asleep before taking off all of our snow gear. But somehow magically we woke up in our little bunk beds every morning. My parents probably missed our nightly sing along.

I've always wondered why they never name blizzards. They name hurricanes and tropical storms, blizzards last for days, they are dangerous, cold, cause power outages, car accidents, frost bite, business and school closings. I think blizzards deserve to be named or at least numbered. Maybe we would have a better memory of those days if we could say, "Remember the big storm of '66, that Daisy Mae was a wicked storm." well, maybe not Daisy Mae, but you get the idea.

Perhaps it was because we were so close to the lake and the windows rattled so much, or maybe it was because we walked everywhere when we were kids, but the storms of my adulthood do not seem as severe. Keep in mind, I live 300 miles south of where I was born. That's why I went to college without thinking I needed to bring warm weather clothes. I guess location could impact comparing the storms of my youth to the storms we have now, but either way, they should all be named.

As a child, I never envisioned living anywhere else and I never worried about storms because I was safe in our big house on the corner of Third Street and Eleventh Avenue West. I knew that in that house, my family would take care of me and love me. When a storm approached, I went in the house and my parents made sure we were warm and clothed and fed. We were safe there. But not everyone has a safe place to go. Especially when you are a kid and can't take care of yourself. I never thought mistreated and abused children could live in my hometown and I thought poor people all lived far away and that's why we put money in the collection plate in church. I was a kid, my world was limited to our neighborhood and the lake. How could I know about kids who weren't safe or people who were poor? No one ever talked about stuff like that, at least not us.

On our block, we had Jody and her family across the alley, Mr. Olson and later Mr. Day next door. And on the other side of Mr. Olson's house was another house with a Mom and Dad and three kids. I think there may have been older children, but I only remember three kids in that house. The house was run down, covered in dingy white peeling paint. The lot it sat on was narrow and the backyard had a 4 door Rambler that didn't run and a little shack, covered in tar paper, the rest of the backyard had long grass and weeds. The front yard had a porch and little grass and a lot of dirt. Once in a while there would be an old rusty car or truck out front, but mostly the family walked. The Father worked just up the street at the Chicago Ironworks Salvage Yard. We were all afraid of him. I never really knew why, but we were scared.

The kids in the house all seemed OK. The oldest was a girl who I always thought was nice, and she had two younger brothers. The youngest boy always seemed to be in trouble at school and at home. He would get yelled at by teachers and homelife was not much better. The older boy Andy was a couple of years older than me. He was on the JV football team in high school and he was on the Varsity Wrestling team. He also worked as a janitor at my old elementary school Beaser. He swept the floors and emptied the trash cans at night. I would drag Angie up to sit in the park at the school and watch Andy as he swept the floors at night. I was not terribly subtle, I had a big crush. So Angie came with me to stare at Andy while he swept up.

My parents didn't want us to hang out with any of the kids in this family. I never really knew why. They didn't seem to have a lot of money, but there was something else and I never quite figured out. My parents would make us come in the house if one of those kids even stopped to say hi or something. I don't know why we were not allowed to play with those kids and I don't know why we were so afraid of the Dad, but we were.

With such a stigma following these kids, it did not surprise me that my Grampa would try and help Andy to get ahead. He was a nice young man and all he needed was someone to give him a chance. Andy worked for my Grampa, doing odd jobs. Grampa really wanted to help Andy, few people ever did anything to help those kids.

When my Grampa died, Andy went to the funeral home alone. I decided not to go, I was 13 and my Grampa lived across the street from me. I had seen him nearly every day of my life and I loved him. I didn't want to remember him lying in a casket, so I stayed away. My uncle told me that Andy walked in all alone and went and stood in front of Grampa's casket for a long time with his head hanging down. I think he probably loved my Grampa and I know my Grampa thought a lot of him. 

After high school Andy joined the Navy and moved away. I was happy for him. I thought he finally escaped this town where people said things and treated him unfairly because of some family reputation or something. He had his big chance to get out and he did it. When I finished high school, I moved to Madison to go to college. I was not happy in Ashland either.

I had some good friends, but I felt like I would always be the homely girl with braces and acne. I was sure I would always be alone because I was not popular and pretty. My self esteem was pretty low. When I moved I thought I might have a chance to change my life and have a fresh start without having a label like I did in Ashland. And moving to Madison did change my life. I loved college, met and married my husband and had good jobs and bad ones, made friends and eventually reconnected with my childhood friends. I realize now that I cried alot but like every other teen, I grew up and somewhere along the way I learned to like myself. I wish every teen filled with self doubt could see that teen years are temporary and you are not defined by who you were as a teen.

In January of 1980 I was preparing to go back to Madison for my second semester of my sophomore year. And by preparing I mean, sleeping and eating. Four weeks of home cooking and a soft bed can reinvigorate any tired coed. Andy was back from the Navy.  He served 4 years and came back to Ashland.

On January 20th, 1980 a terrible, blustery storm was brewing outside. I was warm and sound asleep in my bed. Two houses away at 4AM, Andy walked out the front door of his home. He stepped off his porch and turned to the right, headed south with the wind at his back. With each step Andy walked away from his home, his life, his family and his friends. And he hasn't been seen since.

Andy's disappearance is a shock. After hearing about this I realized just how easy it is to walk away from it all and throw off the ties that bind you and walk on to a different life, a different existence or perhaps to throw off the ties that bind us to this Earth and escape a life too full of sadness that it can not be endured for even one more day. A life where every opportunity leaves you full of self-doubt. Where the whispers and insults are an everyday event, with no safe harbor to ease a troubled mind and no safety net.

People throw off ties everyday. Families torn apart because of a remark, friends who have a bad day and no one makes the first step to repairing the break. Then too much time has passed and the fractured family or broken friendship can never be repaired and walls go up where there were once open arms. Set adrift with no safe haven, people young and old are adrift all around us. People without a safety net, without comfort, without love.

I hope that wherever Andy resides, whether here on Earth or beyond this life, I hope that he has found the happiness and acceptance that so often eluded him and I hope that he is loved and that he loves. God speed Andy.

And I hope that everyone who reads this has a safety net, a friend,relative, a pastor, etc. that can make you feel safe and connected. No one should be set adrift all alone, we are social beings, we need to love and to be loved. More important than new clothes, cars, or a brand new TV, the ties that bind you are really the things that set you free.

Thanks for listening.

 

Anne

Free

I'm republishing this oldie but goodie. Forever friends like Angie, Clare, Tracey and Amy come into your life and they stay in your heart forever. I feel that this story deserves a little introduction mainly because my Mom is going to read it. Rest assured while this is the truth, we never did anything really bad. It was normal childhood mischief and we never hurt anyone or caused a huge problem. Honest. That being said, I'm too old to be grounded now anyway.

When I was a little girl, about 11 or 12 my friends and I were always getting into trouble. For example, Clare and Maxine, would jump off of Maxine's roof, into the garden of a neighbor. They would pick carrots and eat them and put the tops back in the ground. Not a terrible thing to do but certainly, not saintly either.

One summer day we were looking for something to do and we started talking about the old school on Third St. and 9th Ave. The school was abandoned long before we were even born. It was a big sandstone building and I heard it was a boys school. It was closed down many years before.

It made us wonder what exactly was inside that empty building? We weren’t clever enough to wait until dark, so we gathered up some tools we hoped no one would miss and we all peddled down to the building and parked our bikes on the alley side of the old school. There were windows to the basement rooms on that side. All we had to do was pry off the boards that were over the windows and we could lower ourselves into the building. Who knew what kind of treasures we would find? It was so exciting.

Now at this point, being 11 years old, we should have had a better plan. One or two of us should have been working on the window and the rest should have been watching for cops, interested parents or nosy neighbors. After all, I read a lot of Nancy Drew books and she always did things in the dark and when no one was around to watch. But no, we were so anxious to have an adventure, no one was watching and it was broad daylight.

Just as we pried the first board from the window and got our first glimpse inside the old building we heard “hey what are you kids doing?”. This was not good.

I tripped and fell on the wrench I had in my hand, I grabbed it and jumped on my bike and peddled like there was no tomorrow. As was our routine, we peddled in the opposite direction of our houses. If you are in trouble, it isn’t smart to lead adults right to your house. Besides, this guy didn’t look familiar so hopefully he didn’t recognize any of us.

As we peddled around several blocks furiously making our way back to our homes I felt something wet on my right knee. I looked down and almost fell off my bike.

My pants were ripped and so was my knee. I could see my kneecap through the hole in my pants. This wasn’t good. Little bumps and bruises are easy to explain. But this almost looked like a doctor’s visit kind of thing and those are a little harder. After all, I couldn’t just tell the truth.

My mind was racing as fast as my legs, I had to think of something believable and quick. I needed someone to look at my knee. I rode my bike straight into the backyard and laid it down behind the lilac bushes so it couldn’t be seen from the road. That was on purpose too. We were pretty sneaky sometimes.

Then I ran inside and up to my room.

My Mom and my sister Mary were upstairs talking and didn’t really notice that I was upstairs. I went into the bathroom and got a washcloth, soaked it in cold water and put it on my knee. I sat down on the end of my bed, still trying to think of a good story. I had to explain the wrench in my room, the tear in my pants and why my knee cap was showing. I was starting to sweat, I thought I was too young to sweat.

My Mom came in my room and asked me what happened as she

looked at my knee. I just said I fell down on a rock. that sounded good, it would explain the bruising and the ripped pants,. It worked, whew, ok now I can start with the boring details.

“Jody and I were riding our bikes and we put them down, and I tripped and I fell on a rock down by the lake on those railroad tracks. There were a lot of rocks by good old Lake Superior. Never mind that I was no where near the lake that day, they didn’t know that.

Soon after that they tore down the old school and whatever was in it was carted away by dump trucks. We went over the empty lot carefully looking for something that was missed. I kept hoping we would find an old book or diary of some kind. We didn’t find anything but some bricks.

And I bet you thought Timmy Fleck was the only one in Ashland who did that sort of thing didn’t you?

Never underestimate a goody-two-shoes. You would be surprised at some of the things I did. Some I will admit, some I won’t, but I can truthfully say, I never skipped school, I was never tardy and I never handed in an assignment late and I never had a detention. Basically I was very well behaved

And I never gave the police my real name........

Like the time we were playing the beer can trick on 3rd street. You put an empty six-pack of beer in the middle of the street and tie fishing line to it and then hide in the bushes.

When someone stops their car, you pull the six pack away. It was very funny to an 11 year old. But what was really funny was the night a car stopped, a car with policemen in it. We all scattered, like usual to our hiding spots up the block and away from our houses, except for Angie.

She got tangled up in the fishing line!

When the policeman, tugged on the line and followed it into the bushes, he came upon Angie and asked her what she was doing. She told him with a completely straight face, “I was sleeping”

The cop asked her who her friends were and like a true blue friend she said “I don’t have any friends”. We were all so loyal back then. So she did the only thing she could do. She let him cut the fishing line so she could get untangled, then she gave the cops a fake name, address and phone number. He said he would call her parents and she looked sad until he drove away.

After they were out of sight, we almost fell out of the bushes across the street, we were laughing so hard. “I was sleeping? Are you kidding? “ That was so funny. It still is. I can’t believe she told him she didn’t have any friends. And with a straight face no less. God we were good back then.

Since I love my nephews who are still young and impressionable, I don’t think I will tell them this story until they grow up. Especially because their mother was in the bushes with us.

I wish I hadn’t given my doctor my real name. Wouldn’t it be great if you could cure AA by simply changing your name so the disease couldn’t find you?

It’s nice to remember back when I could pedal a bike that fast and hide out from adults who may or may not have caught us doing something we shouldn’t have.

And it’s nice to know that it wasn’t just Timmy Fleck having all of the adventures when we were young. We girls had our heroes too, like Angie who told that cop she was sleeping and never gave up her friends.

Thanks Angie, wherever you are. I still consider you to be one of my closest friends. AA can’t take that away from me and I bet if you were here right now, you would be thinking of a way to get me out of this mess I’m in.

Like your tangled fishing line, I could sure use your help to get out of this. I want to be free again, like I was then. Free to hide in the bushes when I feel like it. That’s what I want, to be free from AA which has tangled up my life long enough.

On Wisconsin

I grew up in a little town on Lake Superior. Ashland had one high school so it was easyvto figure outbwho to cheer for on Friday night at Weikal Field. Besides, how many teams were named the "Oredockers"? Just one. And besides I marched in the band, every parade and football game. I played the bassoon so I ended up twirling a gun in a short dress for my high school years. At the end of the last song during halftime, we dropped our guns and lifted our skirts. We spelled Dockers. I was the "E" . How I wish I had that body back. Anyway, we were all inclined to cheer for the home team, we were loyal to our school and it carried on through college.

I cheered for the Badgers all through college and I still do. I had season tickets for football every year and even when I broke my leg, I never missed a game. Of course we didn't go to a bowl game when I was in school, but we did wallop Ohio State at home. It was beautiful. I love cheering the cardinal and white. I still tear up when the band plays "Varsity". I love my Alma Mater win or lose.

This morning I was greeted by first page news about my beloved Badgers. The Badger Herald, the more liberal of campus' two papers, printed a list " The Worst People on Campus". What did these people do to earn this title? Did they kick dogs, boo at Badger games, refuse to stand during Varsity and wave their right arms? Did they beat up Bucky? No, the two hundred worst people on campus and "condemned to Hell" tried to sell their Rose Bowl tickets for a profit!! I know! I can't believe it either. Must be out of state students, probably some fast talking swell kids from back East where things like money matter. Or maybe they are business majors looking to start turning a profit while they are still students. Those Business School t-shirts spell SOB for a reason.

Whoever they are, their names were removed from the Badger Herald when it was discovered, gasp, that they found an additional 200 names! I don't know that the Badger Herald has discovered perhaps that some students need or want money more than doing the right thing. In these days when so many folks have lost their jobs and homes, can you blame a few misguided youth for trying to turn a profit? I think not. I think we discovered that while some kids are tired of ramen noodles and pasta with plain tomato sauce, some need the money to help feed their kids or pay for medicine. At least that's what I'm trying to convince myself.

Please don't look too harshly on these kids, maybe their dog is sick, or their Mom needs an operation. Whatever the case I'm sure that the Badger faithful can overlook this indiscretion as they prepare to attend or at least to watch our team play in Camp Randall West. We will not even remember this tiny wrinkle in a perfectly wonderful holiday season leading up to the big game.

Forget the 200 and remember the generations of students who would give their right arms to be sitting in the stands on New Years' Day. We'll cheer from the kickoff to the final seconds, win or lose. I'll tear up when Leckrone and company play our favorite song and laugh at all the pushups poor Bucky has to do every time we score. At the end of the day, we'll take pride in all that our school stands for the good, the bad and the 200. Go Big Red!!