I was sure to get in trouble if my mom found out and had to devise a plan to hide it.

My parents always told me I was a peculiar child, I don't think my mother meant it in a good way but my father seemed to appreciate my uniqueness. I liked to spend a lot of time alone and preferred the company of my pets, imaginary friends and as I grew older, my books. I remember an incident when I was five that being different played against me. . . It was summer and my mother was getting dinner prepared; I decided I wanted to help. My mother said I was too young and told me to sit down, so I did, on the open oven door. I think I moved faster than light because suddenly I was in the bathroom and do not remember getting there. I was afraid to look and was trying my best not to cry because my leg hurt very very bad. I did look, though, and there it was; the biggest blister I had ever seen on the back on my right leg. I was sure to get in trouble if my mom found out and had to devise a plan to hide it. First, I had to stop the tears, second I had to prevent my parents and siblings from seeing it: it was too warm out to wear long pants, plus it would hurt my legs. I had it! I would walk backwards! So I did, for three days; no one questioned my odd behavior and I thought I was home free, then my little sister and I went to visit my Grandma Ogden which I was regretting anyways because she would always give us crooked bang trims. I walked into her house backward and she immediately took a look behind my back and saw the now scabbed-over but still painful burn; Grandma Ogden was one astute lady. Grandma Ogden was very gentile while she was bandaging my burn, which was about the size of a small carrot; all the while she kept asking why my parents hadn't seen it, they must be crazy to let a child walk around backwards without even wondering why etc. . . That night when my parents picked us up she laid into them, my mother tried making excuses, my father just shook his head and I just stood there shaking in fear, afraid that I would get spanked when I got home for hiding my burn. I didn't get spanked; my father was very understanding and thought it was kind of funny but my mother, she was angry for failing in her job to protect me.

I hoped she was lost in some other memory when she told us this because the reality was too horrible to believe.

For a brief time my family lived in Louisiana; this is where my mother was originally from. I do not remember the trip out there, I know my father wasn't with us at first; I think this was another instance where my mother ran off. The first place we lived was with my great grand mother, Granny and I think my grandfather PawPaw lived there, too. It was a little old house full of sunlight and away from the crowded noise I was used to in Pasadena. I was six years old and would attend my first and only little red school house just like the one you saw on Little House on the Prairie! I made some friends, learned what a poisonous spit was (grasshopper) and had my first experience with Down's Syndrome. There was this sweet little girl (I can say this now as an adult) that kept wanting to hold my hand at church. She looked different and acted different and she scared me so I cried and clung to my mother who shamed me for my actions instead of explaining to me how special everyone is no matter what their circumstance. I only have one bad memory at Granny's and it involved a kitten; my little sister and I found a sweet orange kitten and fed it some milk. Granny through a fit and put the kitten in a sack and threw it in the pond or so she said that is what she did with it. Granny didn't always seem to be in her best mind and would wonder off in her recollections so I hoped she was lost in some other memory when she told us this because the reality was too horrible to believe. My little sister and I seemed to get into a lot of trouble at Granny's but I chalk it up to just being curious kids who didn't have all the facts. One time we decided we wanted some baby chicks and had learned about incubation at school so we grabbed some eggs from the fridge and put them in the grill; we figured the sun made it nice and toasty in there so the eggs would soon hatch. We forgot about them and instead of baby chicks we had a whooping because of the mess and smell the eggs made when they finally burst open. Another time we decided we wanted to gather all the toads that lived around Granny's house; we found an empty box and started our toad collection. I think we gathered about 40 or more toads that evening and when it was time to come in we left the box, with the toads in it, by the kitchen door. That night when PawPaw came home he inadvertently knocked the box over unaware that it was full of toads; he had to use the toilet so he didn't bother to pick up the box and close the door as he had more important things to attend to. My sister and I were already in bed but were startled awake by a lot of hollering going on in the kitchen. I got up sleepy eyed to find my PawPaw gathering up the the toads that had escaped into the house; thankfully my PawPaw had a sense of humor and we didn't get in a lot of trouble just a talking to. It was my understanding that PawPaw told that story to anyone who would listen, up until the day he died.

I was so excited I could barely sleep the night before

The apartment building on Hurlburt Street was like a mansion compared to the hovel we had moved from; it was like we had been given a reprieve from the badness, if only for a short time. We had two bedrooms a living-room that opened up onto a small patio, a n eat in kitchen and a small backyard. I know I barely went into the yard because right outside my living-room door was a pool and a big grassy yard to play in. And kids, oh the kids and everyone was clean, shiny and pretty. We even had a car that we could park in our own parking spot. My mother could still walk but she was getting weaker and sometimes had to use her walker to help her around. She tried her best to only use it in the house; she didn't want anyone to think less of her for using it. This was another golden time that lasted about a year, we spent one Christmas there and Easter and a summer before we moved. One day stands out clearly to me and this was the day I missed the third grade school trip to the L.A. Zoo. I was so excited I could barely sleep the night before but I did and when I woke up. . . I felt like I was going to throw-up. No No No!!! Not OK I had to go to the zoo! I tried to keep my illness a secret and very badly wanted to beeline it to the bathroom but my mother was in there primping; she must have had an appointment or something because she rarely was in the bathroom that early. I said "Hey, Mommy you almost finished I have to go potty?" She told me to come on in, my little sister was in there already. I wanted her to leave, she couldn't see me get sick; if she did I know she would make me stay home. I felt it bubbling up and knew what was coming; luckily I made it to the toilet. My mom was horrified (I got some on her foot) and sent me straight to bed. I was crying, it wasn't fare, I wasn't going to be sick again, I felt better, I really did. She took my temperature and it was high. I spent the day asleep in bed. I was right I didn't  throw-up again but I was sick for the next couple of days.

I thought that was unusual because my mother usually didn't care where I was going.

When I was nine my family had two white cats; Timmy and Tammy. I was Timmy's person and everywhere I was he was; this was the first time I had ever loved anything so much that it could hurt. Timmy was my comfort at night when my parents were yelling and my shelter from bad dreams. We also had bunnies; I am not sure how my little sister and I convinced our Dad to let us get some bunnies for Easter but there they were on Easter morning, two little bunnies. I called mine Joseph, he was wild bunny brown, my sister named hers Spooky because he was all black; we soon found out that Spooky was the perfect name for him because he was "spooked" at everything. My father had made a sturdy bunny pen up against the house in our backyard; they were out of the elements and we didn't have to worry about freezing weather in Pasadena. Joseph and Timmy became fast friends and would chase each other around the pen my father made for the bunnies. If Joseph were out in his pen and he wanted to play he would make this high pitched cry and Timmy would come running. The first time Joseph made this noise my father and I thought he was dying but soon figured out what he was doing. After a good run around Timmy and Joseph would lick each other and then nap. I loved my Timmy and my Joseph. One morning I decided I wanted to head down the street to visit the animals at the pet store, my mother was all for this and was rushing me out of the house; I thought that was unusual because my mother usually didn't care where I was going. La la la out the front door I went and was stopped by Timmy in the front yard, licking something?? I opened the gate (our front yard had a rickety white picket fence) and saw Timmy licking a fur. "Oh Timmy you found a fur" I said and went over to see; to my horror it wasn't just any fur but Joseph's, he was torn apart. I know I screamed, I know it was loud and that it lasted a very long time. I ran crying, Timmy followed; he had blood on his mouth. My mother was yelling at my brother (he was living with us now, his father had died) for not picking up Joseph when she had asked. My father came in and told me what had happened; the night before he heard loud noises by the rabbit pen and went out to see a pack of dogs tearing at the bunny pen, he didn't know what happened to Spooky but he saw one of the dogs with Joseph. He scared the dogs away but it was too late for my bunny.

That is what nursing homes reminded me of, death; they smelled like death would smell.

When my mother became so ill that my father couldn't take care of her and two young girls she would be sent away to a nursing home. Keep in mind that most of the people who lived in these homes were elderly; my mother was not, she was in her mid thirty's. I remember the time an ambulance came and took her away; I was walking home from the bus stop and there was my mother, she was screaming and crying in pain as the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance. My father was no where to be seen; I think she was supposed to be gone before my little sister and I came home from school. This was a few days before we had to be out of the house and I can't help but think that all the stress triggered an episode. As I stood there I was grateful that my little sister hadn't been witness to this event but then what do I tell her; I knew it was up to me my dad was off drinking somewhere. A couple of weeks later my father took us to visit her and I didn't want to go; I hated the smell of those places, the chemical smell that tried but failed at covering up the stench of urine and old feces. I had to go, she was my mother, what would she think if I didn't go; I had to be a good girl and I had to make sure she wasn't dead. I had a fear of death, I would get up in the middle of the night and make sure everyone was breathing and I was always terrified when I went to my grandmothers house; afraid I would be the one to find her dead. That is what nursing homes reminded me of, death; they smelled like death would smell, I just knew it. Once there we had to wait a little bit because my mother was making herself ready; my mother was a southern belle, beautiful and vain and always wanted to be at her best if possible. While waiting this little old lady came up and started picking at the buttons on the cushion of the bench where I was sitting. I appeared to me that she was putting invisible tiny objects into a little container; all the time she had this funny look in her eyes and then gave a manic giggle. GET ME OUT OF HERE! was all I could think, I almost lost it, I wanted to cry. My mom was ready to hold court; she had a lovely view of the industrial building and not much sunlight filtered in. She looked better but tired and a little thinner; she couldn't walk and her wheelchair was parked next to the bed. I told her a little bit about school and church then ran out of things to say so I asked her about the lady and the buttons and got an earful. Apparently, this little old lady killed her cheating husband and everyday all day she would relive it by picking up the invisible bullets and loading the invisible the gun; she would then give a giggle and head off the shoot her husband then start the process all over again. I can't imagine how I looked as my mother told this story, I was horrified and wanted to go home but my father just dropped us off and we had to wait until he was ready to come get us. I had nightmares for the next few nights and never visited my mother at that nursing home again.