We Was Rotten Kids, Part I

We lived in the country, when I was little, right next to an old farm. I don't think I ever met Farmer Angle (yes, that's really his name) though I'm sure I saw him from a distance on occasion. We were sandwiched between him and another cantankerous blue-hair, Miss Bisson, which, when you're a household of four kids, means we were often under a disapproving scrutiny, and subsequently, frequently in trouble. (Actually, we were into trouble far more than we actually got caught for, which is why, my sister and I are convinced, my mother is insane now.)

Farmer Angle had cattle in the field behind our yard and an electrified barbed wire fence to keep them in. You could tell it was electrified - there were small porcelain knobs at intervals all along it. My older brother was fascinated with that fence. Once he dared me to go up and touch the wire, assuring me that it probably wasn't even turned on. We approached it together, cracking jokes about how chicken the other was and grasped the wire.

Have you ever touched an electric fence? They don't usually pack much of a charge, but it's still a pretty bizarre sensation. I remember the jiggly, buzzy sensation of electricity coursing through me. It seemed like my whole body was frozen in place, channeling current. I tried to pull my fingers off the fence but the electric impulse was stronger than my will, and they were reluctant to obey me. Forcing my other hand to pry my fingers off of the fence I was finally released from that paralyzing current, and my brother did the same. My mother never caught us, and we went back and did it a few more times, just for the sake of that bizarre sensation.

When I think back upon those times I marvel that we all made it into adulthood. I marvel even more that my sister didn't catch us and turn us in - she was always the better parent. (Sorry Mom)

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On another note...
I am one of the un-named today over at PapaTV's Fug Friday. This is the final edition of a truly inspired series of posts. If you haven't see this or read Brian Papa, go check him out.

Digging In The Dirt

I am no stranger to depression - it's been my companion for far too many years. I recognize the symptoms as expertly as I would the symptoms of the flu or any other illness. It comes from years of living intimately with it. I've examined my personal causes, or triggers minutely, made a science of pinpointing the underlying reasons and how to exorcise them.

As a child, when the fighting between my parents would crescendo, or they had just vented their rage at each other on one of us, I would slip away from the house and look up at the night sky, praying for my real family to come and take me away.

In the teen years, unable to pretend I belonged somewhere else, I thought about suicide almost constantly. I wore black from the age of 12 onward, and sat in my room in the dark, writing very morose, very bad poetry. I stole prescription drugs from the medicine cabinet of my friend's mother and stockpiled them for my planned overdose. My parents would occasionally take their heads out of their self-absorbed asses to notice and their loving response was always, "Do we need to take you to see someone?" Not that they ever followed through - not that I would have talked to a shrink if they had. When you grow up in the house of a shrink and see just how batsa they are after hours, it makes it pretty much impossible to trust any of them.

I was actually lucky, in that I had brothers and a sister. I think we decided fairly early on that our parents were totally fucked up in the head and couldn't be relied on. No matter how bad it was, we had each other. My father likes to think he had a hand in making us such a close family, and he's right, but he's also way off base. He was never home, except on the weekends. My mother couldn't deal with four kids alone and saved both our punishments and her resentments for Friday night, and that's how she lost her authority as a parent. Their need to publicly vilify one another led us to form our own family dynamic - one that didn't include them.

As a young woman I tended towards relationships where I put my entire life's happiness into the keeping of another, and naturally, they always seemed to end badly. Then I would plummet into a pit of darkest, most desperate despair, only surfacing to pin my self worth on another poor unsuspecting schmuck.

I was about 24 when I had the epiphany that I was living my life like it was a Greek tragedy, and decided I was really tired of it. It was time to try living life like it was worth it. That was the year I met both Bea and my husband and you know how those stories went.

That's not to say I don't ever end up in that dank, windowless cell known as depression - I certainly do. The toddler years were hell, and there were times I literally hit my head against the wall, trying to deal. But I look at it differently now. I know there's a sunny day outside of that cell. I also know I'm not the only one who ever feels that way, and strange as it may sound, I find that comforting. It took some work to get to this place, in the form of confronting my demons, both personal and familial, but the dark days are fewer and further than they used to be.

How can we appreciate the exquisite joy of being alive, if we've never seen the other darker side as well? Life is a balance of both good and bad, I believe, and in the quest to find wisdom, or grace, or deeper illumination, we have to be able to embrace both sides.

*Note - I wrote this piece after reading of Ray's demise into the dark tunnel over at Nitro Vista. This isn't a solution to anyone else's depression - it isn't even a full confession of the things that set me off. This is simply what came up out of the bubbling swamp that is my mind after reading his post. I also want to say that as an adult I recognize there are no perfect parents and whatever botching of the job my parents may have done, they did their best with what they were given. Family dynamics and dysfunctions often go back many generations, and for what its worth, my parents did break out of their respective molds in many ways.

Solstice

This is a two part blog post - the other half can be found at Trapped Under Something Heavy.

Well the Solstice Party on Saturday was a big hit, thanks completely to all the hard work and contributions by everyone. We had representatives from all the family branches, including the honorary ones, so it was a really good turnout (although Jake blew us off and missed out on some awesome cheeses). This is the appetizer spread before the herd came in and trampled it:
Here the assorted guests arrive and greet each other with small gifts of creature comforts; what we consider to be proper Solstice gifts - things to get you through the long dark winter.
We set up the tables in the living room, since the Christmas tree is in the dining room (it has the picture window). I know, it isn't Martha Stewart, but Martha never had these guys over for dinner! As it was, we nearly burned down the house with the candles on the table (good reflexes there B-ski!)
I pose with the Bohemian for a lovely shot - he is such a sweetie!
The Elf Prince was not so pleased with the disruptive humans, but he did allow us to photograph his displeasure, which is something, I guess.
Two of the biggest trouble makers in the bunch, but then the bad apple doesn't fall far from the crotchedy old tree, does it? This is as close as it gets to them both smiling:
We had a few newbies this year to the gang, which always kicks it up a notch. Does it look like they had a good time?
And that is all the pictures you will see here, but if you want to see the rest of the party, then head over to Bea's for the rest, at Trapped Under Something Heavy.

The Ugly Wuglies

This is my very favorite picture of...ME! (Note the introspective finger position - I am contemplating world dominion, no doubt) My parents, from time to time, felt they needed to record our growth as children, so they took pictures of us. The individual portraits tended to be better pictures, but the group photos came out so badly, so frequently, that we have dubbed them, over the years, as The Ugly Wuglies (a term that was coined by my sister and I in respect to Cinderella's Ugly Stepsisters).

This is an early Ugly Wugly Group Photo, and we're still cute enough to somewhat overcome the abysmal photography. (OMG, could we be less harmonious in our color scheme? My brother's sweater is tee-iny and the blue sneakers really don't make my outfit. WTF is going on here, MOM?!)

Yet another shot, a few years later, and the worst part is the flash blow out (oh, and the continuing bad composition - how any of us developed artistic tendencies is a bit of a miracle, really. And if you doubt me, well you just haven't seen the nautical theme of my mother's living room - living proof that taste does skip generations.)


This picture was taken by a professional (go ahead, fall out of your chair and roll around laughing at the thought of someone calling themselves a professional with a picture like this to their credit). Evidently, we were so squirmy at this shoot, the photographer promised us ice cream to get us to sit still. So we sat, but like other traumas in my life ( eg; having my tonsils out, for no frickin reason) the ice cream was not forthcoming. Ice Cream Denial has really messed with my head, let me tell you.

This one was taken by my grandmother, at my father's graduation. My mother was very excited, and is particularly cute on this day. I cannot say the same of the rest of us - dig that Morticia Addams hair on my sister, along with the 70s smock thing going on. My own outfit, made by my mother out of (horrors!!) polyester, has to be the shortest damn dress I've ever worn - luckily my ass hasn't reach its legendary proportions at this time. My younger brother is giving his trademark toothy squint, but it does appear that his other trademark, his zipper, is closed, for this shot, at least.

We had this picture taken for Father's Day, about 1980. It is probably the very best picture ever taken of us. We were trying to emulate the stiff, serious poses of the tintype period; all except for my sister, the drama major - strike a pose girl! Even though the costumes are nowhere near accurate, it still has a great flavor, and sepia tone makes my skin look good!

And finally, another professional shot, taken at my wedding. My sister would have smiled more, but she did have two little kids running around at the periphery of this shot, like wild animals, so it was hard to focus. Other than that, its one of the better pictures of us - mostly because Dad didn't take it.