And So It Goes...

He said, if a woman felt shy he would hold her hand and make her feel safe. He said, that is the guys job. He said that...I've never felt safe with a man a day in my life...and I'm looking at single & 64. 

If only. If only.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She never had a good track record with men even in her early years. Always running to instead of being chased after. And then her 19th year she gave away her virginity to a man who didn't give a damn about her or her gift. 

At least now she was a 'woman.'

Then she met her 1st real love who abandoned her later for someone else less complicated, ultimately marrying her then best friend.

And so it goes.

She ran off to LA during her 20th year thinking she had found her calling as a screenwriter's assistant - she called her mother excited, proudly telling her about this opportunity (her father was not thrilled). Only to be tossed aside again by this man's indifference.

Many unhappy experiences later, she finally recognized LA for what it was - a worst way to disappear than NYC. But she was still unwilling to call her father and admit defeat. 

One more shot, just one more shot.

And so, on the evening of her 21st Birthday, she was rudely taken in a van by 4 Black  soldiers on leave, and gang raped with a gun to her head. Abandoned again after they were done, she recognized her strength during the ordeal. Consciously separating her mind from her body she held onto this one thing...

She was alive.

She was alive despite her experience. She was alive & managed to keep others alive during her ordeal, like the white police officer, the motorcycle cop who pulled the van over because of a broken taillight. As they pulled off the road, the main crazy put the gun to the back of her head and strongly suggested that he would kill her & kill the cop if she tried to get his help in any way. 

Get rid of him - fast.

So she pulled on every gracious, charming bit of behavior & conversation she could manage to avoid a ticket-just a warning-and off he went, still alive & so was she.

She was alive. 

Grateful that her friend had innocently gotten out of the van to go get her boyfriend & bring him back before the crazies took off with her. The lead crazy casually mentioned he would have killed her if she had stayed in the van since she was white. Her friend, though Black but exceedingly fair, fair enough to pass for white but didn't, was alive. Her friend was alive.

And so was she & to keep it that way, she knew she had to stay calm. That's when her mind took over & separated from her body. She was a casual observer standing off to the side while her body was abused. She wasn't hurt. The crazies really did nothing to her. They took nothing from her true self. Years later during her many therapy sessions she realized that's what kept her alive. They never got her Soul. Ever. That separation kept her above it all even after the gang rape when she was raped again & again during her 21st year, for a total of 7 times.

She's alive but is she really living? Have those rapists won? 

Single, in her 60's, no real romantic relationships, many fantasies, nothing real. She sputters along with her life. Lonely, she keeps to herself, always mistrustful of men, letting people get only so close, within limits. 

Have the rapists won? Right now it seems like they have & that makes her despondent & angry, very angry. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

He said, if a woman felt shy he would hold her hand and make her feel safe. He said, that is the guys job. He said that...I've never felt safe with a man a day in my life...and I'm looking at single & 64. 

If only. If only.

If only she could be with him. Would he make her feel safe, safe enough to be herself, relax into herself?

Where is he?

We'll see...we'll see...

Savannah Dining: Papillote | savannahnow.com

Savannah Dining: Papillote | savannahnow.com 

Great brioche recipe (makes 3 loaves)...

9 Smart Ways to Use Facebook to Promote Your Campaign | Indiegogo Blog

9 Smart Ways to Use Facebook to Promote Your Campaign | Indiegogo Blog

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WELCOME, WELCOME 2012!!!

1-1-12                  5:30am

Well, Well, Well…it’s the new year and I really haven’t been to sleep – even though I went to bed about 11pm on New Year’s Eve (that’s right, no champagne or a Dick Clark Rock in’ New Year’s Eve hosted by Ryan Seacrest).

In the wee hours of this first day of 2012, I’ll tell you what started my new year…

It began while trying to fall asleep thinking about why idiots like to shoot off guns on NYE. Don’t they know the bullets they shoot in the air have to come down somewhere? Hopefully not in my apartment! Or me, or Berkeley (my stressed, 20lb. cat). So, of course, the blasting began at midnight, and with my eyes closed, I was awake (while Berkeley jumped off the bed to run and hide) wondering when a bullet would come whizzing into my apartment, I mean I am on the top floor, of a five story building, facing the street, coming out of an ‘Indy 500’-like curve, at the top of a fully residential hill.

After reasoning with myself and calming down – you know, ‘whatever happens, happens,’ – I closed my now open eyes and actually drifted off into a fitful half sleep, despite Berkeley jumping back on the bed, as I turned over.

THEN!!!

Squealing tires from a car trying too hard to slow down while driving much too fast coming out of that Indy 500 curve followed by me steeling myself against the anticipated incredibly loud and close sound of metal slamming into metal. I’m now fully awake, fumbling with the cell phone trying to dial ‘911,’ as I look out my bedroom window. Between the crazy gunshots and this loud crash, Berkeley is off the bed, running into the living room.

“God, I hope no one’s hurt,”

 I say to myself as I see a mid-size silver sedan that has jack knifed from my side of the street, coming up the hill, to the other side of the street, facing down hill, after it has smashed into the parked white pick-up truck which is now facing the house it was parked in front of, half in the street, half across the sidewalk.

“Well Happy New Year to you…Holy shit!” I say aloud.

        

Two people in the sedan are talking VERY LOUDLY, one’s trying to start the car and drive it – away, I presume, but the car is not cooperating. The 911 Operator has finally come on, after keeping me on hold (it IS New Years don’t forget). While I give my details and describe the scene, the driver has gotten out of the car and is trying to push it away, followed by the passenger walking around the car to help push from an open door.

The car is not moving.

Their argument/loud discussion continues – it’s obvious they’ve been drinking a tad. I hang up with the 911 Operator as someone crosses over from my side of the street, towards the 2 still fooling with the car. They start gathering up their stuff from the car as this person approaches.

Where are the cops and is this guy approaching them the truck’s owner?

No. He’s not. He owns the car parked behind the truck – or where the truck was parked before the crash. So, while the sedan folks are busy getting ready to bolt, our new guest tells them that the police have been called, will be there shortly, and let’s them know who he is, why he’s there, and where they think they’re going cause the cops will be here any minute.

I call 911 again to let them know the “suspects” are about to flee the scene, as they have now crossed the street away from the accident while one goes up the street and the other climbs up the hill in front of my building. Where she’s going I have no idea, you need a key to get inside.

At that point, sirens and lights blazing, the 1^st police car arrives. As the car stops, the driver jumps out, assessing the situation as the other car owner tells him what’s happening…

“Those two across the street are leaving and they caused the accident!”

“Hey you two! Stop right there!” the officer says, “Where do you think you’re going?”

They pretend he’s not there and keep on moving away.

“STOP!!!” He tries again. “Come back here, now!”

They stop. Partial reality has kicked in. At least they’re not moving away anymore as they slowly start to cross the street to the officer and the squad car. But of course not before the one who was headed for my building tries to shove one of the shoes she’s removed into the officer’s face.

WRONG.

He’s not playing, and puts her in the back seat of the squad car while the other one decides she can slip away now, until he tells her to,

“Get back here and get in the car! Let’s talk.”

With a full back seat, the officer then turns his attention back to the owner of the car parked behind the truck. At this point the 2^nd squad car arrives, and everyone is brought up to speed.

After hearing several versions of what transpired and wondering if I should get dressed and go downstairs to join the confusion, I decide to stay out of it, 911 has my contact info, if they need another opinion they know how to reach me. I’m goin’ to bed or am going to try to, considering the flashing lights, the loud talking with comments from the peanut gallery in my building, the traffic, and whatever additional foolishness is or will transpire at around 2am on New Years morning.

I crawl into bed and get comfortable. Just as I’m ready to finally nod off into dreamland and after Berkeley has decided to jump back on the bed – that’s 20lbs of a not light or subtle cat who is none too thrilled at being continually roused from his reverie this AM.

Oh my. The owner of the truck has finally arrived and he’s not happy.

He cannot understand, is incredulous as to how his truck got into the position it’s in from where it was.

“But, how?  But, how?” He keeps repeating.

Through the course of the conversation, it’s discovered that he’s going through a rough patch – like a good portion of America – and his whole world is wrapped up in that truck which is still straddling the sidewalk into the street.

“That truck is everything for me. I ain’t got nothin’ without that truck!! No job, no money! Nothin’!!!”

His anger at his situation eventually causes him to breakdown in tears. Watching a grown man cry is unsettling to say the least. Hearing a grown man cry is sobering.

“I just wanna go home!” he cries repeatedly as a friend from across the street who has come to his aid (could be his wife or a girlfriend) tries to comfort him.

And of course the two fools who started everything are talkin’ trash from the back seat of the 1^st squad car while the 1^st officer is trying to calm down the truck owner. F--- bombs are flying and the 2^nd officer is trying to shut down the noise from the back seat.

What a way to start the New Year.

It can only go up from here: no one got hurt; Tweedeldee and Tweedeldum will have to pay; the truck owner is actually able to move his vehicle, it’s drivable despite the front end damage, he parks it further back up the street; and OMG, I can go to sleep.

Not.

The tow truck is here to remove the car.

But what the hell, it’s a new day, a new year, and soon I can go to sleep. I can sleep all day if I want to, it’s January 1, a Sunday. As I write all of this down, the sun’s coming up on a glorious day. It’s not unseasonably mild outside anymore, it’s COLD. We may even have snow soon.

Oh well. Welcome, Welcome 2012. I’m going to sleep now…if only Berkeley would stop caterwauling.

Good Morning!

Pam Thomas

1/1/12

9:07 AM