Autobiography

Vivid Memories of Life - Autobiography by Lola Maria (Hilliard) King

Memories are a bouquet of sweet fragranced roses gathered during

joyous or melancholy times, a God given comfort in the winter of our lives.

God gave us memories that we might have roses in December. 

Introduction:

     Life is a dramatic screenplay, a carnival of tender and tragic moments, a vivid collage of comedy intertwined with drama, and laughter intermingled with tears. A bittersweet beginning filled with emotion. My story is a jumbled collection of memories with no option of separating them into chapters. My life has never been organized. Therefore, how could I organize my memories into chapters? Poetic non-fiction touches my heart and soul, bringing forth a feeling that I have yet to convey through words alone. My ability to express myself through writing has, at times, caused me much trouble. I have learned that some people do not want to know what you are really feeling. To them, words are better left hidden within. Writing non-fiction and poetry are a medicine and a balm to my soul, soothing and drawing out the blues from within me. This is survival. Life is a roller coaster with many ups and downs. I have been to the heights of joy and to the depths of sorrow. Even though it seems that sorrow prevails, still I would not exchange it to stand safely on the ground. However reckless it may seem, the Coyotee still has dreams...

Vivid Memories of Life

     It all began on Father’s Day, June 17, 1956, in Abilene, Texas. James Alford Hilliard and Edith Mae (Ward) Hilliard brought a dark-haired, brown-eyed, 6-pound baby girl into the world. He named me Lola Maria.

     Daddy used to tell me how much he had wanted a son before I was born, that he would have named Sidney Eugene, after his father, Sidney Christopher. However, he was blessed with a daughter instead. He said he never was sorry about that. He told me that I was the best Father’s Day gift he ever received. I used to tease him by saying that I was the worst gift he ever received! He never agreed. He told me how he walked into the nursery of the Abilene General Hospital that day looking for his little girl. Every baby in the room was crying, except one little dark-haired baby. He went right over to her, knowing it would be his child. Sure enough, the identification bracelet on her tiny wrist said “Baby Girl- Hilliard”. Tears of joy trickled down his cheeks and he was proud that his child was the only one not crying. I had his eyes and the Hilliard chin. I stared right into his eyes, and he felt as if I was thinking, “I know you are my Daddy, and you are responsible for me.” He took my little hand in his, and I wrapped my tiny fingers around his index finger. He told me this story many times and with so much love in his voice. And you know what? Every since he held my tiny hand in his on that first day of my life; from then on, I have always been a “Daddy's Girl”.

     My life has not been the same since I lost him on May 8, 1993 to brain cancer. Eight days later, on May 16, I lost my Mother to a heart attack. You know, life can really deal out some heavy blows at times; however, God gave us memories that we might have roses in December.

     Daddy and Mother were married on March 17, 1949. I had one full blood sibling born in 1950. She would have been six years older than I was. Her name was Linda. She died from a heart condition. My Daddy and Mother had trouble over this. He felt that she might have caused Linda’s condition. When she was pregnant with Linda, she would have temper tantrums, throwing herself onto the floor and flailing about. He would tell her to stop it, because she might harm the baby. She wouldn’t listen and continued to have these tantrums. Then Linda died at two days old in the hospital. No one really knows what caused her heart condition. I can see now that it may have been hereditary, since Mother died many years later from a heart attack. But back then, Daddy had no way of knowing that she would later develop heart problems. All he knew was that she had thrown herself all over the floor during the pregnancy and that he had pleaded with her to stop it. So he had suspicions and blamed her. I can’t blame him for those thoughts, because I may have felt the same way in his shoes. Losing a baby, especially your first, would be drastic. I also feel sorry for Mother. She must have felt such guilt and remorse at the possibility that she might have been the reason for Linda’s condition. This is a very sad subject for me, because Linda was my only full blood sibling and the only sister I would ever have. I regret never having known her. I was born into this world with a loss already awaiting me. I feel that I missed a lot by not having her in my life. Even now, as I write, my lips tremble and my eyes cry. What more can I say? Other than, I will meet her someday... in Heaven.

     I have a half-brother, Jimmie, who was born in 1952. I was born in 1956. Then they separated for the last time when I was about a year and a half old. Daddy met a woman in a bar, named Helen, in 1958. She was a bouncer and would throw people out of the bar when they became drunk and causing too much trouble. Helen moved in with Daddy and took over the role of my Mother. Mother had Rex, my second half-brother, in 1960.

     Mother wrote me a letter when I was 15 years old. Along with the letter was a copy of her Life Story. I no longer have it, because Helen took it away from me. In the Life Story, Mother said that when she met Daddy she was a virgin. Daddy liked her very much then, and she was a very pretty young woman with beautiful light blue eyes and reddish-brown hair. It must have also intrigued him that she was still a virgin. He was only 17 years old, and she was 19. He wanted to make love to her, but she was a good girl and said she was saving that until she was married. He promised her that if she would make love with him, that he would marry her. So she made love with him. He was always a man of his word, and he married her. I can still remember him telling me throughout my life, that a man is only as good as his word. If he told someone he would do something, he would do it. He hated dishonesty. That’s why when I got spanked for something I did wrong, I would get another spanking if I had also lied about it. I learned to be honest with him, because he could always tell by my eyes. The eyes are the mirrors to the soul.

     I believe that Daddy did love my Mother; but when she gained weight, he was very unhappy about it. Once, when I had only put on about five extra pounds, he noticed and said something about it. I was always slender throughout my life, until I was about 33 years old. My weight always ranged between 110 and 125 pounds. Now I look in the mirror and all that I see is a fattening hog. I truly hate it! People say you must love yourself, and I think I do. However, I definitely do not love what I see in the mirror and never will. It is totally unacceptable to me. Daddy is probably part of the reason I can’t accept it. Daddy’s idea of an ideal woman was a slender one with just a bit of cushioning on her. Daddy probably should not have told me how my Mother was, because it was painting a negative picture of her for me. He said she was lazy and had a whining voice. He said that she was very jealous, but I can understand that! Daddy was a Ladies Man. So, like all of humanity, they both had their faults. They separated the last time for a stupid reason. She wanted to go stay with her mother for a while and help her. Daddy was not against her going, but they only had so much money. He gave her money for the ticket, money to spend while she was there and money for a return ticket home. He told her, “Now use your spending money wisely and do not spend your return ticket money, because I have no extra to send to you.” She said she understood. However, she spent it all when she was there, assuming that he would somehow come up with more. He was so angry that she had done this knowing what he had told her. He felt that she should find herself a job to earn the money to come home on. She felt that if he loved her, he would find a way to send her more money for a ticket home. Neither one ever compromised. So, the two stubborn mules never got back together! I blame them both. They were equally at fault. Actually, to be totally honest, Mother was more at fault. She had agreed to the money plan and promised to abide by it. Then she disobeyed. Then she refused to try and make any extra money. Daddy should have tried to be a little forgiving though. Oh well, it is all in the past; and I am the only one that truly paid for it! I paid for it by never having the privilege of having both of my parents together as I was growing up. I have always regretted that.

     I thought Helen was my mother until I was 6 1/2 years old. My Mother always sent cards and gifts on my birthdays and at Christmas-time, but she had been instructed by Helen to only sign them “From the Lady in St. Paul”. I don’t know what the motive of that instruction was, other than Helen’s jealousy. I always knew that there was some lady in St. Paul, Kansas that loved me very much, and I wondered why? Then I began to suspect, because like most children, I liked to plunder through drawers and closets. One day I found some cards and letters that had been written in cursive handwriting to Daddy and Helen. I could only read printed words at that time, but I could make out a few important words. I saw the words “Mother”, “Daughter”, “Love” and “Lola”. I think I knew at that point, but my young mind did not understand or grasp onto it fully; or maybe, I just did not want to. So I tucked it away in my mind and never said a word to anyone. Then for Christmas of 1962, she sent me a little, blue Bible. It was a gift presentation Bible with special pages for my parents’ family trees. There was a picture of Daddy on his family tree page and a picture of Mother on her family tree page. There was a section with a picture of me, their child. She had signed the gift presentation page to me from my Mother. Daddy had not told me who she was before for two reasons. First of all, Helen was a very jealous woman who wanted to claim me as her own blood child. I believe that if it had of been left up to her, I would have never known the truth. The other reason, you will soon see from my Daddy's words of explanation to me. I can see the wisdom of my Mother in the action of sending that Bible. She undoubtedly knew that I would possibly never know. So, she sent a gift that would reveal the truth. Knowing that they would both have to give it to me and explain, or withhold my Christmas gift from her and bare the guilt. Helen would have felt no guilt; however, my Daddy was not that kind of man. He was faced with a hard decision, and he made the only choice that an honest man could make. After Helen had gone to bed on the night before Christmas Eve, Daddy sat me down on the couch and told me that he had something very important to tell me. He said that he had wanted to wait until I was older to talk about this, but that he was forced to tell me now because of a gift I had been sent by the lady in St. Paul. He explained that the lady loved me very much, because she was my real mother. He said he had not told me before, because I was too young to understand. Then, he handed me the gift and told me I could open it now; and that we could look at it together. Together we looked at the pictures and the family trees. All the while, I had been quiet. He asked me if I understood; and I merely said, “Yes”. This memory is so vividly clear, as if it had only been last week. It is hard to believe that it was over 62 years ago... Impressions of life and tears of pain never really leave you. They remain there, hidden deep within the soul, only to surface again and again. After I told Daddy that I understood, we went to bed. I went into my bedroom and cried in the darkness. Funny, but I never wanted anyone to see my tears. I have been like that all of my life. Maybe, deep in my mind, I remember how proud he was on that first day of my life in that hospital nursery, when I was the only baby not crying. He always wanted me to be brave, tough, never show weakness, never lose a fight, or at least to go down swinging. Being a Daddy’s Girl, for me, was not about being a sissy or a crybaby. However, the night Daddy told me who my mother really was; I lay alone in bed and cried. I cried for different reasons. I think the main one was that I knew then, without a doubt, that Helen was not my mother. That seemed a loss to me. She had been with me since I was 18 months old. I also knew then that I did not have my true family together, like most other children. I spent the rest of my life regretting that I never really got to know my Mother. When she died on May 16, 1993, I felt another loss also, other than her death. I knew then that I would never be able to bring her to live with me and care for her in her old age. I knew then, that I would never get to build the bond that I had been denied. Well, I can say one uplifting thing about my losses... my losses are Heaven’s gains.

     I didn’t get to meet my Mother until I was 12 years old in 1968. We lived in Tennessee at the time, and we were on a trip out to Sweet Home, Oregon to visit my Daddy’s parents. We drove through St. Paul, Kansas to visit my Mother. Helen was not happy, but there was nothing she could do about it. We met, visited relatives, and took pictures together. Helen has the pictures, of course. We had a good visit, but it was strained. I could tell that Helen was jealous. If I could tell, then I am sure that Daddy and Mother could too. I got to visit her once again on the trip back from Oregon to Tennessee. Those were the only two days in my life that I remember seeing my mother in person.

     During one of the visits with my mother in 1968, I got to meet relatives on her side of my family. I got to meet my older half-brother, Jimmie. Jimmie was a nice looking young man. He was 16 when I met him. I got to meet my mother’s sister, Ellie Ward-Lindsey and her children. Other family members were there also. Many years later, on November 16, 2018, I was able to re-connect, on Facebook, with one of Aunt Ellie’s children, my cousin, Tom Lindsey.  I got to chat with him for a little while that day. It was wonderful.

     I have met more of my cousins from Mom’s side on Facebook too. Laura Lindsey-Birks and Nancy Kennedy-Threlfall are two to mention. These ladies are both very helpful, because they are both into genealogy!

     Daddy used to tell me lots of stories when I was growing up, that I would cherish for the rest of my life. There were lots of stories about me, things I did that made him laugh or made him proud. Daddy was an excellent storyteller, enthralling his listeners with hand gestures, mischievous smiles and hypnotizing eye contact. Those warm brown eyes of a man who had an even warmer heart. I believe his story telling is what inspired me to be a writer. His stories were always about real life, true things that had happened to him and his experiences of living. This is possibly why I prefer non-fiction.

     My first memory is of being in trouble! Surprised? I have been told that trouble does not follow me around, but that it is already there waiting for me. I was about 2 years old at the time, and was hiding under a small kitchen table in a tiny trailer house where we lived in Texas. I knew I was in deep trouble, because I had just finished cutting all the long, beautiful hair off of my bride doll. I was always fascinated with my dolls’ hair. They used to tell me that I should become a beautician, since I was always fixing or trimming my dolls hair. I got in trouble, but I don’t remember the punishment.

     When I was 3 years old, we were living in Coos Bay, Oregon. Daddy had a beard for as long as I could remember. One morning I woke up and his beard was gone! It scared me. I knew it was Daddy, but I was too shy to go to him. He had to do a lot of coaxing to get me on his lap. I kept crying when he would try. Finally, he got me on his lap and everything was all right again.

     I remember following him through the woods and all the lovely fragrances of nature. Life was so aromatic and pleasing to all the senses. I especially liked the fern plants with such intricate shape to them. I remember an audio book I listened to a few years ago. The name of it was “Where the Red Fern Grows”. I still get misty-eyed just recalling it. It made me think of my Daddy and so many of our precious memories.

     Another plant I am fond of is cattails. I first saw them on Courtney Creek Road, where we lived in Brownsville, Oregon. I am a nature lover and a country girl at heart.

     When we first moved to Oregon in 1959, we stayed with Grandma and Grandpa Hilliard for a little while. Then we moved up on Elm Street into a little shotgun house. We had a small, shiny, black dog. I loved him. His name was Cooney. Some sick individual poisoned him. I remember the day that my stepbrother found him out on the sidewalk. Cooney was dead, and I was only 3 years old! I kept petting him and saying, “Cooney! Cooney!”, until they finally made me go in the house. I didn’t really understand death. I only knew he wouldn’t move. After someone explained a little bit about death, I remember thinking, “What kind of place is this, where they kill your puppies?”

     We didn’t have a bathtub in that little house. I remember being bathed in a small tub out in the front yard.

     When we were still in Texas; Daddy bought me a little, realistic, white jeep. I was 2 years old at that time. He said I loved it and pedaled it around all day long. Then when it was time to go to bed, I would drive it under the kitchen table and park it for the night. The table was my garage.

     This is a funny story that Daddy loved to tell. When I was a baby, but big enough to crawl around, he let me sleep with him. This was when he and my mother had separated. He would hear something rattling in the middle of the night. He would get up and turn the light on and find me with his alarm clock completely disassembled. He got so tired of putting that thing back together again! I guess I have always liked working on things. Later when I was a teenager, I would take my tape recorders apart and repair them. I love to see what makes things tick. This has double meaning, since it all started with a ticking clock!

     He said I loved jelly. I would go to the refrigerator and tap on the door with my finger, before I could even talk. He knew what I wanted, so he would open the door. I would stand there looking at all the jars of jelly, trying to decide which flavor I wanted. This was quite time consuming, since it was such a big and important decision! Finally, after much contemplation, I would tap my finger on the top of the lid of the jar of my choice. At first, he would give me a slice of bread with the jelly on it. I would lick all the jelly off and take the bread back to him for more jelly. I would do that over and over again. He said I would wear a slice of bread out! So, he finally started putting the jelly on a saucer and giving it to me with a spoon, since all I wanted was the jelly anyway! He always smiled and laughed as he told these stories; and I heard them all several times, never tiring of hearing them again.

     Once, when I was learning to talk, he was sitting in the living room reading something. I wanted his attention and was trying to ask him something. He had a habit of tuning you out when he was busy. I kept tapping him on the arm and saying, “Daddy!” He kept saying, “In a minute.” This went on for a while, until I got angry and loudly said, “Inny meeny, inny meeny! That’s all you ever say!” He busted out laughing and could barely stop. What I had said tickled him and also that I had gotten so mad. Every time he remembered that, he would get so tickled. Needless to say, I got his attention; and he didn’t tune me out as much after that.

     A scary memory I have is of a snake chasing me all over the yard. I was about 4 or 5 years old, and we lived in Brownsville, Oregon at that time. I was screaming bloody murder, as the snake was right on my heels. Daddy came out just in time to blow it away before it got me.

     One night, I had another scare when I had just gone to sleep. We had a jackass named Jack. Jack came right up beside my bedroom window and brayed loudly. I came out of a deep sleep to hear a braying ass. It nearly scared the life out of me. I started screaming too!

     While I am on scary memories, I will tell about two recurring nightmares that I used to have. The first one was simpler, and the second one was more complicated being recurring and progressive.

     The first nightmare was when I was about 4 years old. When I would first fall into sleep, I would see a lion with his mouth wide open coming towards me. He would get closer and closer until my head was in his mouth. I could see his teeth, tongue and tonsils. Then I started going down his throat. His throat was like a tunnel, and I just kept falling, falling, falling. Then the nightmare would end. I hated going to bed, because I had that dream every night for a long time.

     The other nightmare came to me sometime after I stopped having the other one. This nightmare did not occur every night like the first one did. It happened randomly. I consider it a progressive nightmare, since there would be a little more to the story each time. We lived on Courtney Creek Road, which ran in front of our house and all the way up onto the mountain. The first time I had this nightmare; it started with me hearing footsteps echoing down from the mountain. Click, click, click... coming towards me. After that, the dream would start out the same, except she would get a little closer each time. I somehow knew that it was a she, and she was old. Every dream I hated, because I knew she was coming for me. I feared her arrival. This nightmare tormented me for years, and it slowly progressed, building my tension. She had finally, after some time, made it to our driveway. I still get chills when I relive it! Then one night, she made it to the porch. Another night she made it to the front door. Then into the kitchen. Then to the small hallway. Then to my bedroom door. Then into my bedroom. In these dreams, I would see her dark form coming towards me. I could see her arms outstretched and her hands reaching for me. Finally, one night, she was right by my bed and reaching for me. I screamed and awoke. The next time, she was even closer, almost to grasp me in her clutches. I always told Daddy and Helen about these nightmares. They always said, “It’s just a dream, no one is there!” Well, one night she almost had me. I jumped up and ran into Daddy and Helen’s room, screaming to them that she was trying to get me. They said, “It’s only a dream!” Then she appeared in their bedroom doorway. I said, “See! There she is!” She started coming across the room, reaching for me and getting closer and closer. I was screaming, “Don’t let her get me! Please help me!” They kept saying, “It’s just a dream, there is no one there!” She got up to me, and her hands almost touched me. Then I awoke as the nightmare ended. It was the last one, and it never happened again. I still think, to this day, that it was very strange. The detail of it bothers my mind. I am glad it finally ended. Otherwise, I would be crazier than I already am!

     Now, some happy memories again! I remember when I was about 4 or 5 years old, small enough to stand in the seat as I rode with Daddy in his jeep. We were driving from Brownsville towards Crawfordsville, Oregon. He would let me sit on his lap sometimes while he was driving. Back then, there were no seat belts or kids car seats. The good old days! This day, he let me stand between his legs and steer the jeep down the road for what seemed like quite a way to me. In reality, as an adult I now see that it was only a short distance. He thought it was funny that every time we would come to a roadside pull off, I would drive in and out of it. That was the very first time I “kind of” drove!

     He used to have a red, Ford pick-up, but before that he had an older, gray, Ford pick-up. We used to stop at the old gas station in Crawfordsville, and Daddy would let me pick out candy. He always thought it funny that I would take so long figuring out what kind I wanted. I guess I always take things too seriously, but picking out candy and jelly were always serious matters to me! We used to always stop there for a soda pop too. We both had the same favorite, Strawberry Crush. My heart is still broken over my Daddy’s death. Time can not mend some heartaches.

     When I was about 5 years old, we had a cow named Boss. She was an ornery, mean cow. She was always trying to bite me. One day, I was sitting up on the gate to the pen she was in. She headed right for me with her teeth bared to bite, when Daddy came up just in time. He took me by the back of my shirt with his left hand and lifted me up and over the gate, dangling me in front of her like bait. Every time she tried to bite me, he would slug her in the face with his right fist. This seemed like it went on for quite a while, until Boss finally decided that it wasn’t that much fun anymore. She backed off. I don’t remember her ever trying to bite me again. Daddy had a way with animals!

     When I was 8 years old, Daddy bought me a black Shetland pony with an attitude. Her name was Dixie. She was a stubborn little outfit with a mind that was totally her own! The very first day he brought her home, she was acting up and trying to bite him. He told her, “I’ll just slap a wart on your nose!” Then he lightly slapped her on the nose. My mouth dropped open, and my eyes bugged out when I saw the wart on her nose! Daddy bust out laughing and could barely stop. He knew that she already had a wart, but I hadn’t noticed it yet. He played a real good funny on me that time!

     The worst trouble I ever got into with Daddy was when I was about 8 years old. My friends, DeAnna and Dickey, were visiting at our house. We went out walking around in Daddy’s pasture. He had a few cows and horses in the pasture. We found some cow-pies and dropped them down Daddy’s well, that he had paid $1,800 to have drilled. He was always struggling for money, and it wasn’t easy for him to pay for that well. We were kids and not using common sense, we were only thinking that we wanted to hear what the cow-pies sounded like when they hit the water at the bottom of the well. The well was so deep, we couldn’t hear them when they hit the water; but excuse the expression, the shit hit the fan when Daddy found out his well was ruined! I got a big talking to about it when he first found out. He told me that my punishment would come later, when the friends and their parents were visiting again. Daddy and Helen wanted my friends to be punished by their parents also. They thought it only fair that they be spanked too. Well, they showed up one day, and Daddy told them about the well. He told them how much it had originally cost him, and what it was going to cost to have one re-drilled. There was no way of cleaning and sanitizing one that had been contaminated with feces. He told them what the three of us kids had done, and that I was going to be punished now. He said that he did not expect them to pay for part of the new well, but that he thought it only fair for them to at least punish their children too. Then he took me by the hand and led me off into my bedroom and closed the door. He told me to take off my pants and to lie down on my stomach on the bed. He took off his belt and whipped me hard on one cheek of my butt. He told me that was for what I had done. Then, he whipped me on the other butt cheek and said that was for lying, when he had first questioned me about it. That was the worst whipping I ever got. I had whelps on my butt for a while. I did deserve it, though. Daddy was not a rich man, and I had cost him a big bundle of money. Anyway, while we were in my bedroom taking care of business, Helen was in the kitchen with the parents and their children, my two partners in crime. They could all hear me bawling. Helen told the parents that she and Daddy still expected them to punish their children too. The mother refused! Then Helen told her, “If you don’t whip their asses, I am going to whip yours!” They all ran out to their car and split the scene. I think it may have been the last time they came over, and they had been pretty close friends before that. I remember that Helen had threatened to whip Darlene’s butt one other time also. Darlene was the mother of my friends. Darlene had been ignorant enough to tell Helen that Daddy had “bedroom eyes”! Helen was mad as a wildcat that time!

     Roy was my stepbrother. His name was Ernest Roy; but for me, it was easier to call him Ernie. I couldn’t pronounce the name Roy very well at that time. I called him Ernie for years until, as an adult, I discovered that it embarrassed him in front of his friends. I then started calling him Roy, but it felt odd. He had always been Ernie to me. He was my stepbrother, but even though we were not related by blood, he was more like a real brother to me. He was my protector during my childhood years. We grew up together and had lots of wonderful memories. We laughed and cried together. We were each other’s own personal clown! I love and miss him terribly. He was born August 4, 1949. I lost him on August 12, 2012 at about 3:45 PM. He was 63 years old. He lived in Sweet Home, Oregon at time of death. May the Lord rock him gently in the cradle of His loving Arms.

     When I was about 9 years old something funny happened. Daddy, Ernie and I were all at home. Helen had gone to town. She had ordered us not to eat any of the peaches in the pantry, because she was going to can them. Well, she was gone and the coast was clear! We slipped into the pantry and each one of us got a big, ripe, juicy peach. We stood gathered around in a small circle with peach juice drooling down our chins, as we smiled in heavenly bliss at the taste of our forbidden fruits. Such tasty morsels they were. All of the sudden, our peach party was crashed! We heard the car pull into the driveway, home early! We scattered like a bunch of scared chickens! I went running into the living room, and I started choking on a piece of peach that had lodged in my throat. I couldn’t breathe, because my airway was blocked. I went running back into the kitchen, where Daddy was standing. He was trying to look innocent, as Helen was just coming in the door. As I was pointing at my throat, all I could say was “Aaack! Aaack!” Daddy slapped me on the back, dislodging the peach. Needless to say, I got us all busted! We laughed about that a lot throughout the years.

     Daddy was quite a character, laughing most of the time, always loving and honest, and a man of his word. He was a handsome man with eyes that a lot of women described as “Bedroom Eyes”. I don’t say these things just because he was my Daddy, but because all of these things are facts.

     He had a lot of funny stories about his childhood too. Some were about his mother trying to correct him. She was a smart woman. When he had done something bad, she would tell him to go and cut a switch for his whipping. While he was gone, it gave her time to cool down some, for his own good. He was always trying to out-fox her in the “whipping business”, but she was not easy to out-fox! Once, when he went after the switch, he cut a club. He thought that when she saw it, she would feel sorry for him and not whip him. She acted like nothing was unusual. She whipped him with the club! Another time, he got a real long, skinny switch. He was thinking that it would break when she began switching him, and that he would get out of the whipping. When the switch broke in two, she just doubled it over and continued whipping. Each time it broke, she doubled it over again. It turned into a club also! One day, he had done something that made her really mad. When she tried to grab him, he ran from her. That made her even madder. She hollered, “James, come back!” He kept on running down the dirt and gravel road. She started running after him. Then, all of a sudden, she fell. He glanced back, and she was lying, face down, in the gravel. Her arm was up around her head. He stopped and said, “Mother, are you all right?” She didn’t answer. He asked again getting no response. He crept back and kept saying, “Mother? Mother, are you alright?” He came right up to her, and her hand shot out and clutched him around the ankle! Mother was all right and madder than a hornet! She was not to be out-foxed!

     Well, when I was 11 years old and lived in Redmond, Oregon; I had done something that needed punishment. Daddy decided to go the way of his mother this time. He told me to go cut a switch and gave me his pocketknife to cut it with. I didn’t know what size of a switch to get. I had heard his stories about his switch adventures, and this was sagebrush country, anyway. I went searching and was having trouble finding a switch. Finally, I settled down to cut a limb from some sagebrush. The limb was about one inch in diameter and very tough to cut. I was sawing away at it with his pocketknife. The knife slipped and I cut myself. It wasn’t a bad cut, but I was bleeding. I continued to saw at the limb. He came looking for me to see what was taking so long. There I sat, bleeding, with a half-severed club of a switch. He saw me and started laughing, then crying. The size of the switch I was cutting is what made him laugh, but he cried when he saw that I was bleeding. I hadn’t even tried to out-fox him, and he didn’t whip me for whatever I had done wrong. Daddy had a tender heart.

     All throughout my childhood, I hated green peas. Daddy always tried to force me to eat them, but the sweet and putrid taste literally gagged me. So, I would try eating them one at a time to be able to get them down my throat. One night, when he and I were home alone having dinner, peas were on the menu. I was sitting there eating them one at a time, pea by pea. Then as I tried to swallow one, my throat closed up like an hourglass. The pea shot out of my throat, through my mouth, and hit him square in the chest! Daddy got so tickled. He never again tried to force me to eat green peas. He finally realized that they literally made me sick. Now, I love green peas. I learned to like them, after seeing someone in the high school lunchroom mixing them with mashed potatoes. I tried it like that and it was good. From then on, I could eat them when they were mixed with mashed potatoes. Then later, I could eat them alone. Now, I have grown to love them. Imagine that! However, I still hate liver. The taste of it turns me inside out!

     Daddy told me about how he went to prison once. He had loaned out his big truck to a couple of guys. He didn’t know it, but the guys were planning to use it to steal cows. They stole the cows, delivered them to their destination, and then returned the truck to Daddy. The truck had been seen during the crime and was identified as Daddy’s truck. Daddy went to court and was hung with the crime. Daddy was framed, and the criminals got off free! Daddy spent time in prison! He had several, funny, prison stories. Daddy always found the “funny” in most circumstances. However, if he ever caught up with those guys later on, I doubt that there would have been any funny in the circumstance for them!

     In prison, Daddy was on Kitchen Patrol a lot. They called it K.P. He had to bake bread, cook and do dishes. Sometimes, if there was extra stuff, he and the other cooks would give it to the other prisoners who stopped by wanting something to smuggle to their cells for a treat later. One night, there was nothing extra. However, there was a whole lot of eggs in the storage room, crates of them. A couple of prisoners came by asking if there was anything tonight. Daddy knew all their names, but I can’t recall them now. Daddy told them that there weren’t any leftovers, but that they could get some of the eggs if they wanted. They went in and got a couple each and left. I don’t know what they were able to do with raw eggs in their cells. I never thought to ask, and I don’t recall if Daddy ever said. Anyway, this one prisoner was a little off his rocker, a total nut case. However, he was very friendly and had a big smile like Dom Deluise, the famous comedian. This guy would try to smuggle as much as he could at one time. They had to be really careful down by one elevator, because there was a very mean, strict guard there. If he caught you with something, it could mean 3 days in the hole. The hole was a dark prison cell used strictly for extra punishment. Well, this guard was really strict, but if he could get a laugh out of you, he might just let you go without being sent to the hole. Daddy said that he had a great big, toothy grin. I can’t remember who he compared him to. I now picture him as a Jim Carey in comparison from the description Daddy gave of him. Daddy probably thought of him as a grinning jackass! Well, the nutty prisoner came by and asked what was free tonight. Daddy and the guy on shift with him told him that there was only some crates of eggs and that he could get him some. They expected him to get a few, like everyone else in their right mind. The nut smiled real big and went in and proceeded to load up. He put eggs on his body everywhere! When he got through putting every egg somewhere on his body, he looked like Santa Claus! Daddy and the other guy with him were really worried for him. They knew that he was bound to get busted. There was no way that he could get by Sergeant Dickey. I remembered the guard's name, finally. Daddy told him that there was no way he could get by Dickey with all those eggs. The nut said with a big smile, “Oh, I’ll make it!” Then he waddled down the hall. When he got within Dickey's line of vision, he tried to walk on past him nonchalantly. He said to Dickey, “Howdy, Sir!” Dickey said, “Howdy!” He let him pass on by just to let him think he had gotten by with something. The nut got a little way down the hall. Then Dickey called out to him, “You’re looking a little plump tonight! Come back here!” The nut crept back to him. Dickey asked, “What you got there?” Then he reached out with both hands and gently patted the nut's body. Then, a big toothy grin began to spread over his entire face. He started patting all over his body with just enough force to break each egg. He was laughing as he crushed every last one of them. The nut looked so sheepish, as he stood there oozing egg whites and yolks from the cuffs of his sleeves and trousers and from the tail of his long jacket. By then, Dickey was laughing hysterically. Dickey said to the nut, between laughs, “Now, go on home and get yourself all cleaned up! You’re a mess!” The nut slithered down the hall like a whipped puppy with eggs dripping and leaving a trail all the way to the elevator. The nut didn’t have to go to the hole after all, because he had given Dickey a very big laugh!

     When I was little, Daddy bought some new World Book Encyclopedias. There was also a set of Childcraft Books included in the deal. I loved them! There were fairy tales, poetry, songs, and paintings! I spent many hours with these books. I read about great painters and loved the paintings. Something funny happened one day! There was a game show on television. They were asking the contestants to give the name of the famous painter, who painted the artwork being shown. None of the three contestants were getting the answer, and I knew who the painter was. I had a problem with pronunciation. I always pronounced things the way they were spelled, because I was good at spelling. I was about 6 years old. I got frustrated wanting the people to get the answer, and I started jumping up and down yelling, "Picasso! You dummies, Picasso!" To Daddy, it sounded like "Pick Ass Hole”. I didn't pronounce it correctly. Daddy started laughing at what it sounded like I was saying. Then after none of the contestants got the answer, the host of the show said "It's Picasso"! Daddy was proud of me for knowing, and still tickled at how I had said it.

     One day, Daddy and I went to visit some friend of his. The friend had a daughter about my age. Her name was Cheryl. She and I hit it off pretty good. We went out walking around their property. We stopped on some railroad tracks, and I looked down and saw a grasshopper with a broken leg. I felt so sorry for him. We looked around until we found a matchbox, so I could take him home and try to make him well. She thought I was kind of silly. I took the matchbox, and I gently put him in it. I took him home and kept him on the windowsill of my bedroom. He stayed there for several days, and I would check on him often. Then one day, I came home from school, and he was gone. A few days later, a lot of grasshoppers showed up on my windowsill! I believed that he had gone and made a lot of friends, and told them all about me helping him. So, they all showed up to see me or to thank me. I'll never forget that!

     My Dad and Helen split up a couple of times over the years. One of those times, Daddy started living with another woman. We were in Sarasota, Florida at that time. Helen showed up in Jean's driveway one day, threatening to shoot into the house if Daddy and we kids didn't leave with her! Finally, the Police came and forced her to leave us alone. She was staying in a motel in Sarasota. Daddy, Bobby (my adopted half brother), and I went over to visit her several times. One day, when we were getting ready to go visit her; Jean called me into her bedroom, she was lying on her bed. She wanted me to get some hair out of Helen's hairbrush when we went to see her. I thought that she must have been into witchcraft or voodoo. She grinned, and said she could take care of Helen ever bothering us again! It freaked me out! I refused to do it, because I didn't want to be a part of something like that.

     I heard later, that once Daddy went over to see Helen without Bobby and me with him. They got into a big fight over him being with Jean. Daddy was trying to drive away in his pick-up, and Helen was firing shots at him with her pistol! They always carried guns, like the Old West! She was a "Pistol packin Mama"! I never cared much for guns. Wonder why?

     When Daddy was living with Jean in Summerville, Georgia; we went through another ordeal! Helen came there to visit, and she rented a trailer house to use as our visiting place. Daddy, Jean's daughter, JoAnne, Bobby and I all went together to visit Helen one day. While we were there visiting, guns started firing at the trailer house! Jean's sons, John and Chipper, had found out we had gone there; and they were angry about it. So, they decided to shoot Daddy, I guess! Daddy yelled at us all to hit the floor. He got out his 45 Pistol and went to the door. I remember thinking, "My Daddy's going to get shot!" He opened the door slowly and stepped out on the porch, with the pistol raised and aimed right at John. He yelled at them, "Drop it, John! Drop it, Chipper!" It was just like something out of an old Western movie! Oh, the days of my life, I will never forget!

     One time, in Arkansas, Daddy, Helen and I were driving down the freeway in his red, Ford pick-up truck. Some young punks kept tail-gating him. Then they drove up beside him, and flipped him the finger! Daddy got so mad; he pulled out his 45 pistol, and aimed it out the window at them. He chased them down the freeway for a couple of miles at high speed! Helen kept yelling, "James! Calm down!" I think he just wanted to scare the crap out of them, because he could have blown their tires out had he wanted to. They probably had to go home and clean out their britches!

     When I lived in Summerville, Georgia; I had a boyfriend that liked to hunt. One day, he wanted me to go out in the woods to "Twist-out Squirrels". I didn't know exactly what he meant. He wanted to share the experience with me! We went out into the woods behind his parents’ house. He took a long branch with him that had a crook on the end of it. He found a tree with a hole in it, and stuck the stick down in the hole. I heard the squirrel cry out when the stick touched him. Then Wendell started twisting the stick round and round, entangling it in the squirrel’s tail. He said he planned to tangle it up in the critter’s tail, then jerk him out of the hole and club him to death! It was so prehistoric and barbaric to me! The poor squirrel was crying and screaming! I started telling Wendell to let him go, and he wouldn't listen. So, I started screaming at him to let him go. Finally, he stopped, unwillingly. He was so angry with me; he said he would never take me with him again! I told him, I wouldn't go with him again, even if he begged me to!

     When I lived in Coldwater, Mississippi; I went to a school that was predominantly black. I rode on a school bus that was over-crowded. There were only about six of us on the bus who were white. They made us sit in the back two seats of the bus! I guess they were paying us back for the days when blacks were forced to ride in the back of buses! I have never been prejudiced. I believe that there are good people and bad people. The color of the skin has nothing to do with it! I had a girlfriend named Genevieve in junior high school there. She was wonderful! She was tall, muscular and black as tar. One day, out behind the lunchroom, three white girls confronted me. They said, "Do you know why no one likes you?" I said, "No! Why?" They said, "They say that you are a Nigger-Lover! If you want people to like you, then quit being friends with Genevieve!" I told them that they may be white, but Genevieve was a much better person than any of them. I said that if I had to lose Genevieve to be their friend, then I didn't need their friendship. Genevieve was black and had a heart of gold. I pitied these white girls in their ivory towers.

     Another day at school, I was in a class room with those three girls. The teacher was late coming in. The girls started harassing me. They said they were going to kick my ass and wanted me to stay after school to fight them. I told them that I would fight them, but I wasn't going to miss my bus for anyone. They agreed to meet at lunch time the following day. We would meet out by the big light pole in the middle of the school yard. They sneered, "Now don't chicken out!" When Genevieve found out what was going on, she wanted to help me fight them. She said it was better "2 against 3" than "3 against 1"! I told her that I would fight them, one at a time; but she could be there to make sure that they didn't gang up on me. She settled for that plan. So, the next day, we waited by the pole for the girls. Time passed. Lunch was almost over. Then we saw them walking by from a distance. They had their eyes downcast to the ground, like they were afraid we would spot them. They went on, without stopping. Then, when back in the classroom, where they had threatened me; the teacher was late again. They started announcing to everyone; that they had planned to kick my ass, but I chickened out! I stood up and told the whole class that they were lying. I said that Genevieve was with me, to make sure that they fought me one at a time and didn't gang up on me. I said that, when they saw her, they chickened out! Genevieve's height and build would be pretty intimidating to someone who wasn't her friend! The whole class room started laughing at them! They were so embarrassed! They never said another word to me again.

     When I was 12, we lived on the Veazy Ranch in Mississippi. Daddy was a ranch hand in this bull breeding business. He was a "Jack-of-all-Trades"! We were friends with the family of his co-worker, Howard. He had two daughters, Carol and Patricia. They were my friends. He had a son, Lewis. We had a personality conflict. The boy hated me to put it simply.

     One day, Lewis rode his bicycle over to our house, knowing that I was home alone. He started smarting off and throwing rocks at my pregnant Chihuahua, Princess. I told him to knock it off. He ignored me, and kept throwing rocks at her head. Then he hit her! By then, I was furious. I started searching the ground with my eyes to find a rock. I needed one the right size for his head, in comparison to the one he used on her smaller head. He saw what I was doing and the wild look in my eyes, and he jumped on his bike and flew down the driveway. In the meantime, I found the rock. The driveway was about 1/8 of a mile long, and he was about half way down it. I never had been a good pitch, but I threw that rock with all the fury I had in me. It went sailing through the air like an old movie in slow-motion. It passed over him, angling down just in time to pop him right on the crown of the head! Bingo! Bull's Eye! Perfect shot! His head and body swayed in circular motions, and then he fell to the gravel in a heap. The bike fell in the other direction. He lay there about 30 seconds, motionless. I thought I had killed him! Then he stirred and slowly got to his feet, bawling. He was holding his head, like he thought he was dying. Maybe he did think so! He picked up his bike and got on, slowly. He started riding away screaming that he was going to tell my Dad, and that I would be in a heap of trouble! I told him that he didn't know my Daddy very well. Otherwise, he would have known that he would praise me for standing up to a bully!

     Another day, I rode my bike over to their house to visit Carol and Patricia. When I got there, I parked my bike by their front porch. Lewis came running out onto the front porch with his bee-bee gun. He raised it and fired. He shot a hole in the seat of my bike! Then he laughed, dropped the gun onto the porch, jumped down to the ground, and hopped onto his bike to ride away. I hopped up onto the porch, picked up his gun, raised it and fired at his bike seat. My aim was a little off, and I got him in the leg! Of course, he started bawling again.

     One night, our family was visiting them. Carol, Patricia and I were playing pool. They had a room with a pool table in it. Lewis came in and started trying to hit me with a pool stick. I picked up a ball and was ready to crown him with it, when our parents came in and saved him. I guess they knew to keep a close eye on us, so we wouldn't kill each other!

     One day, after school, I got onto our over-crowded bus. All the seats were taken, and the aisle was full. I had an arm-load of books to take home for homework. No one offered to hold the books for me. It was extremely difficult to hold onto them and the back of a seat for support, as the bus started moving. Standing next to me, was a short fat boy. The little bully thought it was funny to keep bumping into me and nearly making me drop the books. I kept telling him to knock it off. He started punching me in the stomach, hard! I dropped the books to the floor, and got him in a head-lock. I was rubbing the knuckles, of my right fist, swiftly over his pig-shaven head. He started bawling like a baby. The bus driver screeched the bus to a halt, and came back to break up the fight. He said we would have to go to the principal's office the next morning; for a paddling, and maybe even suspension. I told Daddy and Helen what had happened that night. Daddy got mad, and said "They are not going to punish you for standing up for yourself!” He went with me to school the next day. The principal told Daddy that I would get a paddling, even if I wasn't at fault; because I had been fighting on the school bus. It was the rules! Daddy told him that I had been taught to stand up for myself; and if I had not, I would have got a whipping when I got home. The principal said that I still would get a paddling, because it was the rules. Daddy was smiling as he told him, “You can paddle her under one condition, Sir; and that is that you will have to whip my ass first!” The principal decided he would bend the rules that time!

     When we lived in Coos Bay, Oregon; I had my 3rd birthday party. I remember that day! I thought it strange to have so much attention focused on me. We had the party at the house of friends. The father of the family only had one arm. His daughter Janice was about a year older than me. She could talk, but not clearly. She couldn't say my name right, it came out "Biolia". She had been taught to share, and that it didn't matter who got the most. So, she shared in her own way! If she had a chocolate candy bar, she would break it into two unequal pieces, give me the smaller piece, and say "It don't matter who get the most, do it, Biolia?"

     Then, when we lived in Brownsville, Oregon; they came from Coos Bay, to visit us. We were a couple years older then. Janice still couldn't speak real plain, but at least knew how to pronounce "Lola", instead of "Biolia". She was a con-artist at heart. When we were in my bedroom, and I was showing her all my toys; she reached into her pocket, and pulled out something. She told me that she had something of great value, and I couldn't tell her parents that she showed them to me. She opened her hand, and I saw some sparkling red-orange gems! She said, "These are priceless woobies!" She meant "rubies", but couldn't say it clearly. She let me hold and admire them. Then she said, "You could make your family rich with these!" I looked at her, wondering what she meant. Then she said, "You could trade all your toys to me for them!" I was hesitant, but she kept on. She said, "My parents would beat me, if they knew I was doing this; but I want to help you out!" I thought about how Daddy was always struggling for money. How we were pretty poor. Then I decided to do it. We would be rich, and never have to worry about money! Janice boxed up all of my toys, which had cost Daddy and Helen quite a bit of money. There was one little porcelain doll, that my great-aunt Edna had given me. I refused to let it be part of the deal. Later, I found that it was gone too! After she boxed up all my toys, she said "We will have to smuggle these out your window and sneak them into the trunk of our car. My parents would be very mad at me, if they knew that I traded off my expensive jewels!" So, we smuggled it all out. After they left, I went into my bedroom and got the rubies. I came out into the living room where Daddy and Helen were sitting. I had a great big smile on my face, and I said "We're rich!" Daddy and Helen looked at the plastic bracelet beads in my hand and asked what I meant. I told them the whole story. I was beaming and so excited! Their faces fell. Daddy sat me down on the couch and explained that the rubies were only plastic beads. He told me about con-artists, and how they lie to you, just to trick you into giving them something of more value. I had been conned at the age of 6, by a 7 year old con-artist! I wasn't as upset, as Daddy and Helen, over the loss of all my toys. I was just heart-broken that I had failed to make my family rich! Helen wrote a letter to the parents, telling them what had happened. They said they would refund them shipping money, if they would send the toys back to us. They had been good friends, but we never heard from them again!

     When I was 11, we lived in Redmond, Oregon. I had a friend named Roxanne. She used to come up the hill to our house a lot to visit me. She had very long, wavy, blonde hair that she never brushed! It was so bad that she had dreadlocks, tangled clumps of hair that could never be brushed out. It was a shame, because she was a pretty girl. Daddy and Helen were so afraid I was going to get lice from her, because I had told them that I saw little bugs jumping up and down on her head. Finally, her parents cut her hair off real short. That was the only solution, since it had gotten in such bad condition. We couldn't understand why they hadn't made her brush it, in the first place.

     I remember when I first transferred to the school in Redmond. The other children were so mean. My very first day was horrible. I was shy, because I was the new kid in class. The teacher introduced me, and all the kids just stared at me. Then later, I looked over at some girls shyly, and they started laughing at me. They said I looked like a hoot owl, and told me to not look at them anymore. I told them that I could look anywhere I wanted! They didn't like that much, but I wasn't going to take their bull, and they may as well know in the beginning! It took a while, but finally I fit in. I made a friend. Her name was Susan. We got along great. We would trade shoes during the day, because we wore the same size. We both liked each other’s shoes better than our own! Then one day, we were out by the monkey bars during recess. Some other girls came up to us, and started telling me that Chuck had a crush on me. I was only 11, and shy. I started laughing, and tried to play it down. What was funny was that I had a crush on him too; but I wasn't about to tell anyone! I wasn't ready for that kind of relationship. I was used to fighting with boys. If I had a crush on them, I became incredibly shy! Someone else came up to Susan and me another day, and said that Chuck really likes me and wanted to go steady with me. Boy, I was really under pressure now! I wanted so bad to be his girlfriend, but my shyness prevented me! Susan seemed a little jealous now, but I wasn't sure. Then when she and I were playing tether-ball (a ball tied by a string to a pole), she said "Why don’t you go with him? He is cute, he likes you, and I think you like him!” She was hitting the tether ball a little too hard. She seemed mad at me. I told her that I do like him a lot, but I wasn’t ready for that kind of relationship. She blew up, and told me how stupid I was! She said she wished that she could have him. I didn't know what to say, so I just said "Well, take him then!" So, she took that to heart. She let him know, somehow, that she was interested. He still wanted me, though, and it made her even madder at me. My friendship was going downhill. Then one day, she told me that he wanted to talk to both of us, and that we would meet outside the door at the end of the building. I was frightened and nervous. I still liked him, but could not control my shyness. He stood there, with her at his side. He looked so forlorn. He explained that he liked us both, but that I was his first choice. He still wanted to go steady with me, and he said if I didn't want to, then he would go with Susan. Stupid and shy, I said it was fine for them to go together. She was grinning like a jackass, and I was a fool! Normally, I prefer brunette guys, but he was the prettiest blonde boy I ever remember seeing! I have always regretted my actions concerning him. I still wonder how life might have turned out, if I had followed my heart and not my mind. I lost both of them, because after that; Susan would not even speak to me. I guess she hated me, because she knew I had been his first choice. Chuck was his nickname, his real name was Charles. A lot of times, I have thought of them and wondered how it turned out for them. I wonder if they ever got married. Something bad in me hopes they didn't! Why is that?

     I don't know why I had to be so shy at 11; because when I was only 6, in the first grade, I had a boyfriend! His name was Jack. He sent me a note saying he loved me, and that he wanted to marry me someday! I wrote back to him, I said I loved him too, and I would marry him someday! Isn't that cute? Two first graders in love and discussing marriage! We walked around holding hands during recess. One day he wanted to kiss me. So I let him. He gave me a peck on the cheek. He talked about forever, and how much he loved me. Funny thing, I can't remember what happened between us! Where did we go wrong? I wish I could remember the rest of the story.

     When I lived in Redmond, Oregon, where Chuck and Susan were; I made another friend after Susan. Mary was her name. One time, some girl invited us to come to a G.A. (Girl's Auxiliary) meeting with her at the First Baptist Church. We got there early, because we walked from the school on a Wednesday. When we got there, someone told us that a few of the girls were there early too, and that they were in another room upstairs. She said to go on up. So, we went upstairs and found them. Of all things to have in a church, they were playing with a Ouija Board! I had one at home, but in a church? Two of them would sit at it, and ask it personal questions about the other person. Finally, they talked me into sitting down there. I did so, reluctantly; because I didn't want it blabbing my secrets! The very first thing she asked it was "Does Lola like a boy?" It moved to "Yes". Then she asked, "Where is he?" It spelled out “School". Then she asked, "What is his name?" It started to move towards the "C", when I jumped up and said "Enough of this!” I wasn't about to let that thing tell them what only I knew!

     When I lived in Coldwater, Mississippi; I still had my Ouija board. My friends, Leavia and Cathy and I didn't really believe in it, but we had fun playing around with it, until one night. My friend, Cathy and I were messing around with it; asking it random questions about people at school, and who they liked. It wasn't responding very well. So we started asking it what songs were going to play next on the radio. It started telling us! We got excited. We kept doing this, until it started acting weird. It kept trying to spell out a sentence, "Come to the graveyard". There was a graveyard on down the road about a mile. It was just past Cathy's house. We didn't like this topic, so we kept trying to change the subject back to songs on the radio. It was stubborn, and kept insisting "Come to the graveyard"! We asked it "Why?" It said, "Just come at midnight". We asked it, "Who are you?" It spelled out "D-E-V-I-L"! We said, "We don't believe you! Give us a sign at midnight, if you really are the Devil!" Our hair was standing on end by this point! We were at my house, and it was late at night, and no one else was home. I had a door that was on the back wall of my bedroom. It opened to the outside. There was no step. It just opened to the outside. Later, my Daddy added a bathroom to that side of the house, and it was then the door to the bathroom. Now, it was only a door to nothing, but the outdoors. The door was locked, fortunately. Precisely at midnight, the door knob started to twist and turn about wildly, like someone or something was desperately trying to get in. We screamed and jumped up. We ran into the living room. We stayed in there, nervously looking at the windows; until Daddy and Helen got home. Daddy thought we were silly girls, and that we were just imagining it. We weren't! It really happened. Cathy and I were discussing who could have come to the door to play a trick on us. She thought of her brother, Raymond, who was a practical joker. So, she asked him what he had been doing that night at midnight. He didn't know why she was asking, but he said he had been at the skating rink from 9:00 P.M. until 2:00 A.M. There had been a skating party, and Raymond loved to skate. I don't remember ever using that Ouija' Board again! Nor do I know what became of it. Daddy evidently got rid of it! Now, after all these years, my girlfriend, Leavia (which is Cathy's older sister) tells me that it was her that was with me that night when the Ouija board incident occurred. Maybe I am just old and senile now, but I would swear it was Cathy spending the night with me that night. I have been wrong before, but I am just writing my life story as I remember it. Poor Leavia, she has probably heard the story so many times that it is so vivid in her memory that she thinks she was there!

     Leavia and I used to go down to the woods behind her house. There was a dried up creek back there, and trees with hanging vines on them. We would swing from the vines from one side of the deep dried up creek to the other side, like Tarzan!

     One hilarious memory with Leavia was when she wanted to show me a tree house back there. She took me to it and told me to go ahead and climb up the wooden steps that were nailed to the tree all the way up. So, I went ahead and climbed up and crawled onto the plank floor of the tree house. As soon as I got seated, I saw funk bugs crawling all around me and on my legs. Those things freak me out, and I started screaming as I was kicking them out of there! Right on top of poor Leavia’s head and all over her, as she was climbing up the steps! We have laughed about this memory over the years. They were stink bugs, but we always called them funk bugs.

     Leavia and I had great times together. Leavia was my best friend in Mississippi; and we are still friends to this day! Like Daddy always said, “You can live your whole life and at the end of it, be able to count your true friends on the fingers of one hand and still have several fingers to spare!” Daddy was right. He always was!

     We lived near Memphis, Tennessee, in a town called Sheridan; after my Dad and I followed Helen down South. He had given her money to pay the property taxes on the place in Redmond. She had pocketed the money, until she had enough to split and go down South. She was originally from Louisiana, a Cajun. The taxes went unpaid, without my Daddy's knowledge; until the day he received a foreclosure notice, after she had left. He had no way of coming up with 4 years worth of back taxes. So, he lost the property to the State of Oregon! I don't know why he wanted her after that. I do know, from my own experiences, that love can do strange things to you. It can make you blind, forgiving and incredibly foolish! He should have gone down South merely to kick her greedy ass, and then come back to Oregon, where he had family that loved him. But no, he and I moved down South to be with the shrew! When we got to Tennessee, she was living with her sister, Ethel. Ethel was a man in a woman's body, who went by the name Jimmy. She had a lover named Latrice. We lived with them for a while. This was a lifestyle I had never known.

     When I started school there, I was again harassed by the other children. They made fun of my Northern slang. They said I should go back North, because I was a Yankee. They said they were Rebels, and I would never fit in. I told them I was there to stay, and they might as well get used to it! My tone of voice must have been effective, because they left me alone after that.

     When I moved back to Sweet Home, after being down in the Southern states for several years, I was laughed at for my Southern drawl. Boy, people are never satisfied, are they?

     Now, back to the subject of different lifestyles. I had a friend named Marty, when I lived in LaMarque, Texas. She lived in Texas City, Texas. She was married to a man named Butch. One night, when I was about to leave their house and go home, she walked me to the front door. I could tell she had something on her mind. She said, "I would like to ask a favor of you." I said "O.K., what do you need?" She looked kind of shy, and said, "Well, Butch wanted me to ask you to have a threesome with us for sex!" That nearly floored me! I was embarrassed. I told her I was sorry, but I wasn't interested. She kept on and on, with a note of despair in her voice. She was begging, saying he wouldn't believe that she had really asked me, if I didn't do it. So, I had to go into their bedroom, and tell him personally that I was not interested. "Oh, what fine messes I get myself into, Ollie!"

     Then, not long after that; my cowboy boyfriend, Roscoe, introduced me to his friend, Tommy. His girlfriend was named Dondy. She was a slender girl with beautiful aqua colored eyes. She had such a sweet personality, that I liked her very much from the first day I met her. We would go shopping together and had a lot of fun. One evening, as she was bringing me home, she pulled the car off the road and said, "I have a serious proposition for you!” I said, "Really? What?" I never expected what she was going to propose, until it hit me right between the eyes! She said, "We get along really well, and I like you. Tommy has been after me to ask you to have a threesome with us. You would really be doing me a favor, if you would; because he'll get mad, if he thought I didn't ask." I thought, "Oh God, why me? Here we go again!” I told her that I liked her very much, but not in that way! I told her to tell Tommy that it was a flattering proposal, and that I did find him attractive; but that I could not accept. I said that I am a "One Man Woman" and always would be. So, dejectedly, she started the car; and said, "He's not going to believe me, you know! I really wish you would change your mind." I told her I couldn't. Not long after that, I received a phone call from him, asking me if she had really given me the proposal. I told him that she really had. He had been drinking, I could tell by the slur in his voice. He said, "Then have sex with me, I really want you!" I didn't know how else to let him down, so I said, "Roscoe is your friend!" He said, "He doesn't need to know!”. I told him I wasn't a cheater. He said, “You are really making this difficult, you know! Damn it, I need you! Come on, Baby, I'm begging!" I told him I was really very sorry, but I couldn't. I can't remember who, but one of us finally hung up on the other one. I told Roscoe about it, and he didn't even act surprised! I think he knew, all along. He had told me once, how he and his ex-wife used to swap partners with a couple of their friends. So, I think he wanted to swap with Tommy, but didn't want me to know it was his idea! So, he put them up to it, so he could come and join in, after the business got underway! Anyway, after Roscoe and I broke up, I was still friends with Tommy and Dondy. Until one day, I went over to visit, and Tommy took off and went somewhere. Dondy took me in their bedroom to get something. Then she said, "Oh, I need to change my shirt!" She took off her shirt and bra, and changed very slowly. I think she was trying to arouse me or something. I was not aroused! Then she said, "Tommy still wants us to have a threesome!" I told her that I wasn't going to have this conversation again! She said "O.K!" She seemed a bit angry as she quickly buttoned her shirt. Then we went back in the living room. The rest of the visit was very tense. Then Tommy arrived, and I shortly left. I went to visit them maybe once or twice after that, but I could tell that the conversations were strained. So, I eventually lost contact with them. Funny thing is, I still liked those two a lot, as friends. It's a shame they wouldn't drop that subject!

     I still had my friend Marty, though. She and Butch had the sense to drop the threesome subject, after I had said "No." I remember lots of good, clean fun with them. We went to the beach, went dancing, and just sat and wasted time watching funny movies. They were a lot of fun! They had a little girl they called "Little Bit". She looked so much like Marty!

     A funny incident happened one night. I was visiting Marty. At their home, I was like family. If I wanted anything to eat or drink, they wanted me to feel free to just go in the kitchen and get it! I spent lots of time with them. This night, Marty and I were just sitting around, doing nothing, and having fun being together. Then, her sister Linda showed up with a couple of her friends. Marty was a funny person with a great sense of humor. She was down-to-earth and laid-back. We were on the same wavelength. Her sister was totally opposite. She dressed up all the time and everything had to be just so so. She was one of those people who thought they had to impress everybody, and she was very hard to communicate with. She was a real snob, and I wasn't impressed in the least! I rate people by the love, sincerity and goodness in their hearts. On that scale; Marty was a "10", Linda was a "2". That's being generous for Linda! Anyway, Linda strutted in with her friends in tow. She daintily sat down on the sofa and proceeded to chat with her friends, paying Marty and I no notice! Marty and I were sitting on the carpet, Indian style. Linda chatted incessantly with her friends. She was trying so hard to impress them! After a while, she turned to me, and with the air of a Queen; she said, "Lola! Would you go get us some soda pop?". After all, her wish was my command! So, I got up and went into the kitchen to do my slave's duties. I opened the refrigerator to find that there was one bottle of soda pop with only about 2 inches of beverage in the bottom of it. I had a dilemma! What to do? I stood there a minute, contemplating, and then I picked up the bottle and walked into the living room. I was going to show her that there wasn't enough, and let her decide what to do. I stood there by the coffee table, waiting for a chance to get a word in edgewise. The chance never came; they ignored me and kept on chatting. Finally, I grew tired of that; so I placed the bottle on the coffee table and sat down on the floor. Marty had seen my problem, and thought it humorous. We kept exchanging funny glances with each other. We could say so much with our eyes! Eventually, Linda paused, and her eyes focused on the bottle. Then, she said something that I remember to this day, as being one of the funniest things I ever heard! It still cracks me up! She glared at the bottle, like it was a piece of dog crap lying on the coffee table. Her mouth dropped open. Then she glared at me and said, with such profoundness, "Lola, how uncouth!" Marty and I busted out laughing, uncontrollably! We were rolling around on the floor! It was absolutely hilarious, to us anyway. Linda was not amused, however. She got up, telling us how extremely rude we were, and marched into the kitchen with the bottle. She searched the cupboards, until she found three tiny juice glasses. She filled them with ice cubes, and poured a tiny bit of soda pop into each one. She brought them in, and daintily handed them to her tea party guests. After they finished their fancy beverage, and were refreshed; Linda said, "Well, I believe it is time to leave!” They all got up. Marty walked her sister to the door. Marty was still grinning, and having a hard time of not busting out in laughter again. She went outside to see them off, trying to be polite. When she came back in, soon as she got the door closed, she fell against it, laughing like a maniac. She was holding her stomach; it must have ached from such laughter! She said, between laughs, "I've waited so long to see someone do something like that to her! She needs to come down off of her high horse!" Marty was the oldest sister, Linda was in the middle; and they also had a younger sister, nicknamed Punkin who wasn't as relaxed as Marty, or uptight as Linda.

     Years later, I lived in Sweet Home, Oregon. My step-mother called me at work to wish me a Happy Birthday. Then she told me, on that day, something that she had known for a couple of years. She said that Marty and Butch had divorced. Marty had finally found another man, he was younger than her, and she was living with him. His Mother didn't like Marty. One day, Marty was found dead. It was apparently suicide. Helen didn't believe it though, because Marty had always been so fun-loving and carefree. I can believe it, because I know, from experience, that people like that hide their emotions. No one really knows what is going on in another person’s mind. I would rather believe it was murder, and not suicide, but who knows? My heart breaks all over again, thinking of that news. What a Happy Birthday message! I'm being sarcastic, you know? I still cry for Marty, my skinny, funny friend.

     I remember working as a Security Guard in Texas City, Texas. I was in a little guard shack at one of the gates to an oil refinery. I had to go out and check everyone that came through the gate, in and out. This cute guy, with curly brown hair, started coming through. One day, he asked me out. I told him I really liked the offer, but I already had a boyfriend. I was still with the cowboy, Roscoe, unfortunately! Then one day, the cute guy came through; and I went out to check him in. He said, "I have something for you!" He reached down in the floorboard and picked something up. He handed me a beer bottle with some wild roses in it! He said, "It isn't much." He seemed a little embarrassed. I told him they were very pretty. Then he smiled. He had a beautiful smile! To me, it was so romantic! It came from his heart. He was so sweet and sincere. I went back into the guard shack and set the bottle of roses on the desk. Later, as I was sitting there looking at them; I remembered that Roscoe was coming by at lunch time to visit me. I realized that he would see the roses and be jealous. So, I did something that I still regret. I put the roses and beer bottle in the trash. I hated doing it, but actually, I felt a little guilty. I liked this romantic, curly-haired guy, with the beautiful smile. I guess, I thought if I put them in the trash, Roscoe would think it meant nothing to me. Well, when Roscoe came, he saw the roses. So, I had to explain. He looked kind of funny, but didn't say a whole lot about it. Then, the next day, he showed up, unannounced. He brought a dozen roses from a floral shop. He bragged that he had paid $100.00 for them! Boy was I disgusted with him! We didn't have much money, and he knew that I was a practical girl. I wore old, worn out blue jeans, because we couldn't afford to buy me new ones! If he had done this from his heart, I could have been happy, though. But, I knew he had only done it to mark his territory. There was no romance in it at all, and he was an idiot to think I fell for it! He displayed them up on a shelf, in plain view of the door; so anyone driving through couldn't miss seeing them. They looked stupid there. I wanted them on the desk. He insisted they stay on the shelf! I was not impressed! He made me sick with his motives. Then, later that day, I had to suffer seeing the pain in the other guy's eyes, when he saw the expensive roses! I think it made him feel cheap. I was an idiot! I should have thrown Roscoe's stupid roses in the trash, like I had done the meaningful wild roses! Or at least, I should have explained to the guy what had happened, what Roscoe had done, and how I wasn't impressed. His wild roses in a beer bottle had touched my heart, and I didn't have the sense to tell him. I was a fool to let this romantic man pass me by. I stayed with the jackass cowboy, who later dumped me for another woman, he met in a bar! But that's where I met him, so what did I expect? We make so many mistakes in life! Wouldn't it be nice, if we always made right choices?

     A couple of years later, after I had moved to Sweet Home, Oregon; Roscoe got my Aunt Margaret's phone number from Helen. He called her and got my number. Then, he called me, wanting to get back together. He said he was a fool to let me go. He didn't "Let" me go; he "Made" me go! I came really close to suicide over that stupid cowboy! I told him it was too late to love me now; because I was already interested in Darl. He wouldn't give up. He knew his mother had always liked me. She had never liked any of his girlfriend's or his ex-wife. She had told me, when I was still with him, that she shouldn't jinx me, by liking me; because every girl she liked, he never stayed with! She told me then, that she saw in me, something special. It was a compliment coming from a mother! Then, he put her on the phone, and she told me the same thing again. She was trying her best to talk me into getting back together with him. She was a sweet woman. I hated to tell her "No". However, it was easy to tell him "No"! Then, he had Lasha Kay, his daughter; write me a letter begging me to get back together with him. She and I had been very close. He made it really hard on me, having to tell these sweet people "No". He kept writing. Finally, I started sending his letters back, unopened, and marked "Return to Sender - Refused". So, he finally gave up. Poor Darl was nervous during that episode, afraid I would go back to Roscoe. I kept telling him, there was no need to worry, and there wasn't; I stayed with him, until the Lord took him away from me, after 22 years.

     The 3 years I spent in Texas were the lowest point in my life. I went there from Georgia, after Wendell talked me into going to live with Helen for a while. Daddy was still with Jean. Helen always wanted me to come to Texas, and Wendell saw the opportunity to get rid of me for a while, so he could cheat freely. He had cheated on me from the very beginning. The first time, with a girl named Karen. She was loose, and slept with any man. Wendell said she was a nymphomaniac. She slept with, got pregnant and married my step-brother, John. Later, she had "Little John". During this time, John held up a Bank in a neighboring town. Of course, his picture on their surveillance camera identified him. He went to prison. Karen continued to diddle anything with legs. Wendell lied to me about Karen all along. Once he went to her house and had sex with her, when he and I were going together. My step-sister, JoAnn had gone over to visit Karen, and Wendell was in the house with his pants off. I questioned him about it, and he made up a story about needing his pants washed, because he had spilled some messy food on them. I was dumb! Daddy tried to warn me about Wendell. I wouldn't listen, I was blind! Karen lived with Daddy and Jean for a while after John went to prison. Daddy taught her how to work on automobiles. He was a good mechanic. I was a fool to not show an interest, and let him teach me that skill.

     After Wendell talked me into moving to Texas, my life went downhill for about three years. I was 19 when I moved there, 22 when I left. I needed a job and couldn't find one. Helen liked to go to bars, so she talked with Ruby, her friend that owned the Melody Lounge. Ruby hired me. I will not go into all the hairy details of that life. It's complicated, time consuming, and really not worth writing about. After I was there a while, Wendell came to Texas for the adventure. He finally got a job at a mill. He didn't really like to work, but then, who does? We had a brand new, little, gold, Datsun pick-up truck. I would drive him to work, and go back to get him when he was off. Somebody he worked with told him that there was a white girl in a gold Datsun pick-up that would show up out there at lunch time to pick up black guys to screw. He swore it was me! I think the whole thing was a lie, so he would have a reason to leave! It was just too bizarre! One night, we were arguing over this. He decided to tell me about Nina. She had been a co-worker of his, when he worked at Kentucky Fried Chicken in Summerville, Georgia. At the time, I thought they were just friends. He said she needed a baby-sitter for her three small children. So, I took the job.

     Nina’s husband, Buddy, worked at the McDonald's right next to the Kentucky Fried Chicken. They said her husband was physically abusive to her. Wendell always came over to her house to hang around, when I was babysitting. Nina started chumming around with us, on our off-time from work. One day, she showed up at Wendell's house with a black eye Buddy had given her. She hadn't known I would be there, but she acted like it was me she came to see. She was crying and wanting comfort from us. On her birthday, Wendell said he felt sorry for her; and wanted us to buy some bottles of wine, and take her out cruising with us. So we did. She was guzzling wine like a wino. We stopped by a swimming hole. Wendell took her into the water, to sober her up, before we took her home. They went out into the water, and it looked like, to me; that he was doing more than sobering her up! When they got back in the car, I questioned him about it. He told me, I was a silly girl, that he loved only me. Then we took her home. She couldn't even walk! Wendell carried her into her bedroom, and laid her on the bed. He went out, pretending to be a gentleman; and I undressed her, and put her nightshirt on her. She was blubbering about, what a good friend I was. Then, when I went out, Wendell wanted me to go to McDonald's to pick up Buddy. It was time for Buddy to get off, and Nina was in no condition to go after him. So I went after him. He had to work over-time, so I came back sooner than Wendell expected. They were in the bathroom. I startled them! Wendell said, "She needed to throw up! So, I was helping her!" But they were standing in front of the sink! She looked dumbfounded, and she stumbled out of the bathroom, back to her bedroom. I fell for his crock of bull story, and never questioned it. Buddy had told me that someone else would bring him home, so I wouldn't need to go back after him again. So, after we got Nina all settled in bed, we left.

     Well, in Texas, the night Wendell and I had been arguing; he proceeded to tell me the truth about what had really happened that night with Nina, in the bathroom! He just wanted to hurt me, so he could make me mad, and he could leave easier. He said that before I came into Nina's bathroom, he had her leaning over the sink and was giving her a good screw from behind! I exploded like a raging Indian on the warpath! I jumped out of bed, ran over and started hitting the lamp shade with my fist. I was crying, and I kept on hitting it, until I had it totally destroyed. Then I walked out of the room, and went into the furthest room of the apartment. The room was dark, and I just sat down on the cold floor with my back against the wall. I had my knees up to my chest with my arms encircling them. I just sat there alone, and cried. Finally, he came in, trying to say he was sorry. I told him to get away from me and not to even touch me! So, he went out and left me alone. Finally, after a long time, I went back into the bedroom. He was asleep.

     He finally left me. He wanted to go to South Carolina, to stay with his buddy, Ray. I started to cry. He made me hold my tears, and keep it all inside. He told me, that we would get back together someday. He said, "Like your Dad and Helen! They always split up, and then get back together!" I told him, I couldn't live like that. One night, I drove him to the Houston Airport. He wouldn't let me go in with him. He said it would just be harder. So, I watched him walk away from me. I sat there in the Datsun pick-up for a long time; one, maybe two hours. I don't know. Time was standing still, as my heart was breaking. Mickey, my little Chihuahua, was with me. She kept whining and looking at me. She was a sweet little dog that knew when something was wrong. I finally left the airport. I took a wrong turn somewhere, and got lost. I was on a freeway that seemed not to go anywhere. I was getting low on gas. I saw a sign that said, "San Antonio- 135 miles". Oh Brother! I knew I had to turn around! I finally found my way back to Houston. I was in the old section. I was going up over a small overpass when the pick-up sputtered and died. Out of gas! Late at night! I let the pick-up roll back down the incline to the side of the road. I picked up my purse and Mickey, locked the doors, and started walking until I found a phone booth. I called my step-brother, Roy. He nearly died when I described where I was. He said I was right in the heart of "black-town"! An area where whites were afraid to go! He said it was very dangerous for a white female, with only a little brown Chihuahua to protect her! He had a great sense of humor! He told me to go back to the pick-up, get in, lock the doors, and wait for him. We were both relieved, when he got there! We laughed about that a lot later! I didn't tell him where I had been that night. I was still grieving, and I didn't want to talk to anyone about it. After that, I stayed holed up in the apartment for days. I didn't go out for anything. I slept on the couch with Mickey. I couldn't sleep in the bedroom. The rent was going to run out, and I had no money to pay it. I didn't know where I was going to go. Helen came over to visit, and found me in this condition. She told me, I should have told her that he left. Then, she had me pack up, and go home with her.

     Several months later, Wendell called me. He wanted to get back together. I was still free, but I told him, "I still love you, but I can't go through that again!" He said there was one thing he wanted to know. Had I, or had I not been picking up the black guys? I told him that I had not. He said, "O.K." We said "Goodbye." That was the end of that story.

     I love Chihuahuas! I got my first Chihuahua when I was 5 years old. He was a cute little, black and tan fellow, we named Spunky. I had so much fun playing with him! He and I used to sit in the doorway to my Daddy's shop, and eat Cheerio's right out of the cereal box. These were the innocent days of childhood, so much fun at the time, so precious to us in our older years.

     One time, I did something that I am very ashamed of. I was playing with Spunky, on the couch. He was lying on his back, and I was tickling him. He was such a sweet puppy! Then, all of a sudden, I had an evil thought to pinch him, to see what he would do. I pinched him on the belly. He cried out, whimpering in pain. I started crying too. I was so ashamed of myself. I picked him up and held him to my chest, crying and crying. I told him I was so sorry, and I never did that again to any animal! It still makes me cry to recall it. I still remember, with sorrow, the look of shock in his soft brown eyes, when I pinched him. I'm sure he forgave me, because animals are more forgiving than most humans. But I will never forgive myself!

     We had Spunky for a while, until one of Daddy's hounds came in heat. Spunky kept going out to her, trying to mount her. Of course, he was too little to ever accomplish that! Anyway, Daddy had a hound that he was training to be a coon dog. The hound went out into the pasture and was chasing a rabbit. Daddy went in the house and got his 22 rifle and came back out. He said to his cousin, Ray, "He makes me so mad, I ought to just shoot him!" He intended to just shoot over his head to scare him. He wasn't sure if the 22 rifle would even reach that distance, so he fired it. It reached the distance, but it accidentally shot the hound right in the head and killed him! Daddy was heartbroken. He had not intended to do that! Then he was angry with himself the rest of the day, and things kept going wrong. Next, he caught the Cocker Spaniel breeding his female hound dog. He killed it with his 45 pistol. Spunky was out there messing with the hound too, so he shot and killed him. Then, he went out to the pasture to feed Jack. He was bent over and tapping the feed can on the ground, before putting fresh feed in it. Jack came up behind him and bit him on the shoulder. Daddy was still in a fit of anger over killing the hound he loved. He went and got the 45 and killed the donkey too! Helen came running out of the house, and screamed at him, "James, stop this shit!" Daddy was so mad. He turned to her and said, "Helen, you get back in the house!" He put emphasis on the word "You". Ray told my Aunt Margaret about everything that had happened, when she and Grandma showed up that day to visit. Ray said that Daddy sounded like he would have shot Helen too, had she not went back in the house when he told her to. I don't remember where I was that day. I wasn't there when it happened. I didn't know where Spunky was. All I remember knowing at that time was that my Daddy was madder than I had ever known him to be. And that he had killed his hound, the Cocker Spaniel, and his donkey. He had all the bodies in the back of his truck, covered with a tarp. I reached for the edge of the tarp, to lift it and look at them. Daddy and Helen ordered me to get away from there. They didn't want me to see Spunky. Later, Daddy sat me down, with tears in his eyes, and told me that he had killed Spunky, because he wouldn't quit messing with the hound. He said that he was sorry that he did it. The only animal that really needed to be shot was the donkey. He was so mean, he was always biting Daddy. I remember one day, when Jack reached over the gate of the fence he was in, and bit Daddy on the arm. Jack held on to his arm for a long time, biting and glaring into Daddy's eyes. Daddy just stood there, gritted his teeth and waited. Finally, the jackass let loose. Then, Daddy reached up, took hold of Jack's ear, pulled his head down, and bit into his ear firmly. He held him in that position for a long time. Then, when he let loose; the donkey reached down and bit him on the arm again, holding for a long time. They kept taking turns biting the crap out of each other. Finally, Daddy won the contest. But Jack was determined to get him someday. He probably would have, if the events of that bad day had not have taken place. This all took place in Brownsville, Oregon, on Courtney Creek Road.

     I remember being babysat by a girl named Mary Jo. That lived at the beginning of Courtney Creek Road. She seemed like a really sweet girl, at first. One day, she got mad at me for something. She gave me a bloody nose. I was only 5 years old, and I always had problems with bloody noses. Once they started, they wouldn't stop. Daddy always kept butter knives in the freezer, to use to hold up against the side of my nose to stop it from bleeding. The cold butter knife was the only thing that would stop it. Mary Jo had a heck of a time, once she made my nose bleed. She couldn't get it to stop. I had to sit for hours, with a towel held to it, and my head held back. She kept telling me how bad I was, and that it was my fault, that I had made her do it. She threatened me, that if I told anyone, she would harm my parents. She was raging, like she was crazy. I believed her threat, and for years I kept it secret. Daddy and my real Mother were gone now, and Helen lived far away. So, I could finally expose the secret; and I did eventually when some of her relatives paid me a visit one day when I lived in Sweet Home, Oregon. They were shocked and probably didn't believe me. I think they just thought I was crazy. They left pretty abruptly after I told them the story.

     Have you noticed, I have withheld the last names of everyone, except my parents? This is done to protect their privacy.

     Anyway, back to the subject of Chihuahuas. After Daddy had went on the rampage, and killed the animals. He decided we didn't need any more house pets. One day, when I was about 6 years old, Helen and I went to take a cat to a house where a woman kept animals. Kind of like a shelter for unwanted animals. We got there and no one was home. So, Helen put the cat on the porch and left a note, explaining. As we were driving back down the driveway; a little, black and tan, Chihuahua puppy started chasing us. It wanted to go with us. I kept saying, "Mama, please, let me have it!" Helen said, "Your Daddy doesn't want any more house pets!" I kept begging. Finally, she stopped, just to look at it. I got out, and it jumped into my arms and started licking my face. She and I were instantly in love! There was no way Helen would deny me, when she saw the two of us so happy! She shook her head and said, "I'll take care of your Daddy! But you have to feed her, she's your dog!" Helen does have a good heart, and I do love her. I just don't approve of some of the things she has done, that's all. We took the puppy home with us.

     Helen told me I could name her. I thought of "Lady Bug", because she was so tiny, and I liked Ladybugs anyway. Helen thought that wasn't a good name for a dog, so she picked out "Princess". I liked that, and she became my little Princess! I had so much fun with her throughout the years. I had her for ten years. I was 6 when I got her, 16 when she died. I used to dress her up in dolls clothes, and pretend she was a baby. I would lay her in the doll cradle on her back, with a blanket over her, and her head on a pillow. I could tell her to stay, and she would not move, until I told her she could get up! Sometimes, I would go off somewhere else playing and forget I had left her there. Helen would come along and see her there, obediently lying on her back in the cradle. She would laugh and tell her she could get up. Then Princess would run and find me. Helen would later scold me for forgetting about her. Princess was a precious dog. When I would get off the school bus, she would be out in the yard, so happy, running in wide circles all around the yard yelping. Helen said that Princess knew when it was time for the bus. She would go to the door and want out, several minutes before it arrived. The kids on the bus asked me if I brought treats or something to her when I got home. They couldn't understand why she was so excited. I told them that she was just happy to see me, she loved me! I wondered, "Didn't their dogs do the same?" Princess always slept with me. Daddy and Helen hadn't wanted her to, in the beginning. They finally gave up trying to run her out of my bed. I would just smuggle her back in! When we would go on trips, Helen would try to leave her home. I taught her how to stow-away under the car seat. I told her to go under there and stay. She learned this fairly easy. When we started putting stuff in the car, she would sneak out and slip under the seat and wait. Then hours later, when we got to our destination, she would come out wagging her tail, happy as a lark! By then, it was too late to take her home. We got by with this for years. But one day, she out-foxed herself! We stopped for gas, when we weren't very far from home. She came out and jumped up on the back of the front seat, wagging and grinning! Helen said, "You think you are so smart, little lady! Well, I'll show you! You're going right back home!" She thought we were to our destination, but she jumped the gun! She didn't get to go with us that time.

     When we lived in Adrian, Georgia; Princess took off from home one day, she was in heat. We couldn't find her. So, Daddy had to leave for work, and I had to leave for school. Helen was gone down South, another time she split. Later that day, I came home from school. She still wasn't home. I got on my bike and went for a ride to my friend, Paula's house. About an hour later, I came home. As I was coming down the road, I saw a black object lying on the side of the road. As I got closer, my heart broke in two. It was my little Princess. Someone had run over her. I got off the bike, and picked her up and carried her to the house. I laid her on the porch, wrapped in a blanket. Good-bye to another dear friend. I could not even cry then. Now, I do. But then, my sorrow was too deep for tears. I was numb. Daddy wasn't home yet, so I got on my bike and went back to Paula's house for a while. When I came home, Daddy was there. He was in the house. I asked him if he had seen Princess. He said, "No, she hasn't come home yet." I said, "She's home." He looked at me, and followed me out to the porch. He helped me bury her that night.

     Out of a litter of puppies Princess had, Chiquita was born. We called her Chee-Chee. She was Helen's dog. When Helen was friends with Jean, before she left, and Daddy and Jean got together, she had given Chee-Chee to Jean. Chee-Chee had two litters of puppies. Out of the second litter, Jean gave me a cute, little, brown female. She was so tiny, she looked like a mouse. I named her Mickey, after Mickey Mouse. She was my little buddy for about seven years.

     One day, I was driving down a country road on a hot summer day. I had all four windows in the car down. Mickey was in the back seat, standing up with her front paws on the windowsill. She had her nose out in the breeze, like dogs like to do. I was driving along, listening to music on the radio. All of a sudden, I heard a high, shrill "ERRRP!" I didn't know what it was. I looked around into the back seat and couldn't see Mickey anywhere. I called out, "Mickey?" As my eyes turned back to the windshield, I glimpsed something in the rearview mirror. I saw her running down the road in the opposite direction! I stopped the car right in the road and jumped out. I called to her, "Mickey!" She stopped, turned around, looking dazed, then came running to me. She had, somehow, fallen out of the window. She had a round patch of skin, about the size of a quarter, totally missing from her head. I picked her up, cuddling her. Poor baby was lucky to be alive! Never again did I leave her alone, in the backseat, with the windows down! She was alright, but I doctored her wound with ointment for quite a while.

     Mickey was quite a dog. She even saved my life one day! I was still living with Roscoe, at that time. He had started bar-hopping after work. I knew something was up, because he insisted on buying a new cowboy hat and boots; when the ones he had were just fine. He started coming home with a strange new fragrance of perfume on him. Then one day, I had taken the station wagon to the grocery store. As I was pulling into our apartment complex parking lot, I looked down at the ashtray, in the car, to put out my cigarette. I froze when I saw a strange cigarette butt there, with lipstick on it. The shade was Ruby Red, I wore Pink Rose'! Sounds just like a Country song I’ve heard! How did that song writer know my life well enough to write about it? After I parked the car, I picked up the cigarette butt, and just sat there looking at it. It was like a nightmare come true. All my worst fears had become reality. I sat there for a long time. I never confronted him about it. I guess I just hoped there would be some good reason for it being there. If I didn't ask him, then I wouldn't have to find out the horrible truth for sure. I was just in denial. I didn't want to admit that another love was ending. Now, I don't even understand why I loved him. That's what I meant, when I said that "love can do strange things to you. It can make you blind, forgiving and incredibly foolish!"

     One day, he came home and told me that I would have to pack my stuff and move out. He had found another woman that would be moving in soon! For about three days, I would still be there when he came home. He would ask, "You still here? Try to be out by tomorrow!" I wish I would have just kicked his ass, like I used to do to Lewis! But, when love is involved, you have no common sense. I guess I just kept hoping he would change his mind, and come home and tell me, "It was all a mistake!" It didn't happen, and I finally realized that it was over. On the day I came to that realization, I was at rock bottom. I went in the bedroom to start packing. I couldn't do anything! My eyes were red and swollen from crying. It didn't even look like me in the mirror! I remembered that Roscoe had a small pistol in the drawer of the bedside table. I went and got it out. I sat down on the end of the bed and laid it down beside me. Then my mind started searching for a reason to live. I thought, "There has to be just one person that needs me, because I can not exist without being needed!” I went down a long list of people in my mind, finding no one. Then my mind settled on my Daddy. I thought, “He loves me, but he really doesn’t need me.” Then the dam broke. My tears came flooding down like water. I picked up the gun, held it in my trembling hands, looking at it. I was contemplating on whether I should put it to the side of my head or into my mouth; then I heard a tiny, timid whine. I turned and saw Mickey lying on the bed up close to the pillow. She was looking at me with such sorrow and fear in her eyes. Then, I thought, “She needs me!” I put the pistol back in the drawer. I went to her and picked her up and held her tightly to my breast. I walked out of the bedroom with her. I didn’t do any packing that day. I just took Mickey, got in the car and went straight to Daddy. As I drove into the driveway; he came out of the door smiling widely with that big beautiful smile of his. He was so happy to see me! I tried so hard to keep my composure for his benefit. Then he saw the look on my swollen face, or maybe it was my eyes. He could always read them; but fortunately, he could not read between the lines and know the whole story. He said, with a sob in his voice, “Oh Baby, what’s wrong?” We hurried to each other, and I fell into his arms. I told him that the unfaithful Texan had left me, and that we were through. I left it at that. I could not tell him what I had almost done. It would have broken his heart to know that I had thought he did not need me. I am so glad that I did not go through with it, because it would have been the worst thing that I could have ever done to my Daddy. I think of it as a miracle that God used a little dog to save me. However, I also realize that it could have been a coincidence that she whined at that moment, feeling my sorrow and condition of mind. However, miracle or coincidence… it saved me. Being needed is a very important element required for human survival. Otherwise, we decline into a pit of depression and possibly death.   

     I remember Daddy telling a story about him being saved from death. He was young and had a hot rod car. He took it out late one night to see how fast it would go. He was on a long, deserted stretch of country road. He was going really fast, about 80 mph. Then he floored the gas pedal up to 90, then 100. He was going to see if it would go all the way up to the 120 mark. When he hit 100, he felt an ice cold hand grip his right leg, just above the knee. He was startled. He let off the gas and the feeling disappeared. He pushed back down on the pedal, got back up to 100, and it happened again! He did it a third time with the same result. He got goose bumps on his arms, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He realized that God must be giving him a warning. I wondered if it was the cold hand of death. Whatever, he slowed down to normal speed and went home.

     Another story about death he told me was concerning my Uncle Jay, my Aunt Irene’s first husband. He was Daddy’s brother-in-law. Daddy, Jay and Howard, my other uncle all worked on a tank farm for the Central Spindletop Oil Refinery in Beaumont, Texas. Jay was a foreman and a welder. Howard was a welder, and Daddy was a chipper. There had been a field strike for awhile, but the work was starting back up again. The foremen and welders were the first to be called back to work. This day was the first day back to work for Jay and Howard. Daddy would be called back in about three days from then. Daddy went out, at lunchtime, to find out more about when he would be returning to work. He also took lunch to Jay and Howard. When he got out of his vehicle, he looked up. Jay and Howard were up on the tank. Daddy noticed a strange illumination around Jay’s head. Kind of like a halo or something. It gave him a really eerie feeling. When he was up on the tank with them, he kept telling Jay to be really careful. Then, when he went back down to the ground, he looked up again as he was leaving. Jay still had the illumination around his head. Daddy went back to his older sister, Margaret's house. His younger sister, Irene was there also. After lunch time had ended, Howard came home early. He drove into the driveway in Jay's rig. Margaret wondered, "Why is he driving Jay's vehicle and not his own?" She said, when he got out, she could tell by the look on his face that something bad had happened. Jay was dead. He had been directing a load of material, motioning for them to "Come this way". He stepped slightly backwards with one foot stepping off the rail. He fell into the hole, falling to his death. All these memories are breaking my heart. This happened in October of 1958. I was only 2 years and 4 months old, but I remember my Uncle Jay as being a very sweet natured man. Margaret told me that I stayed with Jay and Irene some, and with her and Howard some. Daddy and Margaret have both told me; how when Daddy would have to leave me there, he would wait until I was in bed, so I wouldn't cry. He would slip quietly out of the house, then when he looked back over his shoulder; he would see me with my nose pressed against the windowpane, sadly watching him leave. He said it always broke his heart.

     Now back to Chihuahuas again. I had Mickey with me, when I moved to Sweet Home in July of 1978. I had her and her puppy, Leonard, in a little run down house on 2nd Avenue. The neighbor lady complained about them howling, when I was gone to work. One day, Darl and I had a Garage Sale there. A lady saw Mickey and wanted her. She said, her little 7 year old grandson had a little dog with the same mannerisms as Mickey. His little dog had been run over by a car. She said, he was so sad and needed Mickey to make him happy again. I could not let my little Mickey Mouse go no matter how bad the lady made me feel. She insisted that I take her telephone number, just in case I would change my mind. One day, I was thinking about her and the little boy, and I called her and said he could have Leonard, if they wanted him. The Grandson and his Dad happened to be there at the time. So, they rushed right over. I showed them Leonard, when they arrived. Leonard was a lively, rambunctious, little fellow. He was a real "Live Wire"! The little boy just kept looking at Mickey, with longing in his eyes. Then, the Dad started in on me. He said, "The little brown dog has the mild personality of his last dog that he lost. He really needs one like her. Leonard is too active!" The Dad kept begging, and the little boy kept looking at me with those big, sad eyes. I thought about all the lonely hours Mickey spent, when I was at work or visiting Darl or my relatives. I realized that, the little boy would give her so much love and attention. So, for her sake; and to make the little boy happy, I finally agreed to let him have her. I gave them her other collar and her sweater too. This was tearing my heart out, and she looked nervous. I hugged my little Mickey Mouse and kissed her "Goodbye". I went to bed that night crying. I had never been so alone in my life.

     I gave Leonard to some nice people that lived in Sweet Home. A spirited dog was just what they wanted. I saw him around town, in their car, from time to time. He was always bouncing off the walls!

     I went without another pet for 22 years! That was almost half of my lifetime! When I lived in the little house on 9th Avenue, I did have a cat for a while. I had bought a record player at a Yard Sale, and was out in the back yard cleaning it up. Darl and Laura, his daughter, came to visit me. They came into the house, and didn't find me in there, so they came on out the back door and found me. While we were out there, we kept hearing a cat crying and howling as if in pain. Laura walked to the back of the yard, and she found a cat tied to an old broken kitchen chair. He was tied to the leg of the chair with blackberry vines! Some cruel, sick individual had sadistically done this to the poor animal. We cut him loose. He was a large cat, but skinny. We could tell he had once been big, because he had very big paws. So, that's what she named him, "Big Paws"! We took him to the back step, cleaned him up, after first giving him some milk. He was nearly starved. We fed him some macaroni and cheese too. Later, I got cat food for him. He was a very friendly cat. Eventually, he gained his weight back. Then he started disappearing, either tom-catting around, or looking for his former home. He would return again, and then leave again. Finally, he left and didn't return. We don't know if he got killed, or if he finally found his old home. We prefer to think the latter. Big Paws, where are you?

     When I was about 5 or 6 years old, when we lived in Brownsville, we went to visit my Aunt Margaret and Uncle Howard in Sweet Home. When we got to their home in the country, we got out of the car. Daddy, Helen and Roy went in the house. I saw that there was a table, under a tree, made out of two sawhorses and some two by fours lain across them. On the table, I saw that someone had made some delicious looking Chocolate Cookies. I love Chocolate! My mouth watered. I picked one up and took a big bite out of it. YUCK! I started spitting and sputtering. It was mud-pies! I found out later that my cousins, Charlotte and Chriss, had made them. They got a big kick out of that! I had dirt all in my teeth!

     I can remember my cousin, Linda, was so funny. She always had to win at everything! She came up with the most unique ways of cheating. All of us children would play games at Grandma's dining room table on Holidays. I can remember playing cards and wondering how Linda always won! Then one night I saw how! She would sit in a chair away from the window. Then when it was dark outside, she could see the cards, of the people sitting by the window, reflected in the glass! Very intelligent, but sneaky!

     Grandpa always used to dress up as Santa Claus every Christmas. We children would be in the living room all excited, because Santa was coming! We would hear bells jingling, and one of the adults would say, "It's Santa's reindeers!" Then Santa would knock on the front door, and someone would let him in. Santa would talk to each one of us, individually, and give a gift from him! It was wondrous! Then one Christmas, my cousin, Linda, was jealous that I still believed in Santa Claus; but someone had already stolen the wonder from her. So, she told me that Santa wasn't real, that it was just Grandpa dressed in a Santa suit. Then, she took me back to Grandpa and Grandma's bedroom to watch him put it on! We were in there, and then all of a sudden, one of the adults noticed me, and said "Hey! What's she doing in here?" Linda proudly said, "She already knows!" Someone else said, "She does? How?" Linda said, "Oh, I don't know, but she does!" They looked at her with squinted eyes, and went ahead with helping Santa dress.

     A very funny story about Grandpa Santa was when my cousin Chriss was a toddler. Grandpa came in, dressed as Santa, giving out gifts. When he got to Chriss, he said, "What's your name, little boy?" Chriss bust out bawling, it broke his heart that he didn't know his name! He said to Santa, "Me ain't got no name, Pa Pa!" Chriss knew all along that it was Grandpa. It hurt him, when Grandpa asked his name, like he didn't know him. Poor little guy.

     I can remember an embarrassing story about myself. I was about 7 years old. We had some friend's, DeAnna and Dickey that used to come over to our house with their parents to visit. DeAnna and Dickey were my partners in crime, when we threw cow-pies down Daddy's well. Anyway, one day, Roy, Dickey and I were at the house alone. I was outside playing. Roy and Dickey came out to me, and in the curiosity of children said, "If you'll show us yours, we'll show you ours!" I was embarrassed, but I was curious too! I kept telling them "No!" They kept on. Finally, I went in the house to get away from them. Then, in a little while, I had to go to the bathroom. We had a long, narrow bathroom, with the toilet at the far end. Up near the ceiling, on both sides, were windows. They must have been there for ventilation. I had just finished using the bathroom, and was pulling up my pants. Roy and Dickey had put a ladder up to one of the windows, and climbed up the ladder. All of sudden, there they were looking in the window, smiling and saying, "Ah, come on, just one quick look; then we'll show you ours!" I had to make a quick decision, and I thought, "Oh, why not? Then, I'll get to see theirs!" So, I pulled my pants down and gave them a quick glance! They were giggling. Then I said, "O.K., now you owe me!" They laughed and said, "Yeah, right!" And I knew, in an instant, that I had been taken! It was the first time in my life; I learned the lesson that "You Can't Trust Most Men!"

     Throughout my life, I remember people asking me, after they learned my name, "Is it true, that whatever Lola wants, Lola gets?" I hated that question! They always said it with a sneer in their voice. Finally, I came up with a good answer! I said, "No, whatever Lola gets, Lola learns to live with!" I always wanted to add, "Like, people like you!"

     I took Driver's Education in the 10th grade. We lived in Coldwater, Mississippi. Roy decided to give me some driving experience. He had a Volkswagen Bug. We left the house one day, and I was doing great with the stick-shift. We drove on the dusty roads of the Mississippi Delta. The whole drive went fine, until we got back to our driveway! We had a wire fence at the entrance to the driveway. I needed to stop, so Roy could get out and open the gate for me to go through. Then he would close it and get back in. Well, I hit the clutch and the gas pedal, instead of the clutch and the brake! I plowed the gate down! Roy was laughing and saying, "Stop! Stop! Stop!" After I finally got it stopped. He was laughing so hard. Then he said, "You did so good the whole drive! But now, how can I prove it?" He had to repair the gate.

     When Roy left home, the V.W. Bug became my first car. He used to go out with some of his friends, when we lived in Dundee, Mississippi. They would go to a bar and have some drinks. He would come home feeling pretty energetic. He would get a can of paint and proceed to liven up the Bug. He would only get a door, a fender, or the hood painted before he pooped out. He always had a different color of paint each time. So, part of the Bug was Candy Apple Red, part was Bright Metallic Orange, part was Vibrant Sunshine Yellow, and the top was Flat Black! So, when I inherited it, it was a funny "Clown Car"! It never embarrassed me, though. I am not one to worry what other people think! I thought it was "Unique", and that's all that mattered!

     When I lived in Lake Burton, Georgia; Jean's daughter, Jody, snuck my keys one night and took it out for a "Joy Ride"! She had been drinking and smoking weed; and she rolled the Bug, messing up the top of it. It still ran fine, but was a little crunched. She had someone try to pound out the dents, before she brought it home. So, it wasn't as bad as it had been! I never told on her. I just don't understand why Daddy didn't notice the dents! He was always so observant of stuff like that! He probably knew, but didn't want to scold "Princess Jody"! Jody always seemed to do what she pleased, and somehow got by with it! That's one person I would like another chance at! We got into two fights over the years. She was about twice as heavy-built as me, but she never "Whipped my ass" like she was always telling her sisters she should do! We should have fought more! She truly deserved it! She was a scheming shrew. The first fight we got into was when I was staying with them in Lake Burton, Georgia. She grew out of some of her dresses, and Jean had told her to give them to me. When I was trying them on; Jean, John and JoAnne were saying how good they looked on me. Jody was green with envy! I wore one to Church, and someone complimented on how nice I looked in my new dress. Jody stood there gritting her teeth. JoAnne and I had been going out in the lake, swimming for several days. JoAnne and Jody could swim, but I never have learned. So, would wear a life-jacket, and JoAnne would wear a ski-belt just for a little extra support, when she was tired from swimming. JoAnne and I had lots of fun together. She was about a year younger than I. Jody was my age. JoAnne and I were headed out to the water one day, and John was standing on the porch. When we walked by him, he looked at my body and whistled. It embarrassed me. Jody was standing near­by. It made her angry, and she stomped into the house. Her jealousy was a sickness. JoAnne and I swam in the lake so much that we got sunburned so bad, we looked like lobsters. After we came in from the lake one day, I went into the house for a drink of soda pop and came back out. Jody and JoAnne were out in the water. JoAnne called to me to come out. I didn't have a life-jacket on at the time, but I went on in. When I got out there, they started whispering to each other. Then, they started taking turns swimming underneath the water. They would swim underneath me and grab me by the ankles, pulling me under the water. I was getting madder and madder! Finally, when they came up, I told them if they didn't knock it off, I was going to kick their asses. I didn't really want to fight them, but I said that in my anger. They stopped then.

     Then, when JoAnne and I was in her bedroom changing clothes; Jody came in smarting off. She said, "Why don't you go ahead and try to kick our asses, like you threatened?" I said, "Jody, I said that in anger, because you two wouldn't quit pulling me under the water! I don't want to fight, we're friends." Then she started saying that when she gave me the dresses, it was only because I was a pitiful, poor girl that needed her charity! That really pissed me off! The dresses were lying there, folded and stacked. I picked them up, and said, "I don't need your charity!" Then I threw them in her face! All hell broke loose! They both ganged up on me. We were punching and shoving. I did pretty good keeping one at a distance, while I punched the other one. They were both about the same height as me, but they were heavy built, and I was slender. I remember one of them kicking me in the stomach really hard, but I was feeling no pain! I got up, knocked one down into the corner, and had the other one down on the bed ready to sock her in the throat; when Nancy, the oldest sister, ran through the door yelling "What's going on? Knock this crap off!" So, I knocked it off with my final punch to the throat of the one I had on the bed! She started choking and gagging, holding her throat and crying. I wish I could remember which one I socked in the throat! I hope it was Jody! After the fight was over, I went out into the woods and threw up. I didn't want any of them to have the pleasure of knowing I was sick! Something else I did out there really embarrasses me! But I'm telling this story, so here it is! I had been kicked in the stomach really hard! What do you think that does to a body? Well, I hate to say, but it emptied my bowels in my panties! It made me so furious! You always hear someone say that they kicked the shit out of someone? Well, I was humiliated to realize that it literally happened to me! There was no way I was going to put those panties in the laundry, so someone would know what happened! I took them off and buried them in the woods! I've kept it silent, until now. But I am a lot older now, and I know what physically happened, but I actually did not get whipped! I fought two girls, which were both bigger than me. I did great, and I got in the last punch! What more can you ask? The only thing I regret is giving up those dresses!

     The other fight Jody and I got into was over a rug. Daddy and Jean were together by this time. Jody and I had the attic as our bedroom. I was at one end, she was at the other. Daddy had given me an old, red piece of carpet that needed cleaning. He said I could clean it up and use it in my bedroom. Jody was jealous when he gave it to me. Anyway, it was rolled up in a corner of my end of the attic. I procrastinated, and didn't get to cleaning it right away. I saw no hurry. Well, Jody kept bitching about it. She kept saying, "When you gonna clean that carpet?" I told her, I would when I was ready. Then one day, I climbed the ladder to the attic bedroom. I climbed through the opening in the floor. I stepped into the room, and the first thing I saw was the carpet, all cleaned up and spread out on her end of the attic! I got the carpet and took it to my end of the room. I thought, she had no right to do that! Then, I wrote a sweet little note telling her so, and laid it on her bed. I was standing on the carpet, with my back to her end of the room, watching T.V. She came up. She was there only a minute, and then she went back downstairs. I looked around and saw the note was gone. She had taken it downstairs to tell on me. I turned back to the T.V., and kept standing there. I heard her come back up. She ran across the room, leaned down and jerked the rug right out from under me! I fell to the floor on my face! The fight had begun! I got to my feet, madder than hell. I ran to her end of the room, and we tore into each other like wild animals. At one point; I saw Daddy, JoAnne, John and Chipper's heads, all poking up through the opening in the floor. I still don't know how they all got onto that ladder at the same time! Jody got me in a headlock at one point. I couldn't get loose, so I bit the crap out of her arm! She started screaming, "She bit me! She bit me!" I thought, "Yeah and don't forget it! Corner me like a dog, and I'll bite like a dog!" What's with this, "She bit me!" crap, anyway? People act like biting is so bad, but ganging up on you, or punching your teeth out, or choking you, or kicking you in the stomach is just fine? I say all is fine, when you're fighting a larger human being! Then she pushed me down, and fell on top of me with all of her weight. I was about to make a move, when I heard Daddy yelling angrily, "Come out of it! Come out of it!" I was confused; I thought he was telling us to quit fighting. So I gave up. We both just stopped. Daddy started cussing, and I realized he was mad at me. He had been telling me to come out of the hold she had on me, not to stop! So, technically, I lost the fight; and Daddy was ashamed of me. You know, that hurts more, than losing the fight! He was so mad, he went downstairs and packed his clothes, and came up and told me to pack mine. Then he went back down and packed Bobby's clothes. We got in his pick-up and headed out. I thought he was doing this, because his daughter lost a fight! I was so depressed. I explained to him about my confusion, over what he had called out to me. He told me he understood, and that it wasn't just the fight he was mad about. He said, he and Jean had been having some trouble over her giving so much of their money away to her kids. He said that I never asked them for money all the time for senseless reasons, and he was tired of them using her for a fool. He stopped somewhere and called Helen. We went back to her. Sometimes, it seems that this life is just a never ending battle to keep your heart, pride, or body from being broken into pieces!

     Daddy ended up back with Jean again. Helen had taken Bobby and ran off down South again. Daddy got drunk that night, and he said something to me, that I'm sure he would never have said to his daughter, had he not been so drunk. He told me that "Jean had a Million Dollar Personality and a 10 Cent Pussy, and Helen had a 10 cent Personality and a Million Dollar Pussy." He laughed sarcastically, then cried bitterly. What caused him to get drunk, was his grief over Helen taking Bobby with her. He missed that ornery little guy. I didn't know what to say, I just held him in my arms as he cried.

     He figured a way to get Bobby back from Helen. He talked her into coming home. Then, he took Bobby and left. They went to Sarasota, Florida, to Jean. He had planned it all out. The day he left, I was to go to my friend, Wynette's house; and stay with her, and her Mom, until school was out. Then, I would go to Sarasota to meet them. Helen came after me at Wynette's house. She tried to order me to go home with her. She was planning to take me down South with her. She, evidently, planned to use me as a pawn in this stupid "Chess game of life", she was playing with Daddy! I refused to go with her. I told her that I was going to finish out the 11th grade there, and I would stay with Wynette. She left angry. She came back that night. She was on Wynette's front porch demanding to talk to me. Wynette's Mom called me outside. Helen was drunk. She started ordering me to get in her car. She was going to force me to go with her down South. I refused. Then, she tried another tactic. She started bawling, and threatened to kill herself, if I didn't go with her. I didn't know what to do. I was crying too, then. I didn't want to be the blame for her suicide! I was almost persuaded to go, when the Police showed up. Wynette, or her Mom, had called them. The Officer told me that she was bluffing and trying to con me. He ordered her to leave, or he would arrest her for disturbing the peace. She left angry. The next day, at school, I was called out of class. She had told them, she needed to talk to me, and that she would be out in the parking lot waiting for me to come out. I went out, nervously. She was sitting in her car, with dark sunglasses on. I walked around to the driver's door. She had the window down. She asked me to get in the car and talk. I told her, I couldn't, because I had to get back to class soon. She said, "I'm leaving today, I wish you would go with me!" I saw the car was packed with all her stuff. I told her I was sorry, but I was going to finish the school year there. So, we said "Good-Bye", and I wished her luck. It wasn't my last time to see her. She and Daddy split up lots of times, but always got back together again. The next time I saw her was in Sarasota, Florida; when she showed up in Jean's driveway, threatening to shoot into the house! I already told that story.

     Because of my Daddy, my childhood and teen years were full of lots of love, funny memories, and unique experiences that most people have not known. I will forever cherish all the memories he made for me. I will never stop missing him.

     There is a song sung by LeAnn Rimes, "Together, Forever, Always". I dedicate that song to my Daddy. These are the words: “Life can't put distance between us. Days, even years, could pass on. But the love that lies between us, will always be worth holding on. Together, forever, always, from the dawn, till the end of each day. No matter how far, the way you are, we're together, forever, always. I could try to forget you, but the memories get bigger each dawn. And the dreams, I dream about you, they always keep me holding on. Together forever, always from the dawn, till the end of each day. No matter how far, the way you are, we're together, forever, always. Together, forever, always, from the dawn, till the end of each day. No matter how far, the way you are. We’re together, forever, always.”

    Lorene Williams-Hilliard was in a coma in the Langmack Hospital. She had a stroke while out in her garden. She never recovered. She died. I had never seen my Daddy cry like that before. Part of him must have died; I know that part of me did. I loved Grandma dearly. I used to have dreams about her coming back; sometimes alive, sometimes dead. It was sad and scary to me. I remember, at the viewing of her body, one of the women folk wanted all of us children to kiss Grandma. I would rather had my last memory of kissing Grandma been when she was warm and alive, and still in her body. Whoever made us kids do that, made an error; as far as I'm concerned.

     Grandma had babysat me a lot before we moved away from Sweet Home. She used to play cards and other games with me. She taught me how to play Solitaire. She used to beat "Old Sol" a lot! She smiled a lot! She was such a happy, fun-loving woman. She taught me how to churn milk into butter. I have a scar on my right thumb from an old, sharp, butter knife she had. I was being a stupid child, trying to see if I could cut a piece of watermelon with my left hand. I'm right handed. The knife slipped, and I cut a very deep gash in my right thumb. When I see the scar, I think of Grandma and all the good times we had together. Memories are like scars; some good, some bad, but all worth remembering. She let me help her in her garden, sowing and reaping. She talked to me about how we could plant things, but it was God that made them grow. She let me help her feed the chickens and gather their eggs. Some of those old hens could be pretty scary, when trying to get an egg out from under them! I remember her wringing chicken’s necks for dinner! That is a vivid memory for any child! She rang its neck and dropped the head to the ground, where it lay with its eyes still blinking. The body was running, in circles, all around the yard. The severed neck, still attached to the body, was spurting blood. I still see this vision in my mind, as if it were only yesterday. Today disappears before our very eyes, and becomes yesterday all too quickly. Then, she would bring out a kettle of boiling water to soak the body in. It made the feathers easier to pluck. I can still smell the stench of it in the nostrils of my mind. Then that night, I would sit down and try to enjoy a nice chicken dinner! YUCK!

     Grandma used to tell me a story about when she lost a baby. She was laying in a bed that was in the living room of a little house. She saw a light beam, like a flashlight, come up onto the porch, just outside the living room window. It came through the door, and she could see the form of a being behind it. It came over to the bed she was in with her baby lying beside her. It reached over, lifted the covers, and looked down at the baby, smiling serenely. It let go of the covers and backed away, and went back out the door, with the light following it. That night, the baby died in its sleep. Grandma believed the being to be Jesus and a warning.

     Grandma always crocheted, and she loved to make doilies for everyone. I can still remember her telling me, it was my turn, and asking what color I would like. I told her lavender, because that has always been my favorite color. She laughed, because she thought that was a unique response. Most people wanted pink, white or yellow. Mine were the only lavender doilies she ever made. I still have them, but only because I asked my Aunt Margaret to save them for me. Otherwise, I believe that Helen would have taken them from me. She kept them from 1965 until 1968, when we were there for Grandma's funeral. She reminded me of them and tried to give them back to me then. I told her to keep them longer, because I still feared that Helen would take them. So, ten years later, in 1978, when I returned to Sweet Home; she reminded me that she still had them and gave them to me then. Those lavender doilies are a treasure to me. They are the only things I have, besides the scar, to remember Grandma by.

     I guess I should be honest and admit that Grandma was not perfect either, no one is. She had one fault that I know of. She had a favorite Grandchild. We all knew and felt bad about it. However, I can forgive her that fault, because she had so many goodnesses about her! She blessed me in so many ways and with so many memories; that I can easily live with the fact that I was not her favorite. Anyway, I realize now, that I would not have wanted to have been her favorite. I wouldn't want the burden of guilt, of knowing that I had made the other children feel bad. I was still richly blessed by her wonderful love, and that is more than enough for me.

     Daddy's oldest sister, Margaret, means a lot to me for many reasons. She was always good to me as a child. She cared for me as a toddler, when Daddy was working and needed someone to keep me. She has always been a fun-loving woman, with a great sense of humor, and a wonderful laugh. However, she does have a fiery temper when crossed! She is kind of like Daddy in that respect. Except Daddy had a longer fuse, and slower to ignite. I am like him in that respect. We take and take; try to keep the peace; we're kicked, spat upon, screwed, blued and tattooed. Eventually, the fuse ignites, and the fireworks explode. Like Popeye The Sailor Man, when he says, "I've had all I can stands, and I can't stands no more!" Then we blow! Toot! Toot! You better scoot!

     Margaret is special for another reason also. She played a vital role in my salvation. She came down to Texas, in 1978, to visit Daddy and I. I was a non-Christian at the time, even though I had been saved and baptized as a child. I spent about three years in Texas in the pits of sin; with the help of my step-mother teaching me the bartending trade. Drinking and looking for love in all the wrong places! By the time Margaret arrived, I was well under conviction, with no way of knowing what to do about it. At that time, I could not understand the King James Version of the Bible. Margaret gave me a Living Bible, called The Word. It was written in modern language, and I was amazed that I could understand it! Then, she encouraged me to go to Sweet Home with her, to live. I wanted to, but I didn't want to leave my Daddy behind. I hadn't been with him a lot, in the past few years, and he had just moved to Texas. He wasn't there during the bar scene, or he probably would have kicked my butt back into shape! Anyway, I wanted to be near him, and I was leaning towards not going to Oregon. Daddy asked me, one day, what I planned to do. I told him how I felt, and that I didn't want to leave him. He assured me that he would be alright, and that he would be very happy if I went to Oregon, even though he would miss me. He knew he would miss me, but he wanted to get me out of there. He knew my life had become something not to be desired. He broke my chains loose and set me free to go to a better life. He was being the loving Daddy that he had always been. Sacrificing his own wants, to give me something better.

     After I got to Sweet Home, Oregon; Margaret let me stay with her until I got a place of my own. We had a lot of fun planning, writing and directing Christmas and Easter programs for Church. She even encouraged me to be a Sunday School Teacher for 4 & 5 year olds. Later, I taught 2 & 3 year olds. But before that, I had finally surrendered my life to Jesus Christ. The night I went forward at Church; August 16, 1978; I was deep under conviction. I had trouble with my hair that night, it was long and wouldn't do anything right. I almost decided to stay home because of it, but then I got mad and said "I'm going anyway!" I put a bandana over my hair, and we left for Church. At Church, as we were standing in final prayer; and the preacher was giving the invitation, I was gripping the back of the pew in front of me. I knew the Lord was calling me, but I was hesitating. My hands were still on the pew, and my eyes were tightly closed. Margaret, somehow, knew I needed support. She reached over with her hand, and I felt it lay upon the top of my hand, giving a gentle squeeze of encouragement. It was all I needed; I went forward immediately, and gave my life to God, and His Son, Jesus Christ. Then, on September 10, 1978; I was baptized in the Foster Reservoir at Foster Lake. I felt The Presence of The Holy Spirit ascend upon me, as I was raised out of the water. I was cleansed, and I knew The Holy Spirit was there! Not long after that, I started feeling convicted about my smoking of cigarettes, which I had done for seven years, since I was 16. I didn't really feel that it was wrong, but I felt that it was a bad witness to others. I started trying to quit; but the more I tried, the worse I got! I went from one pack a day to 1 1/2 packs. I was so frustrated! My heart wanted one thing, but my body did the other. Finally, one night, all alone in Margaret's home; I was sitting on the couch, chain smoking! I realized my helplessness. I fell to my knees in front of the coffee table in tears. I prayed, "Lord, I can not do this! I want to, but the desire is too strong! If you want me to quit, then please, just take the desire away!" I got up, knowing in my heart, that God can do anything; but in my mind, doubting that I would prevail. However, a miracle occurred! The desire was totally gone! I only tried to smoke once, when I was mad one day, and asked my second cousin, Wayne, for a cigarette. He gave me one, reluctantly. I took one puff, and it tasted so bad, I put it back out. I did not have the desire anymore! For 23 years, I did not smoke. Now, I am sorry to say, that I have stolen the desire back, in my own weakness. I lost my special friend that I had for 23 years; and I use that as my excuse for starting again. However, it helped me quit the wine! No one knows what the loss of a loved one will do to you, until they go through it for themselves. So, no amount of explaining will make them understand. Why try? I am sure that my Grandpa Hilliard would have understood, though. After Grandma died, in 1968, Grandpa lived a long, lonely life without her. He died much later of old age and Alzheimer’s disease. He never did get over her. I remember him crying once, and I had never seen him cry before! He was crying and saying that he missed her big "Cow Eyes". He meant that as a huge compliment! Cows have big, beautiful, brown eyes; just like my Grandma had.

     I have fond memories of Grandpa too. He always had cough drops, in a can, in his overalls. Even the overalls are sentimental to me. I thought of his cough drops as candy! He would be lying on the couch or sitting in his orange recliner. I would slip up beside him and fake a cough. He always thought that was so funny! He knew I was just pretending, because I wanted a cough drop. He would say, "That's quite a cough you have there, little girl! Here, have a cough drop to ease it." Then he would laugh that wonderful laugh that sounded a little like a horse whinny. He used to take me out to the barn with him to milk the cows. Cats would always be bumming around, knowing that he had milk. I remember how he would be sitting on the little stool, milking the cow. He would see the cats and smile. He'd say; "I know what you want!" Then he'd lift one of the cow's teats up and squirt milk across the room to the cat's wide open mouth! I thought that was so funny! Then, we would head back to the house. Sometimes, he would let me carry a bucket, that wasn't real full of milk, for him. I see it all now; the barn, the cows, the cats, the barnyard, the milk buckets and the wire fence we had to step over, holding it down for each other. "Oh how I miss you, Grandpa. The memories make me cry. If only I had spent more time with you, in your older years. I will forever regret my seclusion from you, in the winter of your life. Now, it is too late, and I deserve the pain." We took the milk to the house, and he would put it into his separator. It would separate the cream from the skim milk. He would get a glass, and fill it half full of cream, and half full of skim milk. They call it "Half and Half" nowadays. The milk was still warm from the cows body heat. He would give it to me and smile with pleasure, as he watched me enjoy a "Taste of Heaven".

     When we are children, we do not realize just how precious those days are. We just live so innocently, taking life for granted; not realizing that one day when we are older, we will remember those times and long for them and the precious people that were with us then.

     Grandpa's father and mother were Jacob Hilliard and Sarah Taylor-Hilliard. Grandma's father and mother were James A. Williams and Letha Downing-Williams. Daddy was named after Grandma's father.

     I never met my other Grandparents. Their names were, Lewis Ward and Annie Kennedy-Ward. I had a great-grandfather named General George Washington-Ward. His wife was Julia Brown-Ward. My other great-grandfather, on my Mother's side, was David A. Kennedy. His wife was Luna Holding-Kennedy.

     Grandma Hilliard, Daddy, Helen and I, all went down to the river behind Grandma and Grandpa's house. Daddy and Grandma decided they were going to teach me to swim, whether I liked it or not! They took me out into water that was up to their chests and well over my head! They stood about 5 feet from each other, and wanted me to swim back and forth between them. I couldn't do what they wanted, I was too afraid of sinking, and I did! Of course, they pulled me back up. Daddy got extremely angry with me; it was an embarrassment to him, to have a tittie baby for a daughter. He didn't say that, but I'm not a fool, I know what he was thinking! Helen was standing on a big rock. She didn't know how to swim either. So, she sympathized with me. She was jumping up and down, screaming "James, let her come out!" I kept on choking and sputtering water from sinking, and Helen kept up her vigil on the rock. Grandma kept telling Daddy to calm down. Finally, frustrated and angry, he said to me, "If you leave the water today, don't you ever come back here!" I knew he was disappointed in me, but I left and was very satisfied with the agreement to never come back! I never did, around him, anyway. I realize now, that he was just doing it for my own good, because he knew that I would go down to the river by myself to look for rocks. I used to be a rock hound. I still do love pretty rocks. He was afraid I would slip on the big rocks in the river, which did get pretty slippery sometimes. So, he wasn't just mad about me disappointing him, he was mainly afraid of losing me to drowning. Around that time, a boy in grade school, that I knew, had drowned. It's hard to know someone when they're so full of life one day; then the next, they're dead. So, I do understand my Daddy's extreme anger. I hope he forgave me. I'll never know, because it was a subject we never approached. I realize now, that anytime my Daddy was strict with me; it was always something that was for my own good. He was a wonderful Daddy, and he never abused me in any way. I feel so sorry for children who are abused. I can not totally relate to their grief, because I never experienced that kind of sorrow. I do know that it must be an extreme emotional and psychological pain that probably never totally heals. There has never been an abusive adult in my life, for which I truly can be thankful.

     Helen was an ornery, bossy woman. However, I can not say that she was really abusive. She was a kleptomaniac, but I believe that is an illness that she could not control. Truly abusive parents, I can find no sympathy for. To beat or sexually molest a child is something my mind and heart can not fathom. I know that God can forgive anything, except blaspheming the Holy Spirit; but we mere mortals find forgiveness a little harder to practice, when it comes to something like abuse of a child. Helen was not abusive. She was hard around the edges; but deep down, she had a good heart. I know that she did love me in her own way. She used to always tell me how much she had to do without for me! What a guilt-laden thing to tell a child! It probably was true, but why did I have to hear that? I was just a child. I did not cause her to neglect herself! She chose to live with my Daddy! I did not arrange that! We are all responsible for our own choices. Even women, who are abused, have made the choice to stay. Whether it be duty of love or confinement by fear, they have made the choice to stay for whatever their reason. I can say this from experience. Been there, done that. However, I will not go into that story; because there is no reason to bring another person down, for something that I have come to grips with. I can live with the experience I had and draw knowledge for future relationships. I am basically a strong person, though; some people are not. So for them, I feel a deep compassion and wish I could help them, in some way, to have the strength to do whatever they need to do.

     Helen always wanted me to call her Mama, which is something I stopped doing when I was about 25 years old. I still think of her as Mama, and I would like to call her that. However, when I was 25, I came to the realization that Mama is a name that should be reserved for my real Mother. My Mother did not abandon me, like some mothers do. She and Daddy merely separated; Jimmy went with her, Daddy kept me. Also, she was poorer than we were. She could not have supported me. She lost Jimmy to her brother, Clyde; because she could not support him. She wanted him to have a better life, so she allowed Clyde to raise him as his own son. Then she struggled, the rest of her life, to support Rex. Even after he was grown, he and his family were living with her. I used to send Mom money for holidays, because I knew that was what she needed most; until I discovered that she would always give it to him! So, I started sending stamps and stationary that she could use to write to me, without having to spend money for them. Then, I discovered that they would use her stamps up! So, I finally sent envelopes that were already stamped and addressed to me. That worked! There's more than one way to skin a cat, or catch a thief! However you want to put it. Anyway, back to the subject of calling only her Mother. Something, deep in my heart, told me that I should honor only my Mother with her rightful title. After all, I would not have dreamed of calling any other man, Daddy. So, did my Mother not deserve the same respect and love? Helen will never understand that. She believes that since she had a part in raising me, that she deserves the title. However, I can not agree. To hurt her, is the last thing I want to do. However, sometimes in life, you have to make a stand for what you feel so deeply. And sometimes, someone else may get their feelings hurt; but you must hold onto your principles.

     The worst thing that Helen ever did to me physically wasn't really all that bad. I can say that now, anyway! She had done it other times; but this particular time, Daddy found out about it. I never was one to enjoy "ratting on someone", it made me feel low, so I avoided it. I had a girlfriend over to our house. We were sitting at the kitchen table, laughing and just having a good time together, like teen-agers do. Helen came into the room angry with me, obviously jealous that we were having a good time, and she was not. She started yelling at me about doing the dishes in front of my friend. It was embarrassing the crap out of me. She kept on, until I said something about doing them later. My tone of voice upset her. She used to back­hand me in the mouth for saying something, and I would ask, "What did I say?" She would always say, "It's not what you said, but the tone of voice you said it in!" I never liked that stupid retort, because I got the crap knocked out of me, when I didn't even get the pleasure of saying what I was really thinking! Now that I am grown, I do understand the meaning. Experience with people has taught me, that sometimes someone can say a lot more with their tone of voice, than what their words are saying! Therefore, she probably knew exactly what I was thinking! She came over to the table and slapped me very hard across my left check with her right hand. I was so furious, that I reached up with both of my hands and pulled out handfuls of my own long hair in front of her. I was looking her straight in the eyes, with my eyes saying, "And this is what I want to do to you, Bitch!" She backed off. Later, I was sitting on the couch in the living room. My friend had gone home long before, right after the kitchen "battle of wills". As I was sitting on the couch, Daddy came through the front door. He was home from work, hot and tired. We greeted each other, and as he passed by me, his eyes froze on the side of my face. He could plainly see a hand-print there. He said, "What happened to your face?" I said simply, "Oh, I said something wrong, and Mama slapped me." She was in the kitchen. He stormed into the kitchen and lit into her, saying, "If she does something wrong, she has an ass to whip! Don't you ever, and I mean never, hit her in the face again! Do you understand me, Helen?" That is the only time I remember her getting into trouble; and I must admit, I enjoyed it immensely! She was really angry with me for quite awhile, after her scolding. She never did slap or back-hand me in the face again, but she could give a pretty mean ass-whipping with a thong! But her mental abuse could hurt worse than a beating! What I refer to as mental abuse, would be more properly described as sentimental abuse! She would steal precious memories from me! Like My Mother's "Life Story", pictures that my Mother sent me, pictures I collected throughout the years, and all my school pictures! If you were not successful in hiding your prized possessions, she merely took them. You couldn't hide anything from her. She could sniff it out like a bloodhound! Before my Daddy died, he told me that he had 4 guns that he wanted to leave to me. He knew I would take care of them and never sell them. He wanted me to keep them for the rest of my life, in memory of him. Then have it in my Will, for them to go to either: the Johnny Cash Museum in Memphis, Tennessee; or the Will Rogers Museum in Claremore, Oklahoma. He knew that I did not particularly care for guns, but that I was sentimental and would hold fast to his wishes. He had a Living Will that stated I would get those 4 guns. His Will and wishes were never carried out! The Administrator of the Will went to the house, after Daddy died, to collect the things that were to be distributed; he was met by Helen, Bobby and Roy. They had guns drawn and told him to get his ass off the property and never return. So, he left and never went back! He was afraid for his life. He should have gone to the authorities, but didn't. I tried several times to get a copy of Daddy's Will from Helen, to no avail. I had asked Daddy for a copy before he died, but didn't get one then, either. I can not get anyone to tell me Ashley's last name. Ashley was the Administrator and Daddy's personal friend. Anyway, Daddy's Will and wishes were trashed. Two of the guns he intended me to have are rifles, one I don't remember the make, the last was a very special gun, indeed. It was a 45 Pistol that Daddy had bought in 1956, the year I was born. He always told me, that it was his favorite gun, because he had got it then. I want that gun, even if I never get anything else! There was something else that was very special, that he wanted me to have. It is a dog calling horn that Daddy made when I was a child. He carved it out of a bull's horn. He used to coon hunt with his hounds. He used the dog horn for calling his dogs back to him, when they were out hunting. When I was visiting Daddy, about a month before he died, he said I could have it and take it home with me. Like a fool, I left it there; I wanted him to be able to see and enjoy it longer. I didn't realize how little time he had left. So, I left it; and now Helen will not send it to me. She says the guns were stolen. I do not believe her and never will! I know her too well. I have nothing that he wanted me to have. However, I had his wonderful love; and just knowing that, is more than enough to console me.

     Many years later, I did change my way of thinking on calling my step mother Mama. I began calling her Mama Helen for years, until finally in her old age (long after my real mother's death) I started calling her Mama up until the day she died. I had finally realized it was all right to keep calling her Mama, because after all, she was my Mama for so many years. I was blessed. I had a Mama and a Mother. Two women I will always love deeply. She went to Heaven on July 20, 2017. (10 days after her 85th birthday).

     When my real mother died, I felt sorry for my older brother, Jimmie. He is such a sweet man. He had to bear the full financial weight of Mom’s burial on his own shoulders. Rex and I were both broke and unable to help him. This is something I have regretted for years.

     I lost Daddy on May 8, 1993. I had no home telephone at that time. I had called him from work, the day before he died. The brain cancer had progressed rapidly, since I had last seen him about a month before. He was so bad, he couldn't even talk. At the beginning of our conversation, I heard him very faintly and softly say, "I love you, too." The rest of the conversation was one-sided, only me speaking to him. After I hung up, I was so depressed; because I knew that my Daddy was a proud man, who always did everything for himself. He was a self-made man. He was a good-looking, hard-working, honest, old-fashioned cowboy. He was born 100 years too late, he used to always say. He was born in 1932, but felt that he should have been born in 1832. He worked on ranches and in the hayfields.  He was a mechanic, carpenter, electrician, and well driller. He was a "Jack-of-All-Trades". He was a wonderful Son, Brother, Uncle, Cousin, Friend, Husband and Father. He was a man of his word, ever loving and giving to others. However, he did have a temper that could flare to the high heavens, when pushed too far! He was a unique and funny man, and I am proud to have been his daughter! Anyway, after I hung up that day, I was in a blue mood. My heart was aching, because I knew he would hate being so helpless and unable to speak. I was walking up the hill, at break, to the lunch room for coffee; right after speaking to him. A girl friend of mine was walking along beside me, chattering away about something trivial. My heart and soul were in pain. Finally, she realized my silence, and she looked over at me. She saw the look on my face, and said, "What's wrong?" The dam of tears broke. I tried to tell her between sobs about Daddy's condition, and how I knew he had to hate being like that. Then I said something that I meant well, but that I will always regret having said. I said, "I wish the Lord would just go ahead and take him out of his misery!" I didn't want to let him go, but I didn't want him suffering either. The next day was Saturday, May 8, 1993. Darl was talking to Helen on his home telephone. He had called her to find out how Daddy was, so he could tell me later. Helen told him that Daddy was going downhill fast and probably didn't have much longer to live. Darl asked her to hold the phone up to Daddy's ear, and he told my Daddy that his daughter loved him very much and would really miss him; but that he would take care of her, and that she would be alright. I love Darl for that act of love, for easing the pain of my Daddy's departure, for Daddy and me. Darl hung up and was getting ready to come visit me. His phone rang, and Helen told him that Daddy was gone. Daddy died at 10:13 A.M. (Mississippi time). He was only 61 years old. Darl came to my house, and I was still in bed. He sat down on the bed beside me. He told me in such an easy, gentle way. He was good at that kind of thing. We were just talking about Daddy and how sick he was, and then Darl said, "He's in Heaven with Jesus now." I had a moment of denial, and I said in a harsh tone, "How do you know that?" He told me about the phone calls. I then believed and cried. He was there to hold me when I cried. He was always there for me during heartache and sorrow. Some people tried to put Darl down, like he was a nobody; because he did not have a conventional job. He dabbed into self-employment. His daughter called him an entrepreneur. Well, I can vouch that he was a very "Special Somebody"! Not only as a special friend in my life, but as a father that loved unconditionally, and a son that loved devotedly! He was crippled by over-sentimentality. He had a memory that angered others, because of their lack of it. He never forgot a friend. He was constantly in a state of fond reminiscences. Darl was not rich in money. However, he was extremely rich in the art of love. I rate a person's worth by the goodness, love and concern in his heart for others. He will never fall short on that scale. Anyone who did not like Darl is someone who did not know him very well! Of course he had his faults, an explosive temper for one. However, he was quick to apologize after he cooled down. He admitted his fault and was not proud of it. Normally, he let people get by with all manner of abuse to him, and then later it ate at him. He just could not understand how people could be so cruel. I told him to quit trying to understand that, because he never would. I told him that his mind and heart did not operate on their level, and that it would be impossible for him to come to an understanding of them. I don't think he ever grasped onto the concept that I was trying to convey to him. He lived life on two levels. The first was a level of despair and loneliness. He felt things much deeper than most people and could not shake loose of the pain. The other level was one of elated joy. He could enjoy the simplest of things; like a tiny flower down in the grass that most people would pass over without notice. He enjoyed the aroma and flavor of a good, hot cup of coffee, and savored it with appreciation. He immensely enjoyed a kind word from anyone, which were few and far between. Some people did not understand him; but I believe that people without understanding, are people to be pitied. If you really want to understand another soul, then take a walk in their shoes! Most people don't want to make the effort to learn understanding. I learned a lot from knowing this very special person. I wish life could have been kinder to him.

     Eight days after Daddy died from brain cancer, I received some more bitter news. The night before, I had sat down at the kitchen table to write my Mother a letter. I needed to inform her of Daddy's death. I had put it off for a week, to search my mind for the right words. She had told me, in letters that she still loved him and always would. I wanted to break the news to her gently, because she had heart trouble. That night, May 15, 1993; I wrote her a long letter. I felt I had done a fair and gentle job of telling her that Daddy was in Heaven now, and that he would be waiting there for us. I told her that he loved her too. I stamped and addressed the envelope, put the letter inside, sealed it, and laid it on the kitchen table. I was going to mail it the following Monday. This was a Saturday night. I walked into the bathroom, and stood looking into the mirror. A thought went through my mind, at that moment; that I realize now, was more than a thought. It was a warning from God, to prepare me for the events of the next day. I thought, "Wouldn't it be strange if, for some reason, Mom never received my letter; and she died not knowing about Daddy, and she would walk into Heaven, and be surprised to find him already there waiting for her?" Well, the following morning, May 16, 1993; I was upstairs resting in bed. I was still grieving over Daddy. Darl was there looking after me in my sorrow. The doorbell downstairs rang, and he went to answer it. It was a Police Officer that asked to speak with me. Darl explained that I was upstairs lying down. He asked the officer to give him the news, so he could tell me. The officer refused, saying that he had to give me the message personally. Darl knew it must be more bad news, and he begged the officer to let him tell me. He explained that I had just lost my Dad; and that if this was more bad news, he could break it to me easier. The officer still refused. So Darl came upstairs and brought me back down to the officer. Darl stood there looking nervous and concerned. Then, the officer bluntly said, "Lola Hilliard, your brother Rex West called from Kansas; your Mother is dead!" Darl blew up! He lit right in on the officer, saying, "You really blew that, man! You could have let me tell her in an easy way! I told you that she just lost her Dad, and now you tell her about her Mom in this sorry fashion!" Darl was extremely riled, and all I could think was, "He's going to get arrested for yelling at an officer!" I said, "It's O.K. Darl, I'm alright." The officer left with his tail between his legs, like a scolded puppy. Mom had died from a Massive Heart Attack at the age of 63. I couldn't believe she was gone too, now, so soon after Daddy! My mind was in a strange state, but oddly, I felt peaceful. This may seem like a strange thing for me to say; but I had lived my whole life wishing that my parents were still together, and that I had a normal life like most of the other children. Now, this day, at this moment; I knew that they were together again. I felt a peace in my heart that I had never known before. I remembered the thought from the night before, and I knew that God had prepared me for this. However, my sorrow lay in the fact, that I would now never have the opportunity to bring my Mother to live with me, like I had told her I wanted to do. I had wanted the chance to bond with and truly get to know her. The bonding that life's circumstances had denied us, now was never to be. Life has so many unexpected twists and turns, that one can never be totally secure. How strange to be an orphan at the age of 36! My life has been full of sorrow and regrets, but also blessed with some beautiful memories. After all, Memories are our Roses in December that God has given us to help us go on. That is what life is all about, isn't it? Going on, surviving? Well, I can tell you this, sometimes survival sucks!

     I have a tattoo on my right hand, in memory of all the loves I have lost. A small, red, broken heart with a rose growing out of the break. This signifies that out of our sorrows, beauty can grow. The tears we shed in grief are the nourishing water that causes the beauty to blossom. Never regret your sorrows or grief, for God uses them to form us into a more compassionate and loving individual.

     My sorrows did not end there. My special friend of 23 years, Darl Willis Burks, died on August 6, 2001, at the age of 58. He drove himself over to the Lebanon Community Hospital Emergency Room. He went to be checked out for returning symptoms of Congestive Heart Failure, which he had been hospitalized for on January 6, 2001. His special buddies at Sweet Home Motors, Bob and Richard Ikola, played a vital role in the saving of his life on that day! Darl had always liked calendar pictures, of beautiful scenery or old cars. Bob had promised him back in 2000, that he would save the calendar of old cars for him. That was what brought Darl to visit them on January 6, 2001. He got there and visited with Bob for a bit and asked him about the calendar. Bob had forgotten and thrown the calendar away. It's a good thing, because Darl might have taken it and gone on home and died that day. His condition was very weak, he didn't know how close to death he was at that point. Anyway, he stayed a while and visited longer with Bob. Bob noticed the pallor of his skin, and kept asking him if he felt O.K. Darl didn't like talking about his heart and tried to downplay it. Bob started trying to get him to go to the hospital E.R. Darl didn't want to. Finally, Bob called to his brother, Richard, who was in another room. Richard came in, and Bob had him look at Darl. Then, they both started trying to get Darl to go to the E.R. Darl was reluctant. Then, Richard thought of the S.H. Fire Department. He told Darl he would take him there to have his blood pressure and heart rate checked. Darl agreed to that. The Fire Department checked him and said they would take him immediately to the E.R. in the ambulance. Darl didn't want to do that, he wanted to ride over with Richard; but the paramedics told Richard that would be too risky. They said Darl's condition was too fragile at that point, they insisted on taking him in the ambulance. On the way to the hospital, the paramedic told Darl that if his respiration would have been just a fraction lower, he would not have had much of a chance, and that if he had of waited any longer, he would have surely died. Bob, Richard and that calendar saved his life that day! They gave him exactly 7 months more to live. A lot of special memories were made during those 7 months. Darl’s last birthday on March 20, 2001; my last birthday with him on June 17^th, his Grandson's 1st birthday on July 7^th. Then on August 6, 2001, he drove himself over to the E.R. He refused to let me take off work and go with him. He said I was with him the whole time in January, and that I wasn't feeling well either. He said he would just go over and be checked out and get their opinion on how his condition was. He had been better since January, but in the last week had gotten worse. His Doctor insisted he was doing fine, and that there was no water building up in his lungs again. However, he was taking two prescription water pills along with the heart and blood pressure pills, and he was now unable to urinate! Something had to be wrong. He didn't want to trouble anyone. He drove himself over there for help, and the ignorant, incompetent person at the reception desk in the E.R. didn't know who he was or his condition. He had his medical card with him, a paper bag full of his medications, a file in the hospital from the January hospitalization, and they have a computer that she could have punched his name into and immediately known his fragile condition! Oh, no! Let's not be competent, let's be ignorant and assume that this man either has a urine infection or that he is someone on drugs! Let's stick him in a room and have him wait for 25 minutes until a doctor has time for him! Let's not even send a nurse in to check on him, he just has a urine infection or on drugs! After all, we are an E.R., we know what we're doing! Do I sound bitter? Well, I realize now, that I am a lot more bitter than I thought! I thought I had gotten past all that bullshit, but I haven't! Incompetence makes me madder than hell! Especially, when it comes from the medical profession! When the Doctor finally showed up, Darl was down on the floor with a blanket. He was looking up at the Doctor, dazed. The Doctor helped him back up onto the examining table and noticed that Darl was clammy and cold. Oh No, Nurse! We have an emergency here! Let's do what we can to help him! They worked on him for about an hour, touch and go, using all their fine equipment to do the best they could to save him. Damn it! Their opportunity for that had already past about 25 minutes ago! But let's pat them on the back now! They did their best! What a recommendation, if that was their best! I'm not over that, I never will have an ounce of trust in that place again! I asked the Nurse if he was in a lot of pain. She said he had been, but they gave him Morphine for that, and that it helped. I asked her what his last words were. She said that after she gave him a shot of Morphine, she asked him, "Are you alright?" He said, "I'm alright now." Then, in a little while, his heart just stopped, at 2:23 P.M. They worked on him for 30 more minutes. He was gone. They called me at work to get his daughter's phone number. They let on to me that he was still alive, but wouldn't give me any more information, because "I wasn't family!" Finally, they said, "He probably won't make it!" I didn't know it then, but he had already been gone for about 30 minutes! I called Bob Ikola, he had his wife, Lona, come and take me to the hospital. When we got there, the Nurse met me at the door. I told her I was Darl Burks' friend, and I was there to see him. She said, "I'm sorry, he didn't make it!" What a cruel slap in the face it seemed like. I went into denial. I said, "No! That's not true! Where is he?" She took me on a wild goose chase. She didn't even know for sure what room he was in! Finally, she found it. I can not describe the feeling I felt as I walked into that cold room and saw my beloved friend, I had spent half my life with, lying on a cold table with a thin sheet over him, dead. I had only just waved to him and blown a kiss that very morning. I had just seen his face smiling so sweetly, not knowing it was our final "Fare Thee Well". "I know you are happy at last, now, my friend; you are with our God and Savior, Jesus Christ."

     We were never promised that life would be fair, were we? However, we do have the promise of seeing our loved ones in Heaven someday. That is, if we have accepted our Savior, Jesus Christ. I have. So far, all of the loved ones I have lost have been people who gave their hearts to Christ, also. Therefore, I have a good deal to be thankful for. In that respect, I can not complain. God is Good, God is Great, let us thank Him! If it were not for the Promises from God concerning Eternal Life, I would have cashed in my chips a long time ago. If there were nothing after this life, I wouldn't be able to live through the losses of my loved ones. I could not go on, knowing I would never see them again. I love too deeply and too strongly, to totally let go of someone I love. I have to believe, otherwise I die.

     For a period of time after Darl's death, I had a secret desire to be dead also. It just seemed it would be so much easier and less painful. I was with him for so many years of my life, and then in one day, he was gone; and I am left to go on alone! Alone again, naturally! However, his beautiful daughter, Laura, has been my friend for all of those years too. She and her husband, Thomas, have been there for me throughout it all. They understand, because they are in grief also. They are true friends and always will be. I am so thankful to God for having them in my life. There are not adequate words to express my love for them! I will enjoy watching Darl's "Little Buddy" grandson, Garrett grow into a man. He is like his Grandpa, musically inclined! It just grieves me that Darl never even got to know about or see his little Granddaughter, Jilaina. May God be with their family always. They have made me a part of their family. I am thankful for true friends, which are few and far between. Daddy always said that you could live your whole life, and then at the end of your life; you could count your true and faithful friends on the fingers of one hand, with a few fingers to spare! What a profound statement!

     On August 25, 2001; God breathed life into two special little animals. Two baby Chihuahuas. A black and tan male, and a red and white female. I was incredibly lonely and had been searching for a little dog for a pet. God led me to them three weeks after they were born. I picked out one, because that was all I thought I could afford. The little black and tan male, my "Lone Coyote". I wanted another one for a buddy for him, but couldn't see how I could afford it. He cost $200.00. I went to work the next day telling my friends about him. I wouldn't be able to bring him home for 3 more weeks. They had to stay with their mother until 6 weeks old. My friend Cay encouraged me to ask the woman breeder to let me make payments on another one. So, I asked, and she agreed! $250.00 in five payments. So, I went back that very day, and picked out my "Little Red Dog". They have brought so much happiness and frustration into my life. They are sweet little monsters! They're like two overgrown rats, constantly chewing something up! But they are full of love for me, and that is what matters most. Someone said to me, the other day, that The Bible says that dogs are unclean! I said that the Bible also says that people are unclean, but that does not mean you are to withhold love from them! I loved my Lone Coyote and my Little Red Dog with all my heart. They helped me through some of the toughest times in my life, and I will forever be grateful to God for the time I was blessed to spend with each of them. I lost my little Lone Coyote on March 29, 2006. I lost my Little Red Dog on May 31, 2009. Two of the worst days in my life. Grief is the loneliest number I have ever known.

     In February of 2002, my loneliness for a partner finally came to a peak. I ran a personal ad on the internet for a Christian man-friend, to share my lonely life with. I asked for someone who enjoyed animals & quiet times. I received one reply! His name was Rob. He lived in London, England. He was about 3 years older than me. He had been a Monk in India, and also had an apartment in Brazil. He was a Vegetarian & loved God with all his heart. We seemed to have so much in common, concerning our personal needs. We fell in love & planned to be married. He came to me on April 12, 2002. I was so happy! Then I learned that he had an allergy to dogs, which he had not informed me of. I was shocked & totally confused on what to do. He said there was no problem. Then 4 days later, on April 16, I came home from work, so happy. I had gone to Darl's house & brought a bicycle home, which I had bought for him. I was so happy, because I had two bikes that Rob & I could go for country rides on. He had been cooped up in the house every since he got here, except for the day that we went to Lebanon to buy a juicer. He had made wonderful Vegetarian meals for me every day & fresh juice. He always had it ready for me when I got home from work. He would have made me a slimmer, healthier, happier woman! He was a good cook & a wonderful man. Every day, he had been working on the house, cleaning & rearranging. The weather had been rainy, and I didn't realize he was getting depressed; until I came home on that day with the bike & a microwave that I had bought for Darl also. I came home so happy & with so many plans for the future. I even planned to take him for a country ride that day, and maybe even have a romantic frolic in the grass somewhere. I brought the stuff into the house. I didn't see him, but that was not unusual, because sometimes he would be in another room. I got it all inside & then started calling for him. No answer. I started going from room to room. He was nowhere to be found. It still did not sink in what had actually happened. I went outside and looked around, thinking maybe he was out there. As I came back into the house, through the front door, my eyes glanced down & saw his keys lying on the threshold. I thought he must have gone for a walk & dropped his keys as he was leaving. I thought he must be locked out. My mind was beginning to realize that something was dreadfully wrong. I went back in, re-searching every room. Then, I thought to look in the closet. His clothes & everything was gone! It looked as if he had never even been here, like it was all a dream. I went from room to room, crying & calling his name. I kept saying over & over, "You left me, without even a goodbye note!" As I relive these memories, my heart breaks all over again. I sit here crying as I type. These memories, of my life, that I am reliving, have brought me renewed joy & sorrow. An Autobiography is very stressing to the emotions! Finally, I made it back to the living room in all my deep despair. There I found his "Dear Jane Note" on the coffee table. It told me that he loved me, but could not adjust to the small town & all the rain, & that he was sorry. I looked over to where I had his pictures in a frame. The frame was laying face-down on the stand. I went over & picked it up, longing to see him again. The frame was empty! Just like my home & my heart! I cried out to the unhearing walls, "You even took my pictures of you!" Bawling like a baby, I went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator & got out a bottle of M.D. 20-20 "Mad Dog" wine. I got a goblet & began to drink. At some point, I called my friend Debbe. I got her answering machine and I could barely talk for the trembling in my voice. I told her I needed her, but she was gone. I started downing the wine. Alone again… naturally. I was going to get in the car & go who knows where. Then the phone rang. I didn't answer it. I let the machine take a message. It was Debbe and her voice sounded very worried and concerned. I had not told her what had happened. I just sat there drinking. At this point, I didn't want to talk anymore. Then a little while later, the phone rang again. I answered this time. After hearing her distressed voice, I told her what had happened, and that I was having some wine. She was extremely worried about me. I told her I would be alright. She told me not to go anywhere, not drinking. We hang up. Then a little while later, she showed up on my doorstep! What are true friends for? She was there for me, and I love her even more for that! She took me to A & W and forced me to eat something, even though I had no appetite. Debbe was there for me when the rest of the world was not.

     I contacted Rob by e-mail, and asked him why he had not talked about this with me. I asked him why he did not give me a chance to make things right. I begged him to come back to me. All he would say, was he was very sorry & he had wanted it to work out, but he could not stand the town or the rain. Later, I found out from him, that it was actually my dogs that he could not stand. I still begged him, like an idiot, to return, to no avail. Finally, I told him that someday he would realize that I was what he had been looking for all of his life, and that he had thrown it all away! I told him that if he did not return soon, it would someday be too late. He still did not want me.

     Four days after he left, I ran an updated personal ad on the internet. This time, I asked for a man who believed in the Holy Trinity: The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit, a man who liked small towns, small dogs and quiet times. I was blown away and overwhelmed, when I received about a dozen replies in one day! Out of all these replies, I found a Romanian named Nicolae Andrei. He was a con artist who made me believe he was in love with me. He ended up taking me for about $4,000. I reported him to the Internet Fraud Center. I will never see that money again; but possibly they will prevent him from scamming some other innocent, gullible, lonely woman.

     There are many simple things in life that I long to experience before I die. Like dancing in the moonlight, singing in the rain, walking hand in hand with my soul-mate, sharing a child with a proud Daddy, sharing the Eternal Love of Jesus Christ with lost souls, understanding & comforting souls that are deep in despair over grief & loss, and living each day as if it were the last day of my life!

     If I lose in love again, it will not be the first time I have known sorrow. We have to take the risk of the possibility of sorrow in order to discover the promise of true happiness. That is a risk I am willing to take. Wherever my life goes from here, I shall see. Whatever will be, will be. The future is not ours to see.

     One year later, in June or July of 2003, I met the love of my life, my soulmate, in a Yahoo Music chat room called Kick Ass Country. The Texas Snake Handler, Gaylon King. We both just happened to pop into the chat room at the same time and no one else was there but the two of us. He said “Howdy” and I said “Hello”. We played country music for each other all night long, and many nights after that. It was the beginning to a lifelong relationship, filled with a few road bumps, but much love. He told me later that in that chat room, that very first night, that I had him from “Hello”. He has played that song for me on anniversaries since. You Had Me From Hello.

8-12-2003 was the day we met in person, the day my prayers were answered and my dreams came true. He flew by airplane out to Oregon from San Antonio, Texas where he lived. He flew to me, to take me and my pups, Lone Coyote and Little Red Dog back to Texas by U-Haul. Along the way, we stopped in a small town in Wolf Creek, Oregon. It was a beautiful little country town. Gaylon had said he would love to live there. It was quite a trip with a near accident due to rubberneckers on the highway. We arrived in San Antonio on August 15, 2003. We were married on February 5, 2004.

     I also have a small tattoo on my left hand, that I got back in 2002 when I got the memorial rose tattoo on my right hand. The tattoo on my left hand is a rose also, a small rosebud. It was put there in honor of the man that would ever love me enough to marry me. It signified a new love, a real and lasting love in it's early stage. At the time, I had no idea of who or if that would ever be. Well, on February 5, 2004, when Gaylon married me; that tattoo became dedicated of him!

     We have had several wonderful, little, furry friends over the years which I must mention. The ones who have gone on to Heaven: Lone Coyote, Little Red Dog, Smokey, Pee Wee, Missy, Minnie, and Farfel... Buster, Skippy, Dottsy, Trevor and Trixie were given to good families and hopefully they are all still living. Each and every one of them have had their own unique little personalities. The ones who are gone from our lives are sorely missed and will never be forgotten. Each missing one left an empty spot in our life, but will forever remain in our hearts. At present, we have 1 precious little dog left: Trinket. None were merely dogs; they are all "Little People in Puppy Suits"!

     Gaylon has given me true and unconditional love and the very best years of my life. I thank God for him daily. I have a very loving husband and a fantastic father-in-law (who is more a Daddy, than an in-law to me). Gaylon's Daddy, Jerry King, is the ony man that I have ever called Daddy, other than my own precious Daddy!!! Gaylon has three children: Amanda, Justin and James. I am blessed to have a step-son that has the name James!!! The very name I would have named my own son (after my Daddy), if I had of been blessed to have children of my own. And we still have our 1 little precious Chihuahua, Trinket!!! We are a small happy family. Something I always dreamed of, but never thought would be reality. However, there is a sad , empty spot in our family. We lost Gaylon's sweet, little Mama on April 18, 2014. We love and miss her daily, and the holidays are not the same without her. However, we know that she is now happy in the presence of Jesus.

     I am finally living "Happily Ever After"… God was not kidding when He said, “Have faith, My child, and forget the mirage. Be still, and know that I AM GOD!!!”

Epilogue:

     The original draft of this autobiography was written in 2002. It has been revised and updated over the years. The final draft to date was completed in November of 2024. It was initially written for the author's own pleasure, recollection and preserving of memories. It became a refuge, a place where the author could re-visit and step back in time and re-live all of the bitter-sweet memories. Now, it has also become something that the author could share with family, friends and the world. The author was well aware that most would have no interest, wouldn't care or simply do not like to read. However, for those very few that take the time to walk through this jumbled collection of memories from a life fully lived; the author says, "Thank you for caring enough to show an interest. It means much more, to me, than words can ever express."

With Love Forever & Always.

Lola Maria Hilliard-King