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re: Bill

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1978, Wow. I see this playing in my head as a black and white movie. I even see your wedding dress. I made my first wedding dress too. Well, actually I think I made most of mine, opps, never mind how many! Too many, I should have learned that lesson a lot sooner, but hey! This Bill guy, he's got heart break written all over him, no? I read the part about the baby, same guy right? and what you wrote about to some one else about your first husband being a narcissist, this is the narcissist, right? Had a few of those too! I like the way you write it, just the facts, no excuses, like a script, like a black film, this is what happens boom....no b.s.. good job my friend, good job.

It feels like a film that is playing in my mind as I write. Same guy. A very manipulative man. I want to say mistake but I just talked to that baby, Kari at 28, and she is the best thing. A real big deal! Aubergine9-please check your messages for a note from me.

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re: Bill

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I spend most of my off duty hours with the Naval Air Station Memphis rodeo team as the medic. I carry an old skate case full of medical supplies for everything from cuts and scratches, strains and sprains, to broken fingers and dislocated shoulders.


I’m not just the medic. I help bring up the bulls before buck-outs and turn them out after. I ride with the cowboys, who aren’t all active duty. We have several dependent kids of military and retired military. We have buck-outs nearly every week and at least one rodeo on the base each year. We travel in groups to rodeos around this area. I fit in here. Dirty jeans. Dusty boots.


This weekend I hitched a ride with a couple of the cowboys who lived in Miami, Oklahoma, which is just across the state line from Ft. Scott, KS where Dad live's. When Dad picks me up he tells me Mary’s in the hospital after gallbladder surgery. I really didn’t care. After supper, which I did not fix! We drink a few beers, talk, laugh and he invites me to sleep with him. He promises me a "good time." I sleep on the couch and go home sad.


I’ve just got in and it’s two A. M. Someone’s knocking on my door. A guy I just met at a bar tonight has followed me home. I’d been out with the rodeo team and one of the cowboys had introduced me to him. Bill. He’s with one of the unruly cowboys who believes, in all states of sobriety and drunkenness, that he is the next big PRCA champion bull rider. I tell them to leave.


Bill seems to always be wherever I am. Usually the base stables. The next thing I know he’s living in my apartment. Driving my car. "How did this happen?" Before long we’re spending all our time at a bar called The Brig. That’s where we met. He’s fifteen years older than me but I don’t care. I’m with someone.


I start talking about getting married. I want to have a baby and will not get pregnant without being married. Bill’s agreeable but not divorced. And, he has five kids. But, "I make good babies," he says. He got divorced.


At our wedding on June 3, 1978, in San Diego, I’m wearing a Victorian style gown with a high, lace collar, I made on my treadle sewing machine. I’m much too hot but it doesn’t matter. I’m getting married. My old roommate, Carole, is here, my Uncle Don, too. We’re at Mom’s with Grandma Lucus’s Presbyterian pastor. My bouquet is three large gardenias-Bill’s favorite. Uncle Don takes Bill, Carole and me out for dinner to a fancy restaurant on the ocean. As Bill and I stand arm in arm and look out over the great Pacific, I cry. I’m so happy.


A month later I’m at Dad’s bedside. He’s had a quadruple coronary artery bypass and looks awful. He’s whiter than white. They shaved off his full, scraggly beard and he doesn’t look like my dad. As he struggles with the ventilator I reach out to calm him down. It works. I straighten his sheet and explain the equipment to Bobbi. He’s now my patient.


© BertaD

1978, Wow. I see this playing in my head as a black and white movie. I even see your wedding dress. I made my first wedding dress too. Well, actually I think I made most of mine, opps, never mind how many! Too many, I should have learned that lesson a lot sooner, but hey! This Bill guy, he's got heart break written all over him, no? I read the part about the baby, same guy right? and what you wrote about to some one else about your first husband being a narcissist, this is the narcissist, right? Had a few of those too! I like the way you write it, just the facts, no excuses, like a script, like a black film, this is what happens boom....no b.s.. good job my friend, good job.

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Bill

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Message 3 of 4

I spend most of my off duty hours with the Naval Air Station Memphis rodeo team as the medic. I carry an old skate case full of medical supplies for everything from cuts and scratches, strains and sprains, to broken fingers and dislocated shoulders.


I’m not just the medic. I help bring up the bulls before buck-outs and turn them out after. I ride with the cowboys, who aren’t all active duty. We have several dependent kids of military and retired military. We have buck-outs nearly every week and at least one rodeo on the base each year. We travel in groups to rodeos around this area. I fit in here. Dirty jeans. Dusty boots.


This weekend I hitched a ride with a couple of the cowboys who lived in Miami, Oklahoma, which is just across the state line from Ft. Scott, KS where Dad live's. When Dad picks me up he tells me Mary’s in the hospital after gallbladder surgery. I really didn’t care. After supper, which I did not fix! We drink a few beers, talk, laugh and he invites me to sleep with him. He promises me a "good time." I sleep on the couch and go home sad.


I’ve just got in and it’s two A. M. Someone’s knocking on my door. A guy I just met at a bar tonight has followed me home. I’d been out with the rodeo team and one of the cowboys had introduced me to him. Bill. He’s with one of the unruly cowboys who believes, in all states of sobriety and drunkenness, that he is the next big PRCA champion bull rider. I tell them to leave.


Bill seems to always be wherever I am. Usually the base stables. The next thing I know he’s living in my apartment. Driving my car. "How did this happen?" Before long we’re spending all our time at a bar called The Brig. That’s where we met. He’s fifteen years older than me but I don’t care. I’m with someone.


I start talking about getting married. I want to have a baby and will not get pregnant without being married. Bill’s agreeable but not divorced. And, he has five kids. But, "I make good babies," he says. He got divorced.


At our wedding on June 3, 1978, in San Diego, I’m wearing a Victorian style gown with a high, lace collar, I made on my treadle sewing machine. I’m much too hot but it doesn’t matter. I’m getting married. My old roommate, Carole, is here, my Uncle Don, too. We’re at Mom’s with Grandma Lucus’s Presbyterian pastor. My bouquet is three large gardenias-Bill’s favorite. Uncle Don takes Bill, Carole and me out for dinner to a fancy restaurant on the ocean. As Bill and I stand arm in arm and look out over the great Pacific, I cry. I’m so happy.


A month later I’m at Dad’s bedside. He’s had a quadruple coronary artery bypass and looks awful. He’s whiter than white. They shaved off his full, scraggly beard and he doesn’t look like my dad. As he struggles with the ventilator I reach out to calm him down. It works. I straighten his sheet and explain the equipment to Bobbi. He’s now my patient.


© BertaD

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Bill

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Message 3 of 4

I spend most of my off duty hours with the Naval Air Station Memphis rodeo team as the medic. I carry an old skate case full of medical supplies for everything from cuts and scratches, strains and sprains, to broken fingers and dislocated shoulders.


I’m not just the medic. I help bring up the bulls before buck-outs and turn them out after. I ride with the cowboys, who aren’t all active duty. We have several dependent kids of military and retired military. We have buck-outs nearly every week and at least one rodeo on the base each year. We travel in groups to rodeos around this area. I fit in here. Dirty jeans. Dusty boots.


This weekend I hitched a ride with a couple of the cowboys who lived in Miami, Oklahoma, which is just across the state line from Ft. Scott, KS where Dad live's. When Dad picks me up he tells me Mary’s in the hospital after gallbladder surgery. I really didn’t care. After supper, which I did not fix! We drink a few beers, talk, laugh and he invites me to sleep with him. He promises me a "good time." I sleep on the couch and go home sad.


I’ve just got in and it’s two A. M. Someone’s knocking on my door. A guy I just met at a bar tonight has followed me home. I’d been out with the rodeo team and one of the cowboys had introduced me to him. Bill. He’s with one of the unruly cowboys who believes, in all states of sobriety and drunkenness, that he is the next big PRCA champion bull rider. I tell them to leave.


Bill seems to always be wherever I am. Usually the base stables. The next thing I know he’s living in my apartment. Driving my car. "How did this happen?" Before long we’re spending all our time at a bar called The Brig. That’s where we met. He’s fifteen years older than me but I don’t care. I’m with someone.


I start talking about getting married. I want to have a baby and will not get pregnant without being married. Bill’s agreeable but not divorced. And, he has five kids. But, "I make good babies," he says. He got divorced.


At our wedding on June 3, 1978, in San Diego, I’m wearing a Victorian style gown with a high, lace collar, I made on my treadle sewing machine. I’m much too hot but it doesn’t matter. I’m getting married. My old roommate, Carole, is here, my Uncle Don, too. We’re at Mom’s with Grandma Lucus’s Presbyterian pastor. My bouquet is three large gardenias-Bill’s favorite. Uncle Don takes Bill, Carole and me out for dinner to a fancy restaurant on the ocean. As Bill and I stand arm in arm and look out over the great Pacific, I cry. I’m so happy.


A month later I’m at Dad’s bedside. He’s had a quadruple coronary artery bypass and looks awful. He’s whiter than white. They shaved off his full, scraggly beard and he doesn’t look like my dad. As he struggles with the ventilator I reach out to calm him down. It works. I straighten his sheet and explain the equipment to Bobbi. He’s now my patient.


© BertaD

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