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re: Mary's Dead Grandmother

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In Response to Mary's Dead Grandmother:

 


 


Well, Dad and Mary have finally found jobs and moved the seven of them into a two bedroom apartment. The kids have nearly cost me my sanity. Dad and Bill have become bosom buddies. I had never realized how alike they are. They drink constantly and accomplish very little.


Once again Mary's dead grandmother tells her we need to move to be safe from the world. She (grandma) says Mary has family in Louisiana that live like the Amish and they will "take us in." Dad and Mary quickly convince Bill that we should move with them. Kari is seven months old. Haven’t we done this before?


Over the next two weeks we sell almost all our possessions. More of my life is gone. We pack and head for Louisiana with very little money and three vehicles: a 1956 Corvair, an old station wagon and a 1978 Chevy pick-up truck. We drive a day and camp a night. Drive a day. Camp a night or two. Our caravan is quite a site. State parks are our home. We are back in the great outdoors. Tents are roofs over our heads. We carry water from the pumps. We cook over open fires.


We are finally here. Spearsville, LA and we’re living in another state park. Two more weeks of camping go by. Dad rigs up a shower by connecting a garden hose to a pump and hanging the hose on a tree. We wait until the sun goes down and wear our swimming suits. Then we only get under the very cold water long enough to get wet and then to rinse off.


We find some of Mary's family and Surprise! They’re not "like the Amish" and they won’t "take us in." They are farmers and contractors and very worldly. All but Aunt Mildred who instantly accepts us as family. She lives in the house her husband, Louie, built for them before they married. She makes a pallet of fine, hand quilted, quilts on the porch for Kari every time we visit. She plays "Peep-pie" with her. She is a simple country woman who loves her simple life.


Mary and Dad find an old farm house and rent it for all of us. It doesn't even have running water. Bill is hired at the first factory he fills out an application. I start LPN school in Eldorado, Arkansas. My GI Bill benefits pay for my tuition and books. I challenge most of the courses and pass easily. I enjoy being a student. My class is small, just eight of us.


Bill's pay and Navy retirement benefits, my GI Bill benefits for school, and Mary's food stamps are all we have to live on. Mary runs the house and controls our money.


We have a small garden and can tomatoes, okra, peas and green beans. We make pickles and freeze corn on the cob. We don’t hunt or fish anymore. A simple bologna sandwich with potato chips is a treat.


It’s three A. M. when I wake up. I know Bill has had a wreck. I get up and go looking for him. I drive by the site several times but there are no signs of an accident. I give up and go home. Right after I get home, Bill is brought home by a man he works with. They had been out drinking since they got off work at four P. M. With a drunken grin on his face, Bill tells me he hit a brand new Cadillac and a concrete bridge. His Corvair went airborne and landed in the trees. Both cars were totaled. This man had seen the accident and carried Bill back to the bar and bought him a beer.


Bill's left cheek has one inch split from hitting his face during the wreck. He had refused medical treatment at the scene so Mary and I lay him down and sew it up at home while he is still drunk. He laughs. I stay up to keep him awake and drive him to work at eight A. M. He refused to get insurance on the car and he leaves it with the towing company.


It’s a stormy night. The wind is blowing the rain sideways and it’s beating this old house to death, when a loud "BOOM" shakes the house, wakes everyone up. There is a cloud in the air. A huge, hollow, old Elm tree is laying in the back half of the house. It’s in the kitchen, utility room and bathroom. Thankfully all our bedrooms are in the front half of the house. I keep asking, "Shouldn't we get the electricity turned off?" Nobody thinks so. We all go back to bed.


Time to find a new home. Dad, Mary and the kids move into a fairly nice brick house in Junction City. (Where did they get the money? Oh, I know. Mary controls the money.) Bill, Kari and I move into a small, clapboard house in Taylor Town.


©BertaD

Berta,  How could you come out of this being who you are today with a Dad ~ such as he was, Mary and Mary's dead Grandmother having such a hold on your life.  You are amazing.  Your friend with hugs....RaeDi

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re: Mary's Dead Grandmother

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Message 2 of 5
In Response to Mary's Dead Grandmother:

 


 


Well, Dad and Mary have finally found jobs and moved the seven of them into a two bedroom apartment. The kids have nearly cost me my sanity. Dad and Bill have become bosom buddies. I had never realized how alike they are. They drink constantly and accomplish very little.


Once again Mary's dead grandmother tells her we need to move to be safe from the world. She (grandma) says Mary has family in Louisiana that live like the Amish and they will "take us in." Dad and Mary quickly convince Bill that we should move with them. Kari is seven months old. Haven’t we done this before?


Over the next two weeks we sell almost all our possessions. More of my life is gone. We pack and head for Louisiana with very little money and three vehicles: a 1956 Corvair, an old station wagon and a 1978 Chevy pick-up truck. We drive a day and camp a night. Drive a day. Camp a night or two. Our caravan is quite a site. State parks are our home. We are back in the great outdoors. Tents are roofs over our heads. We carry water from the pumps. We cook over open fires.


We are finally here. Spearsville, LA and we’re living in another state park. Two more weeks of camping go by. Dad rigs up a shower by connecting a garden hose to a pump and hanging the hose on a tree. We wait until the sun goes down and wear our swimming suits. Then we only get under the very cold water long enough to get wet and then to rinse off.


We find some of Mary's family and Surprise! They’re not "like the Amish" and they won’t "take us in." They are farmers and contractors and very worldly. All but Aunt Mildred who instantly accepts us as family. She lives in the house her husband, Louie, built for them before they married. She makes a pallet of fine, hand quilted, quilts on the porch for Kari every time we visit. She plays "Peep-pie" with her. She is a simple country woman who loves her simple life.


Mary and Dad find an old farm house and rent it for all of us. It doesn't even have running water. Bill is hired at the first factory he fills out an application. I start LPN school in Eldorado, Arkansas. My GI Bill benefits pay for my tuition and books. I challenge most of the courses and pass easily. I enjoy being a student. My class is small, just eight of us.


Bill's pay and Navy retirement benefits, my GI Bill benefits for school, and Mary's food stamps are all we have to live on. Mary runs the house and controls our money.


We have a small garden and can tomatoes, okra, peas and green beans. We make pickles and freeze corn on the cob. We don’t hunt or fish anymore. A simple bologna sandwich with potato chips is a treat.


It’s three A. M. when I wake up. I know Bill has had a wreck. I get up and go looking for him. I drive by the site several times but there are no signs of an accident. I give up and go home. Right after I get home, Bill is brought home by a man he works with. They had been out drinking since they got off work at four P. M. With a drunken grin on his face, Bill tells me he hit a brand new Cadillac and a concrete bridge. His Corvair went airborne and landed in the trees. Both cars were totaled. This man had seen the accident and carried Bill back to the bar and bought him a beer.


Bill's left cheek has one inch split from hitting his face during the wreck. He had refused medical treatment at the scene so Mary and I lay him down and sew it up at home while he is still drunk. He laughs. I stay up to keep him awake and drive him to work at eight A. M. He refused to get insurance on the car and he leaves it with the towing company.


It’s a stormy night. The wind is blowing the rain sideways and it’s beating this old house to death, when a loud "BOOM" shakes the house, wakes everyone up. There is a cloud in the air. A huge, hollow, old Elm tree is laying in the back half of the house. It’s in the kitchen, utility room and bathroom. Thankfully all our bedrooms are in the front half of the house. I keep asking, "Shouldn't we get the electricity turned off?" Nobody thinks so. We all go back to bed.


Time to find a new home. Dad, Mary and the kids move into a fairly nice brick house in Junction City. (Where did they get the money? Oh, I know. Mary controls the money.) Bill, Kari and I move into a small, clapboard house in Taylor Town.


©BertaD

Berta, you have gotten me again.  Your style of writing this in such a "matter of fact" way...no emotional upsets, no hysteria,  just barely visible anger and resentment...I am so hooked into your story.  Please, keep it coming.


Bountiful Blessings,


Charlotte

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re: Mary's Dead Grandmother

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Message 3 of 5
In Response to Mary's Dead Grandmother:

 


 


Well, Dad and Mary have finally found jobs and moved the seven of them into a two bedroom apartment. The kids have nearly cost me my sanity. Dad and Bill have become bosom buddies. I had never realized how alike they are. They drink constantly and accomplish very little.


Once again Mary's dead grandmother tells her we need to move to be safe from the world. She (grandma) says Mary has family in Louisiana that live like the Amish and they will "take us in." Dad and Mary quickly convince Bill that we should move with them. Kari is seven months old. Haven’t we done this before?


Over the next two weeks we sell almost all our possessions. More of my life is gone. We pack and head for Louisiana with very little money and three vehicles: a 1956 Corvair, an old station wagon and a 1978 Chevy pick-up truck. We drive a day and camp a night. Drive a day. Camp a night or two. Our caravan is quite a site. State parks are our home. We are back in the great outdoors. Tents are roofs over our heads. We carry water from the pumps. We cook over open fires.


We are finally here. Spearsville, LA and we’re living in another state park. Two more weeks of camping go by. Dad rigs up a shower by connecting a garden hose to a pump and hanging the hose on a tree. We wait until the sun goes down and wear our swimming suits. Then we only get under the very cold water long enough to get wet and then to rinse off.


We find some of Mary's family and Surprise! They’re not "like the Amish" and they won’t "take us in." They are farmers and contractors and very worldly. All but Aunt Mildred who instantly accepts us as family. She lives in the house her husband, Louie, built for them before they married. She makes a pallet of fine, hand quilted, quilts on the porch for Kari every time we visit. She plays "Peep-pie" with her. She is a simple country woman who loves her simple life.


Mary and Dad find an old farm house and rent it for all of us. It doesn't even have running water. Bill is hired at the first factory he fills out an application. I start LPN school in Eldorado, Arkansas. My GI Bill benefits pay for my tuition and books. I challenge most of the courses and pass easily. I enjoy being a student. My class is small, just eight of us.


Bill's pay and Navy retirement benefits, my GI Bill benefits for school, and Mary's food stamps are all we have to live on. Mary runs the house and controls our money.


We have a small garden and can tomatoes, okra, peas and green beans. We make pickles and freeze corn on the cob. We don’t hunt or fish anymore. A simple bologna sandwich with potato chips is a treat.


It’s three A. M. when I wake up. I know Bill has had a wreck. I get up and go looking for him. I drive by the site several times but there are no signs of an accident. I give up and go home. Right after I get home, Bill is brought home by a man he works with. They had been out drinking since they got off work at four P. M. With a drunken grin on his face, Bill tells me he hit a brand new Cadillac and a concrete bridge. His Corvair went airborne and landed in the trees. Both cars were totaled. This man had seen the accident and carried Bill back to the bar and bought him a beer.


Bill's left cheek has one inch split from hitting his face during the wreck. He had refused medical treatment at the scene so Mary and I lay him down and sew it up at home while he is still drunk. He laughs. I stay up to keep him awake and drive him to work at eight A. M. He refused to get insurance on the car and he leaves it with the towing company.


It’s a stormy night. The wind is blowing the rain sideways and it’s beating this old house to death, when a loud "BOOM" shakes the house, wakes everyone up. There is a cloud in the air. A huge, hollow, old Elm tree is laying in the back half of the house. It’s in the kitchen, utility room and bathroom. Thankfully all our bedrooms are in the front half of the house. I keep asking, "Shouldn't we get the electricity turned off?" Nobody thinks so. We all go back to bed.


Time to find a new home. Dad, Mary and the kids move into a fairly nice brick house in Junction City. (Where did they get the money? Oh, I know. Mary controls the money.) Bill, Kari and I move into a small, clapboard house in Taylor Town.


©BertaD

I really don't think I like Mary, OR her Grandmother!  www.aarp.org/community/editor/fckeditor/editor/images/smiley/msn/thumbs_down.gif" />


But, that's just me!


 


 


 

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Mary's Dead Grandmother

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Message 4 of 5

 


 


Well, Dad and Mary have finally found jobs and moved the seven of them into a two bedroom apartment. The kids have nearly cost me my sanity. Dad and Bill have become bosom buddies. I had never realized how alike they are. They drink constantly and accomplish very little.


Once again Mary's dead grandmother tells her we need to move to be safe from the world. She (grandma) says Mary has family in Louisiana that live like the Amish and they will "take us in." Dad and Mary quickly convince Bill that we should move with them. Kari is seven months old. Haven’t we done this before?


Over the next two weeks we sell almost all our possessions. More of my life is gone. We pack and head for Louisiana with very little money and three vehicles: a 1956 Corvair, an old station wagon and a 1978 Chevy pick-up truck. We drive a day and camp a night. Drive a day. Camp a night or two. Our caravan is quite a site. State parks are our home. We are back in the great outdoors. Tents are roofs over our heads. We carry water from the pumps. We cook over open fires.


We are finally here. Spearsville, LA and we’re living in another state park. Two more weeks of camping go by. Dad rigs up a shower by connecting a garden hose to a pump and hanging the hose on a tree. We wait until the sun goes down and wear our swimming suits. Then we only get under the very cold water long enough to get wet and then to rinse off.


We find some of Mary's family and Surprise! They’re not "like the Amish" and they won’t "take us in." They are farmers and contractors and very worldly. All but Aunt Mildred who instantly accepts us as family. She lives in the house her husband, Louie, built for them before they married. She makes a pallet of fine, hand quilted, quilts on the porch for Kari every time we visit. She plays "Peep-pie" with her. She is a simple country woman who loves her simple life.


Mary and Dad find an old farm house and rent it for all of us. It doesn't even have running water. Bill is hired at the first factory he fills out an application. I start LPN school in Eldorado, Arkansas. My GI Bill benefits pay for my tuition and books. I challenge most of the courses and pass easily. I enjoy being a student. My class is small, just eight of us.


Bill's pay and Navy retirement benefits, my GI Bill benefits for school, and Mary's food stamps are all we have to live on. Mary runs the house and controls our money.


We have a small garden and can tomatoes, okra, peas and green beans. We make pickles and freeze corn on the cob. We don’t hunt or fish anymore. A simple bologna sandwich with potato chips is a treat.


It’s three A. M. when I wake up. I know Bill has had a wreck. I get up and go looking for him. I drive by the site several times but there are no signs of an accident. I give up and go home. Right after I get home, Bill is brought home by a man he works with. They had been out drinking since they got off work at four P. M. With a drunken grin on his face, Bill tells me he hit a brand new Cadillac and a concrete bridge. His Corvair went airborne and landed in the trees. Both cars were totaled. This man had seen the accident and carried Bill back to the bar and bought him a beer.


Bill's left cheek has one inch split from hitting his face during the wreck. He had refused medical treatment at the scene so Mary and I lay him down and sew it up at home while he is still drunk. He laughs. I stay up to keep him awake and drive him to work at eight A. M. He refused to get insurance on the car and he leaves it with the towing company.


It’s a stormy night. The wind is blowing the rain sideways and it’s beating this old house to death, when a loud "BOOM" shakes the house, wakes everyone up. There is a cloud in the air. A huge, hollow, old Elm tree is laying in the back half of the house. It’s in the kitchen, utility room and bathroom. Thankfully all our bedrooms are in the front half of the house. I keep asking, "Shouldn't we get the electricity turned off?" Nobody thinks so. We all go back to bed.


Time to find a new home. Dad, Mary and the kids move into a fairly nice brick house in Junction City. (Where did they get the money? Oh, I know. Mary controls the money.) Bill, Kari and I move into a small, clapboard house in Taylor Town.


©BertaD

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Mary's Dead Grandmother

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Message 4 of 5

 


 


Well, Dad and Mary have finally found jobs and moved the seven of them into a two bedroom apartment. The kids have nearly cost me my sanity. Dad and Bill have become bosom buddies. I had never realized how alike they are. They drink constantly and accomplish very little.


Once again Mary's dead grandmother tells her we need to move to be safe from the world. She (grandma) says Mary has family in Louisiana that live like the Amish and they will "take us in." Dad and Mary quickly convince Bill that we should move with them. Kari is seven months old. Haven’t we done this before?


Over the next two weeks we sell almost all our possessions. More of my life is gone. We pack and head for Louisiana with very little money and three vehicles: a 1956 Corvair, an old station wagon and a 1978 Chevy pick-up truck. We drive a day and camp a night. Drive a day. Camp a night or two. Our caravan is quite a site. State parks are our home. We are back in the great outdoors. Tents are roofs over our heads. We carry water from the pumps. We cook over open fires.


We are finally here. Spearsville, LA and we’re living in another state park. Two more weeks of camping go by. Dad rigs up a shower by connecting a garden hose to a pump and hanging the hose on a tree. We wait until the sun goes down and wear our swimming suits. Then we only get under the very cold water long enough to get wet and then to rinse off.


We find some of Mary's family and Surprise! They’re not "like the Amish" and they won’t "take us in." They are farmers and contractors and very worldly. All but Aunt Mildred who instantly accepts us as family. She lives in the house her husband, Louie, built for them before they married. She makes a pallet of fine, hand quilted, quilts on the porch for Kari every time we visit. She plays "Peep-pie" with her. She is a simple country woman who loves her simple life.


Mary and Dad find an old farm house and rent it for all of us. It doesn't even have running water. Bill is hired at the first factory he fills out an application. I start LPN school in Eldorado, Arkansas. My GI Bill benefits pay for my tuition and books. I challenge most of the courses and pass easily. I enjoy being a student. My class is small, just eight of us.


Bill's pay and Navy retirement benefits, my GI Bill benefits for school, and Mary's food stamps are all we have to live on. Mary runs the house and controls our money.


We have a small garden and can tomatoes, okra, peas and green beans. We make pickles and freeze corn on the cob. We don’t hunt or fish anymore. A simple bologna sandwich with potato chips is a treat.


It’s three A. M. when I wake up. I know Bill has had a wreck. I get up and go looking for him. I drive by the site several times but there are no signs of an accident. I give up and go home. Right after I get home, Bill is brought home by a man he works with. They had been out drinking since they got off work at four P. M. With a drunken grin on his face, Bill tells me he hit a brand new Cadillac and a concrete bridge. His Corvair went airborne and landed in the trees. Both cars were totaled. This man had seen the accident and carried Bill back to the bar and bought him a beer.


Bill's left cheek has one inch split from hitting his face during the wreck. He had refused medical treatment at the scene so Mary and I lay him down and sew it up at home while he is still drunk. He laughs. I stay up to keep him awake and drive him to work at eight A. M. He refused to get insurance on the car and he leaves it with the towing company.


It’s a stormy night. The wind is blowing the rain sideways and it’s beating this old house to death, when a loud "BOOM" shakes the house, wakes everyone up. There is a cloud in the air. A huge, hollow, old Elm tree is laying in the back half of the house. It’s in the kitchen, utility room and bathroom. Thankfully all our bedrooms are in the front half of the house. I keep asking, "Shouldn't we get the electricity turned off?" Nobody thinks so. We all go back to bed.


Time to find a new home. Dad, Mary and the kids move into a fairly nice brick house in Junction City. (Where did they get the money? Oh, I know. Mary controls the money.) Bill, Kari and I move into a small, clapboard house in Taylor Town.


©BertaD

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