Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Sustainable Homestead Living
Everyone has expenses. Most if not all, are our choice. The basics we cannot do without is housing or shelter, food and water and clothing. Other than that, we really don't need much else. I can only speak for myself and what has worked for me. Maybe you can get an idea or two as to how you can have a more affordable lifestyle. I choose not to be homeless. I've been there before and it's not a good way of life for me. I thought I would like to be a minimalist and have very few if any possessions and have no permanent place to call home. But that too was a temporary thing and I had to find a place to have roots.
HOUSING
So I did an inventory on how and where I wanted to live. My likes and dislikes. Here's what I came up with: I like to either live in a big city where I am so surrounded by people that I become unimportant, or I wanted to live in a rural setting but not completely isolated. Before country living-just-outside-the-city became popular, it was affordable, if not downright cheap. I made that my choice for many years. Then it became fashionable and I could not afford the price of housing so I had to move. Before that, I lived in the heart of a big sprawling metropolis. I repeated this cycle in several parts of the country, all to find that it became fashionable every time, and the price skyrocketed. So I had to change my plans and look into other places, not so close to the big cities. I have had a set budget of $500 a month for where I live, since 1980.
Unfortunately, I didn't own where I lived until 2002, so I was at the economies mercy. I struggled with the mortgage on that home in 2002 as it was over three times my comfort budget. I was very fortunate to sell it while property values were skyrocketing and I made a $100,000 profit on the sale of that home. I immediately invested a portion in my next real estate, bought low in price and sat on it until 2005. I then subdivided the 40 acres, and sold twenty acres for $40,000. This was still my primary residence as I still lived on the remaining property. In 2006, I sold another ten acres for $100,000, which was a steal at that time. The real estate market bubble burst and I sold the remaining ten acres for $3,500 this year. So, for a modest $40,000 investment with only $350 in closing costs, I had a place to live, tax advantages and depreciation, and made a profit of $103,500.
Because of the plummeting market and lack of trustworthy lenders, I have always opted for seller or owner financing and also offered it to buyers myself. My current real estate investment is owner financed with low interest. I will always have it no other way. And my mortgage payment is well under my comfort budget. There are many places and ways to own your own property. You simply have to really want it and be flexible with the situation. It'll come.
FOOD & WATER
Thankfully, I love to garden, to frequent local growers and farmers markets and to buy from local livestock producers. I buy sacks of whole, clean corn and grind it myself. I buy other grains in bulk but you must be absolutely certain it hasn't been treated with chemicals and you must read labels before using. Buying a simple grinder or mill to make your flour or cereals. I save seeds from the pick of the garden peppers, tomatoes and other vegetables that can be easily grown from seed, and use it the next year. No reason to keep buying seed packages if you are only growing for your home garden. This again saves money every year. I bake and cook most of what we eat. I can every summer and make preserves and jams. With preserves, you can also make ice creams and sorbets. Make your own granola for healthy snacking. Dry beans from the garden. Use a dehydrator. Freeze the Halloween pumpkin for winter's use. But sweet and regular potatoes in bulk and store on straw in a bin. Shop at grocery surplus warehouses. My average costs for food is about $200 a month for two adults.
I have used well water for many years now and strongly suggest its use. I also capture rainwater, and anyone can do this regardless of where you live. Store rainwater that comes off your roof, into barrels to use either for other than drinking use, or for drinking use once it's been filtered. I always have several hundred gallons of water on hand. While there is an initial investment in capturing rainwater, it saves on your water bill. I also have a back-up generator, just a smaller one that I bought for about $400 at Autozone.
CLOTHING
Make a commitment that you will first frequent second hand, thrift stores or yard sales for all your clothing needs, except of course, shoes, underwear and socks. And in some cases, jeans. You will be surprised at how much you will save over the years. I have bought all my clothing this way since 1977 and it is a lot of fun! Every once in a while I will buy something brand new, but only if it is well made and can stand the test of time. I have some clothes that I have had since 1970. I also can make clothing for myself and have done so.
Most people reading this already know how to save money this way, but do you apply it to your life? That is the big test. We are often unwilling to cut our basic expenses for one reason or another. I was forced to live this lifestyle so it has become comfortable for me. I am able to afford more by saving on these basic costs, but it has been a conscious effort to continue.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
A Sheeps Wardrobe
The sound of water being lapped into Arpik's dry mouth echoed in the other room disturbing the silence that had prevailed. Pavlik sighed and then rose to look out the open window over the town. The big she-dog changed her course and stood at her master's side. Just turned sixteen year old Giannis sat in silence watching his friend as he let out a sigh. Much was to occur in the next forty-eight hours in Macedonia. Additionally, on June 12, 1908 no one knew that the march to the Palace would begin, and on July 24, 1908 the constitution would be restored. Boundaries were being drawn in a region where there had been vague ones. Lives had been lost over territories. Nationalities would be decided. Fates would be cast. John's thirty-four year old Uncle Giorgios had exiled their ailing parents and remaining siblings to the rugged island of Thasos. With Giorgios and his father's help, Giannis and Pavlik would go to Paris for employment to help support their families who had little means of support otherwise. It was unknown how long the conflict between the empires would continue. Staying behind would mean certain annihlation of their families. Eighteen people depended on Giannis and Pavlik, three of them injured, four were elderly and unstable, six were small children. One was a young woman entrusted in caring for everyone. She had dashed hopes of marriage for now. The remaining four were young men ready to head out on their own and anxiously awaited word from them. Two of these young men planned a route to eventually take them to Australia, one had a job waiting for him in Athens and the other was hoping to immigrate to America.
With the Committee of Union and Progress coming out of the election box the unity among the Young Turks that was originated from the Young Turk Revolution replaced itself with the realities of the Ottoman Empire.
The details of the political events can be found under Second Constitutional Era, while the details of the military events can be found under Dissolution of the Ottoman Empire.
The RMS Olympic was launched on 20 October 1910 and made its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York on 14 June 1911.
Later that year, on 20 September, the Olympic was rammed by the cruiser HMS Hawke in the Solent which had attempted to pass astern and hit the Olympic abreast the mainmast, starboard side.
The ship went to Belfast for repairs but was out of action for six weeks.
As the result of an enquiry into the collision the Olympic was found to blame as its speed and size had sucked the Hawke off course.
It was able to resume normal service on 30 November 1911.
In February 1912 it was overhauled at Belfast and a new propeller was fitted.
After the loss of the Titanic and the ensuing court enquiry had been published several changes were made to the ship.
During 1912-13 the Olympic returned to Harland & Wolff for six months safety rebuilding.
The double bottom was extended up the sides to the waterline, full height bulkheads were fitted, as were additional lifeboats.
As a result of this the ships tonnage was increased to 46,359 tons.
The Southampton to New York service was resumed on 2 April 1913. Twenty-two year old John was onboard.
Islamic occupation of the Ottoman Empire meant the death penalty to homosexuals, so they fled the country.
Between 1900 and 1902, 20 cases of sodomy were brought before the criminal courts in California, resulting in 16 convictions; 10 of these cases had taken place in the City and County of San Francisco, while 6 more had taken place in neighboring counties.
In London, the Savoy Turkish Baths at 92 Jermyn Street became a favorite spot (opening in 1910 and remaining open until September 1975).[12] The journalist A.J. Langguth wrote: ...[The baths at Jermyn Street] represented a twilight arena for elderly men who came to sweat poisons from their systems and youths who came to strike beguiling poses in Turkish towels... although they were closely overseen by attendants, they provided a discreet place to inspect a young man before offering a cup of tea at Lyons. On March 18, John dined with several wealthy men from London who were discussing financial opportunities since the decision to construct a railroad connecting the east and west coasts of the United States.
Nineteen year old Margaret Emma Addieco of Petaluma became pregnant in April of 1914 with James John Kafantaris. June 1914, John Demitri and Margaret took up house together in the Western Addition part of San Francisco. In 1917, Mary Kafantaris was born. In 1920, Margaret left to return home in Petaluma leaving behind a five year old and a three year old . She died in 1987 at 92 years of age.
In fall of 1914, some 500 Gay men were arrested as "social vagrants", leading to the legislative passage of a unique law which prohibited "acts technically known as fellatio and cunnilingus[.]" The law, which set a maximum of 15 years in prison for either act, was the only statute law in the United States which ever mentioned the words "fellatio" and "cunnilingus".
Jakob Künzler, head of a missionary hospital in Urfa, has documented the large scale ethnic cleansing of both Armenians and Kurds by the Young Turks during World War I.[3] He has given a detailed account of deportation of Kurds from Erzurum and Bitlis in winter of 1916. The Kurds were perceived to be subversive elements that would take the Russian side in the war. In order to eliminate this threat, Young Turks embarked on a large scale deportation of Kurds from the regions of Djabachdjur, Palu, Musch, Erzurum and Bitlis. Around 300,000 Kurds were forced to move southwards to Urfa and then westwards to Aintab and Marasch. In the summer of 1917, Kurds were moved to the Konya region in central Anatolia. Through this measures, the Young Turk leaders aimed at eliminating the Kurds by deporting them from their ancestral lands and by dispersing them in small pockets of exiled communities. By the end of World War I, up to 700,000 Kurds were forcibly deported and almost half of the displaced perished.[4]
Around this period, the Young Turks relationship to the Armenian Genocide shifted. Early on, the Armenians had perceived the Young Turks as allies; and the beginnings of the Genocide, in the 1909 Adana Massacre, had been rooted in Ottoman backlash against the Young Turks. But during World War I, the Young Turks increasing nationalism began to lead them to participate in the Genocide. In 2005, the International Association of Genocide Scholars affirmed[5] that scholarly evidence revealed the "Young Turk government of the Ottoman Empire began a systematic genocide of its Armenian citizens – an unarmed Christian minority population. More than a million Armenians were exterminated through direct killing, starvation, torture, and forced death marches." The IAGS also condemned Turkish attempts to deny the factual and moral reality of the Armenian Genocide
Georgios Kafantaris (alternative spellings: Kaphantaris or Kafandaris, 13 October 1873 – 28 August 1946) was a Greek politician, born in Anatoliki Fragkista, Evrytania.
On 9 January 1919, Kafantaris joined the Cabinet of Greece under Prime Minister of Greece Eleftherios Venizelos as Minister of Agriculture.
He went on to disagree with him as far as holding the Greek legislative election, 1920 while the Hellenic Army was still involved in the Greco-Turkish War.
Venizelos accepted his resignation on 4 February 1920.
In the elections that ensued, Venizelos' Liberal Party was ousted.
Kafantaris left the country for French Third Republic and the Kingdom of Italy.
He only returned following the defeat of Greece in the Greco-Turkish War and was named Minister of Justice.
On 19 February 1924, Prime Minister Eleftherios Venizelos resigned due to health reasons and nominated Kafantaris as his successor.
Giorgios Kafantaris served as Prime Minister for almost a month and then resigned himself on 12 March 1924 after an assasination attempt.
He was succeeded by Alexandros Papanastasiou.
Kafantaris opposed the dictatorship of Theodoros Pangalos and, after its overthrow, took part in several more governments as Minister of Finance.
John Kafantaris lived at 1300 Mc Allister Street in San Francisco at the time of his naturalization in 1943. He applied for citizenship in 1941.
Giorgios Kafantaris died in Athens in 1946.
John Kafantaris died in San Francisco in 1954 at age 62. Married to Margaret Addieco of Petaluma, CA in 1914. Margaret left to move back to Petaluma in 1919. She died in Santa Rosa in 1987 at age 92.
Son James married Elizabeth Elsie O'Connor in 1935 and had three children, son John Dimitri and daughters Jane Marie and Diane Elizabeth. Daughter Mary had one daughter Janet.
(to be continued...)
[edit] Constitutional Era
The details of the political events can be found under Second Constitutional Era, while the details of the military events can be found under Dissolution of the Ottoman Empire.
The RMS Olympic was launched on 20 October 1910 and made its maiden voyage from Southampton to New York on 14 June 1911.
Later that year, on 20 September, the Olympic was rammed by the cruiser HMS Hawke in the Solent which had attempted to pass astern and hit the Olympic abreast the mainmast, starboard side.
The ship went to Belfast for repairs but was out of action for six weeks.
As the result of an enquiry into the collision the Olympic was found to blame as its speed and size had sucked the Hawke off course.
It was able to resume normal service on 30 November 1911.
In February 1912 it was overhauled at Belfast and a new propeller was fitted.
After the loss of the Titanic and the ensuing court enquiry had been published several changes were made to the ship.
During 1912-13 the Olympic returned to Harland & Wolff for six months safety rebuilding.
The double bottom was extended up the sides to the waterline, full height bulkheads were fitted, as were additional lifeboats.
As a result of this the ships tonnage was increased to 46,359 tons.
The Southampton to New York service was resumed on 2 April 1913. Twenty-two year old John was onboard.
Islamic occupation of the Ottoman Empire meant the death penalty to homosexuals, so they fled the country.
Between 1900 and 1902, 20 cases of sodomy were brought before the criminal courts in California, resulting in 16 convictions; 10 of these cases had taken place in the City and County of San Francisco, while 6 more had taken place in neighboring counties.
In London, the Savoy Turkish Baths at 92 Jermyn Street became a favorite spot (opening in 1910 and remaining open until September 1975).[12] The journalist A.J. Langguth wrote: ...[The baths at Jermyn Street] represented a twilight arena for elderly men who came to sweat poisons from their systems and youths who came to strike beguiling poses in Turkish towels... although they were closely overseen by attendants, they provided a discreet place to inspect a young man before offering a cup of tea at Lyons. On March 18, John dined with several wealthy men from London who were discussing financial opportunities since the decision to construct a railroad connecting the east and west coasts of the United States.
Nineteen year old Margaret Emma Addieco of Petaluma became pregnant in April of 1914 with James John Kafantaris. June 1914, John Demitri and Margaret took up house together in the Western Addition part of San Francisco. In 1917, Mary Kafantaris was born. In 1920, Margaret left to return home in Petaluma leaving behind a five year old and a three year old . She died in 1987 at 92 years of age.
In fall of 1914, some 500 Gay men were arrested as "social vagrants", leading to the legislative passage of a unique law which prohibited "acts technically known as fellatio and cunnilingus[.]" The law, which set a maximum of 15 years in prison for either act, was the only statute law in the United States which ever mentioned the words "fellatio" and "cunnilingus".
[edit] 1914–1917 period: Armenian Genocide and WWI
See also: Middle Eastern theatre of World War I
On November 2, 1914, the Ottoman Empire entered World War I on the side of the Central Powers. The Middle Eastern theatre of World War I became the scene of action. The combatants were the Ottoman Empire, with some assistance from the other Central Powers, and primarily the British and the Russians among the Allies of World War I. The conflicts at the Caucasus Campaign, the Persian Campaign and the Gallipoli Campaign affected where the Armenian people lived in significant amounts. Before the declaration of war at the Armenian congress at Erzurum the Ottoman government requested from Ottoman Armenians to facilitate the conquest of Transcaucasia by inciting a rebellion with the Russian Armenians against the tsarist army in the event of an Caucasian Front.[50][51]Jakob Künzler, head of a missionary hospital in Urfa, has documented the large scale ethnic cleansing of both Armenians and Kurds by the Young Turks during World War I.[3] He has given a detailed account of deportation of Kurds from Erzurum and Bitlis in winter of 1916. The Kurds were perceived to be subversive elements that would take the Russian side in the war. In order to eliminate this threat, Young Turks embarked on a large scale deportation of Kurds from the regions of Djabachdjur, Palu, Musch, Erzurum and Bitlis. Around 300,000 Kurds were forced to move southwards to Urfa and then westwards to Aintab and Marasch. In the summer of 1917, Kurds were moved to the Konya region in central Anatolia. Through this measures, the Young Turk leaders aimed at eliminating the Kurds by deporting them from their ancestral lands and by dispersing them in small pockets of exiled communities. By the end of World War I, up to 700,000 Kurds were forcibly deported and almost half of the displaced perished.[4]
Around this period, the Young Turks relationship to the Armenian Genocide shifted. Early on, the Armenians had perceived the Young Turks as allies; and the beginnings of the Genocide, in the 1909 Adana Massacre, had been rooted in Ottoman backlash against the Young Turks. But during World War I, the Young Turks increasing nationalism began to lead them to participate in the Genocide. In 2005, the International Association of Genocide Scholars affirmed[5] that scholarly evidence revealed the "Young Turk government of the Ottoman Empire began a systematic genocide of its Armenian citizens – an unarmed Christian minority population. More than a million Armenians were exterminated through direct killing, starvation, torture, and forced death marches." The IAGS also condemned Turkish attempts to deny the factual and moral reality of the Armenian Genocide
Georgios Kafantaris (alternative spellings: Kaphantaris or Kafandaris, 13 October 1873 – 28 August 1946) was a Greek politician, born in Anatoliki Fragkista, Evrytania.
On 9 January 1919, Kafantaris joined the Cabinet of Greece under Prime Minister of Greece Eleftherios Venizelos as Minister of Agriculture.
He went on to disagree with him as far as holding the Greek legislative election, 1920 while the Hellenic Army was still involved in the Greco-Turkish War.
Venizelos accepted his resignation on 4 February 1920.
In the elections that ensued, Venizelos' Liberal Party was ousted.
Kafantaris left the country for French Third Republic and the Kingdom of Italy.
He only returned following the defeat of Greece in the Greco-Turkish War and was named Minister of Justice.
On 19 February 1924, Prime Minister Eleftherios Venizelos resigned due to health reasons and nominated Kafantaris as his successor.
Giorgios Kafantaris served as Prime Minister for almost a month and then resigned himself on 12 March 1924 after an assasination attempt.
He was succeeded by Alexandros Papanastasiou.
Kafantaris opposed the dictatorship of Theodoros Pangalos and, after its overthrow, took part in several more governments as Minister of Finance.
John Kafantaris lived at 1300 Mc Allister Street in San Francisco at the time of his naturalization in 1943. He applied for citizenship in 1941.
Giorgios Kafantaris died in Athens in 1946.
John Kafantaris died in San Francisco in 1954 at age 62. Married to Margaret Addieco of Petaluma, CA in 1914. Margaret left to move back to Petaluma in 1919. She died in Santa Rosa in 1987 at age 92.
Son James married Elizabeth Elsie O'Connor in 1935 and had three children, son John Dimitri and daughters Jane Marie and Diane Elizabeth. Daughter Mary had one daughter Janet.
(to be continued...)
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Pancake Girl
Jeff was a strange guy. He never stopped smiling, even when you said something that made other people unhappy or even mean. It got to the point that I would talk to him just to see if his smile would change, but nope it didn't. And then I started paying more attention to his eyes and that was where his true feelings were displayed. It was like one of those kids books where you mash up the animals to make them a Ti-Bear or an Ele-Horse. So Jeff was one of those. And another strange thing about Jeff is that he just didn't get it until later. And by the time he'd be knocking on my door wanting to talk about something, I'd already forgotten how the whole topic started. But even with Jeff's strangeness he was a good guy. If you ever watched the animated movie Coraline, you'd think that's where Jeff came from, except he didn't have buttons for eyes.
Jeff's little girl Tracy was just adorable. Strangely, she had the same permanent smile on her face like when you told her something funny, she just exploded into the most adorable heartfelt laugh in the world. So of course, I always liked to tell Tracy things just to see her laugh. Tracy was my daughters best friend. Probably the best friend she ever had in her life and ever will. Tracy never stole or broke my daughters toys, and was of course, always cheerful and very respectful. So Tracy spent a lot of time at our house playing Barbie's with my daughter. Tracy especially had a lot of interest when I was preparing dinner. She said that she knew how to cook all kinds of things and loved to cook for her daddy. I never asked about Tracy's mother; whether she lived at home with them and just was shy, or did Jeff have custody of Tracy and they just had a great relationship. It just never was important for me to dig deep into my daughter's friend's personal lives. Until Jeff came by one day and asked me for a little motherly advice about Tracy. His mouth was still smiling, but his eyes told a different story.
Tracy had the stomach flu and he had been giving her the usual drinks, water, popsicles, chicken noodle soup and her fever seemed to be better, but she was still vomiting and he was worried about dehydration. I then said that if this is the case, she needed to be seen by her physician. He said that he had an appointment but he had been staying home with her for the last few days and really had to get back to work before he was written up for absences. It all became obvious to me that he was a single parent and there was no mother at home. I urged him to go to the emergency room right away, and he did.
When my daughter said Tracy didn't show up at school for several days, I decided to call on Jeff and ask about Tracy. Oh she's getting better, he said. The doctor told him to keep her at home just another day. That night, Jeff called and was obviously upset. He had taken Tracy to the emergency because she had taken a turn for the worse and was looking very pale. We met him at the hospital to give him moral support. It was the first time I had seen Jeff without his perpetual smile. He now had a very pronounced frown and his eyes were very sad and scared. Jeff, whose boss had the compassion of a turnip said that he had to go to work or he'd lose his job. So confused and under pressure, he left Tracy alone and when he came home, he found her in a comatose state on the kitchen floor. Apparently, she had become hungry and was going to make herself some pancakes. The syrup bottle was out and it looked like she had sampled some of the syrup as she had syrup still in her mouth when he saw her. Immediately, he scooped up the unconscious child and rushed her to the emergency room just ten minutes away.
Then a woman who was the emergency room physician appeared and to ld us that Tracy was not doing very well. She then asked us to follow her through the doors marked DO NOT ENTER and we followed her silently, single file into an office. What made this office a little different was that it had a large paned window that looked directly into a hospital suite. In the room there was medical and monitoring equipment and lines that my eyes followed to this small bundle of a child lying still in silence. Two attending nurses quietly and carefully moved about. My daughter broke the silence when she asked if Tracy was there on the bed. The doctor said yes and asked if she was her sister. No, my daughter replied. She is my best friend. The doctor asked if I was the mother. No I said, I am just a close friend. She then asked Jeff if he wanted us to hear the disclosure of his daughter's medical condition. He said, yes. Certainly.
Tracy is a diabetic, the doctor said. She didn't have the flu, but was showing symptoms of juvenile diabetes. Luckily, she didn't have many sugary sweet drinks or candy lately, but the pancake syrup pushed her blood sugar so high that she became unconscious. Jeff was devastated. He started sobbing and apologizing for not recognizing what was going on with Tracy. The doctor said that he was not entirely to blame, because when she had first arrived in the emergency room, they had stabilized her and she was conscious…until the next shift of nurses came on. One of the nurses on the previous shift did not record that she had given insulin to Tracy, so when the next nurse cam in she gave Tracy enough insulin to put her into a coma. The doctor said that Tracy went into shock and then into a deep coma. Jeff was alarmed when the doctor said that to help the trauma they had then medically induced a deeper coma. It made no sense to any of us.
We left Jeff there at the hospital that night and told him we will visit daily. Once back at home, my daughter brought out the tape recorder and played something for me that she and Tracy had recorded. It was a song called Pancake Girl. Totally silly lyrics and more giggling than anything, the song was about a girl who loves to make pancakes for her daddy when he comes home from work. In her words, she said it was the pancake girl that made her daddy smile all the time even when he's mad, with her pancakes. And because her daddy smiled, she wanted to make more pancakes. Like I said, silly monotonous lyrics from eight year old girls having a wonderful time together.
One day when we were visiting with Tracy, the doctor said that it could help Tracy feel better if my daughter would record her classmates and playground noises at the school and then play it for her. So the next day not only did she bring the tape recorder with the class and playground sounds, but also the Pancake Girl song they had recorded. Day after day we played the recordings, sometimes adding to them, keeping it to about a fifteen minute length overall. The doctor asked if we could leave the tape at the hospital so the nurses could play it when they could. Just before Thanksgiving, Tracy's mother was contacted and the hospital made special arrangements to have Tracy flown to Iowa to a children's hospital closer to where her mother lived. Jeff contacted a lawyer who would secure a court order to stop the flight on the tarmac. Unfortunately, the judge was playing golf at the time, so the plane was permitted to leave for Iowa. Tracy's medical file mysteriously vanished from the hospital and custody was awarded to the mother who had abandoned Tracy when she was just three months old.
Jeff's smile vanished that day. I'd bet he played the Pancake Girl song until the tape wore out. And then Jeff vanished too.
All Lies Kill - Part II
Getting my brother out of the Navy was not very easy. The reason he was there in the first place was because a judge gave my parents the decision of either another stint in the Juvenile hall until he turned eighteen, and then a few years in the adult jail or the military. So on this day, after our mother told the Commanding Officer of the impending situation, together they had to work out the next step...going back in front of a judge. The other problem was with just whom would her son marry? There was no other option but for him to do the honorable thing, to marry the girl. And of course there was the question about what to do about the one that he didn't marry. And what about his loyal girlfriend.
Disgrace. Humiliation. My father left the car with the shattered windshield in the driveway for his son to see when he came home. Along with a court date and a wedding to plan. It was enough to make anyone take to drinking. It was just the thing to push my fragile father over the edge, forever.
The little blonde girl from Wichita Falls, Texas came by the house shortly thereafter with her pimply faced sister, Mary Lee, to announce that she had nowhere to live. She sat down and told my mother just about the most ridiculous story my mother had ever heard. "Kitten" as she liked to be called, had left home with her sister in the company of two servicemen heading to California where she planned on becoming a famous singer. Her sister wanted to become an actress. I sat across the table from Kitten, and upon hearing this, my mother buried her head in her hand and sighed. The servicemen, Kitten said, had left her and her sister in a coffeeshop in Pacific Manor, and not knowing anyone, that evening they sought out people their own age. They had been staying as overnight guests with one boy's family, but now had worn out their welcome. They had nowhere else to go, and no money. But, she said since my brother was the father of her unborn baby, she planned to move in right away. My mother was speechless. I was speechless. We didn't have any extra room in the house, so not knowing what to really do, my mother gave the sister money for a bus ticket back home and the pregnant girl stayed in my brothers room until he came home. Later on that afternoon, my mother received a call from the Wander Inn, the bartender asking that she come and get her husband who was passed out on the bar. He had the car, so she sent a cab to pick him up, and she drove the car home.
That evening, Linda Crawford and her mother, and my brothers’ other girlfriend, Carol came over later that evening crying and really upset. My mother gave Kitten's sister, Mary Lee a bus ticket to go home and Kitten moved into my brothers’ room. No one knew Kitten's real name until we drove Kitten and my brother to get the blood test for the marriage license. She got real snarky when you used her real first name so I won't mention it out of respect. On the way home, my mother stopped off at Nanette’s for Stylish Women and bought Kitten a real cute gold brocade dress and white high heels that she would wear at her wedding. She looked like a professional singer she said. I picked out her corsage at Weldon’s Flowers and Gifts. Mary Lee cashed in the bus ticket and stayed somewhere in town.
My sister, played the “Wedding March” on the church organ. Her husband and my mother and father, attended what we called “Kitten's Wedding”. Kitten threw the corsage at me as she got into the Yellow Cab with John saying she was allergic to flowers. My parents gave them a honeymoon dinner at Nick’s, a one night honeymoon at the Seaside Lodge and paid three months rent on a cute little house in Moss Beach, and allowed her to make a long distance telephone call to some little dusty town outside of Wichita Falls, Texas to talk to her mother and step dad. Later we found out Kitten and her sister had come to California seeking out her biological father after ditching sophomore classes one day. They had hung out in the Greyhound station and got the two servicemen to pay their way.
So anyway, my brother came home on Thursday, the judge changed his sentence to community service on Friday; they were married on Saturday. My brother started his new job on Monday and settled into married-and-pregnant life with his just turned sixteen year old childbride. Kitten took the fifty dollars she had won as Second Runner Up in a local beauty pageant and bought her own wedding ring with a tiny little diamond.
When the baby girl was born, we went to the hospital to visit but soon left because my brothers’ friend Dave Nordstrom was in the room with Kitten, sitting on the bed and holding her hand. My father apologized as though he was entering a strangers room, interrupting new parents, and brought us back to our house in silence. He then went to my brothers where they stayed up late working on cars and listening loudly to the Rolling Stones. A baby had been born, my brothers friend was spending time with Kitten in the hospital, and there was silence about it all. I thought it was strange. That evening, Linda’s mother and Linda came over to show us Linda’s new baby boy who had been born a week earlier. My mother watched Ed Sullivan and said she didn't feel like talking much, but she smoked a lot more than usual. I went to my room and listened to late night talk radio on KYA. My father came home and made it as far as the bushes along the porch step. My mother covered him with a blanket so he wouldn't catch cold.
Two years later, Kitten's Baby Number Two came along. My mother had some baked goods to bring over to the PTA that evening so my father volunteered to drop the food off and then go to the hospital to see his new grandchild. From what we were able to piece together, on the way to the hospital my father stopped at his father's grave in Colma, and then continued to drive to San Franciscoon to 2667 Octavia Street instead of 3600 El Camino Real. On his way home, he missed a curve and drove into a living room on Parnassus, shearing off a telephone pole and a fire hydrant along his path. From viewing the pictures that my brother-in-law took at the wrecking yard, the telephone pole was a direct hit. Fortunately no one else was killed. After the funeral a woman in a fur coat approached my mother and apologized saying that she had told him not to come by that afternoon. After apologizing, the woman just walked away.
When my parents taught my brother about the birds and the bees, they should have told him how to calculate a due date for a pregnancy too. Just before he died, my brother and I had a long talk about life and things we had never talked about before. We had always been friends so after a long and chronic illness, an unhappy marriage or two, and a bunch more kids, he “drank enough beer to make that Budweiser guy rich”. He told me that he knew that his first baby girl was not his child. He said men can tell those things instinctively, but he just couldn’t get Kitten and her French fry loving sister to leave him alone. And anyway, our parents were so busy with the wedding plans and saving their own face that they never stopped to ask my brother what he thought about the whole thing. He never took Kitten with him to Tijuana, he took Linda with him. He said that Kitten and her sister stayed at Dave’s house that weekend. Linda’s baby was my brothers’ first child. Dave ended up marrying Kittens sister, had four kids and was killed in a motorcycle accident with his brand new motorcycle on his 32nd birthday.
And since we were talking about those three years that had changed our family forever and how those events had brought such stress on all of us at one point or another, that night just before he passed away, I told him it’s very perplexing to me how people will go to great lengths to keep important truths from being known. And then he said, (and these were the last words I ever heard him speak) "All lies kill."
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
All Lies Kill - Part I
"I'll tell you everything, and you tell me everything, and maybe we can get through all the piss and shit and lies that kill other people." Claudia Wilson Gator in Magnolia 1999
As children, we're all taught not to lie. Or I should say we're taught that we are to always tell the truth to our parents. The subject of not lying is fundamental to the Ten Commandments. I woke up early this morning thinking about this very deeply. Then I started thinking about individual family members; who is still alive, who is not. And out of the ones who remain alive, who is well liked and who is not. And I went through the Ten Commandments, one by one.
And I found a very disturbing connection.
The popular family members are the ones who had created some problems for those who are not alive anymore, or not well liked, by lying. I'm not talking of the family members who died from old age, but the ones who died too young. Kind of like Billy Joel's song, Only the Good Die Young. And I'm not talking about little white lies. I mean lies that were destructive and deeply rooted. And also the lies that a few of my family members perpetuated were entwined with the Ten Commandments.
Yes, we were taught not to lie, steal, cheat and that commendable traits were valor, bravery, honor, loyalty and honesty. Punishment was prescribed if you lied about something or someone, stole or 'borrowed' something and didn't return it in a timely manner, or if you cheated in any way. I focused so much on the lying and stealing that I forgot about cheating and its full definition and I must admit I should have gotten into trouble for the times I cheated, both as a child and as an adult. But then again, I wasn't explained that cheating is when you don't give someone or something its' full measure or what a person is fully entitled to. So I became somewhat obsessed with monitoring others and the truths of their acts and words, and found that not a day went by when someone I knew boldly and blatanty lied. It's disturbing to me. I'm disturbed with my own behavior.
When I was young, and would disclose a family members mistruth to certain family members and want to discuss why they had felt compelled to lie about a situation I would be told not to say anything, they would go to extreme lengths to keep the truth from being known. It appeared that they would put more energy into keeping the truth from being known, than correcting the situation at hand. And especially to weave a whole new set of lies to keep the truth from being talked about. Did they really think that there was no one who didn't know the truth? Or atleast had suspicions?
My father's father became a victim to his father's lies. Back in the very early 1900's it was not fashionable to be homosexual. In fact, it was a huge liability. I'm not saying that there was no homosexuality, but it was unmentionable. My grandfather was a homosexual. At the age of eighteen, he married my then sixteen year old grandmother to disguise it for the sake of his career, and they produced two children one after the other. When the children were young, he maintained custody of the children and sent the young, obedient wife away under threat. The two children suffered emotionally from the so-called abandonment as witnessed by mental illness in the girl, and addiction problems in the boy. The girl was eventually committed to a state mental institution as a young woman after she had produced a couple of children of her own, was deemed schitzophrenic and had a lobotomy to immobilize her. If it was in today's times, she would have been viewed simply as young, artistic and eccentric, certainly not a mental case doomed to a dungeon in the state mental hospital for life. State hospitals were a repository for families and husbands to place their family members who did not conform to their wishes.
My own mother used to go to great lengths driving me to the gates of a mental hospital, threatening to leave me there, simply over my voicing an opinion over her treatment of me. What was I supposed to do? Let her beat me with an umbrella and allow my father to turn the hose on me for punishment? Upon learning of a great move of deceit on my husbands part and subsequently smashing a half pint of milk on his head, he drove me to USC mental department, insisting the orderlies to take me away. Of course, they didn't.
When an argument ensued with Joseph over the custody of Veronica, he insisted that my mother to take custody of her; upon reaching a stop sign, I got out of the car (no it was NOT moving), he promptly went to the fire department and had me "captured" while I was in the police department trying to call my mother to come and get me, and he told them that I was suicidal and jumped out of his moving vehicle. I was tackled by three men and placed in a straight jacket (yes, I was screaming and kicking at that point), placed in an ambulance and driven to a hospital 60 miles away for a 72 hour hold. Sitting in a room for 4 hours waiting for a psychiatrist to release me was not my idea of a way to spend a Friday night. The psychiatrist came in, and one look at me he released me and paid my cab fare home, which was Joseph's house. I would not be released without a home address. He had in the meantime, burned nearly all my possessions and gave everything else to Salvation Army. All because he didn't want a three year old in his house any longer because I refused to make her sleep on a chair so he could rent out her room to a stranger. Needless to say, I did leave, never to return. Veronica and I moved in to my ex sister in laws house, exchanging my services as a housekeeper and nanny for rent on a potting shed converted to a place to sleep and keep my "stuff". But that's getting ahead on the story.
My father, as a young man was left on his own and became part of a gang in San Francisco, The Turk Street Boys, where he drank heavily, used drugs freely and fought brutally and sometimes to the death of another. He was a former Golden Gloves boxer and always carried a lead pipe. Later in life he had an extremely strong work ethic, never missed a day of work and supported himself and eventually his own family, comfortably. But all through his life, he concealed his anguish over the truth of his father, mother and sister by remaining under the influence of either vodka or amphetamines, until his death at sixty-two. He was distraught over the fact that his father had lied to him. My brothers actions pushed him over the edge.
In 1961, when my brother was on leave from his tour of duty in the Navy SeaBee's in Port Hueneme, California, he came home, rounded up a few friends and caught up on old times by hosting a dance in our garage. He had a faithful girlfriend, Carol Lacaduc, who was very well liked by my parents. This young girl of sixteen didn't know however that my brother was not yet ready to be tied down to just one girl; he had several girls waiting in the wings. It was then that he and his friend Dave Nordstrom and Joe Silva were introduced to a couple of girls who had taken up residence in our small town. My brother was barely eighteen and the girls were sixteen and fifteen years old, and they all drove to Tijuana to have some tuck and roll upholstering done in his five window Ford coupe. My father didn't know his son was taking his entire shore leave funds and some girls with him to Tijuana. Two months later, a girl entirely unknown to my family calls and announced boldly that she was pregnant with my brother's child. I clearly recall the shock and anguish on my mothers face. Later on in the day, one of the girls that my brother had been dating comes by and also tells my mother that she too is pregnant with her sons child. A double whammy on the same day for my poor mother. I clearly remember my father coming home from work, my mother taking his aside, then going to the garage, taking a sledgehammer and smashing the windows out on my brothers car, and then slicing up the new upholstery. It was the first time I had seen my father enraged. My mother called up the Commanding Officer and requested an early discharge for my brother.
As children, we're all taught not to lie. Or I should say we're taught that we are to always tell the truth to our parents. The subject of not lying is fundamental to the Ten Commandments. I woke up early this morning thinking about this very deeply. Then I started thinking about individual family members; who is still alive, who is not. And out of the ones who remain alive, who is well liked and who is not. And I went through the Ten Commandments, one by one.
And I found a very disturbing connection.
The popular family members are the ones who had created some problems for those who are not alive anymore, or not well liked, by lying. I'm not talking of the family members who died from old age, but the ones who died too young. Kind of like Billy Joel's song, Only the Good Die Young. And I'm not talking about little white lies. I mean lies that were destructive and deeply rooted. And also the lies that a few of my family members perpetuated were entwined with the Ten Commandments.
Yes, we were taught not to lie, steal, cheat and that commendable traits were valor, bravery, honor, loyalty and honesty. Punishment was prescribed if you lied about something or someone, stole or 'borrowed' something and didn't return it in a timely manner, or if you cheated in any way. I focused so much on the lying and stealing that I forgot about cheating and its full definition and I must admit I should have gotten into trouble for the times I cheated, both as a child and as an adult. But then again, I wasn't explained that cheating is when you don't give someone or something its' full measure or what a person is fully entitled to. So I became somewhat obsessed with monitoring others and the truths of their acts and words, and found that not a day went by when someone I knew boldly and blatanty lied. It's disturbing to me. I'm disturbed with my own behavior.
When I was young, and would disclose a family members mistruth to certain family members and want to discuss why they had felt compelled to lie about a situation I would be told not to say anything, they would go to extreme lengths to keep the truth from being known. It appeared that they would put more energy into keeping the truth from being known, than correcting the situation at hand. And especially to weave a whole new set of lies to keep the truth from being talked about. Did they really think that there was no one who didn't know the truth? Or atleast had suspicions?
My father's father became a victim to his father's lies. Back in the very early 1900's it was not fashionable to be homosexual. In fact, it was a huge liability. I'm not saying that there was no homosexuality, but it was unmentionable. My grandfather was a homosexual. At the age of eighteen, he married my then sixteen year old grandmother to disguise it for the sake of his career, and they produced two children one after the other. When the children were young, he maintained custody of the children and sent the young, obedient wife away under threat. The two children suffered emotionally from the so-called abandonment as witnessed by mental illness in the girl, and addiction problems in the boy. The girl was eventually committed to a state mental institution as a young woman after she had produced a couple of children of her own, was deemed schitzophrenic and had a lobotomy to immobilize her. If it was in today's times, she would have been viewed simply as young, artistic and eccentric, certainly not a mental case doomed to a dungeon in the state mental hospital for life. State hospitals were a repository for families and husbands to place their family members who did not conform to their wishes.
My own mother used to go to great lengths driving me to the gates of a mental hospital, threatening to leave me there, simply over my voicing an opinion over her treatment of me. What was I supposed to do? Let her beat me with an umbrella and allow my father to turn the hose on me for punishment? Upon learning of a great move of deceit on my husbands part and subsequently smashing a half pint of milk on his head, he drove me to USC mental department, insisting the orderlies to take me away. Of course, they didn't.
When an argument ensued with Joseph over the custody of Veronica, he insisted that my mother to take custody of her; upon reaching a stop sign, I got out of the car (no it was NOT moving), he promptly went to the fire department and had me "captured" while I was in the police department trying to call my mother to come and get me, and he told them that I was suicidal and jumped out of his moving vehicle. I was tackled by three men and placed in a straight jacket (yes, I was screaming and kicking at that point), placed in an ambulance and driven to a hospital 60 miles away for a 72 hour hold. Sitting in a room for 4 hours waiting for a psychiatrist to release me was not my idea of a way to spend a Friday night. The psychiatrist came in, and one look at me he released me and paid my cab fare home, which was Joseph's house. I would not be released without a home address. He had in the meantime, burned nearly all my possessions and gave everything else to Salvation Army. All because he didn't want a three year old in his house any longer because I refused to make her sleep on a chair so he could rent out her room to a stranger. Needless to say, I did leave, never to return. Veronica and I moved in to my ex sister in laws house, exchanging my services as a housekeeper and nanny for rent on a potting shed converted to a place to sleep and keep my "stuff". But that's getting ahead on the story.
My father, as a young man was left on his own and became part of a gang in San Francisco, The Turk Street Boys, where he drank heavily, used drugs freely and fought brutally and sometimes to the death of another. He was a former Golden Gloves boxer and always carried a lead pipe. Later in life he had an extremely strong work ethic, never missed a day of work and supported himself and eventually his own family, comfortably. But all through his life, he concealed his anguish over the truth of his father, mother and sister by remaining under the influence of either vodka or amphetamines, until his death at sixty-two. He was distraught over the fact that his father had lied to him. My brothers actions pushed him over the edge.
In 1961, when my brother was on leave from his tour of duty in the Navy SeaBee's in Port Hueneme, California, he came home, rounded up a few friends and caught up on old times by hosting a dance in our garage. He had a faithful girlfriend, Carol Lacaduc, who was very well liked by my parents. This young girl of sixteen didn't know however that my brother was not yet ready to be tied down to just one girl; he had several girls waiting in the wings. It was then that he and his friend Dave Nordstrom and Joe Silva were introduced to a couple of girls who had taken up residence in our small town. My brother was barely eighteen and the girls were sixteen and fifteen years old, and they all drove to Tijuana to have some tuck and roll upholstering done in his five window Ford coupe. My father didn't know his son was taking his entire shore leave funds and some girls with him to Tijuana. Two months later, a girl entirely unknown to my family calls and announced boldly that she was pregnant with my brother's child. I clearly recall the shock and anguish on my mothers face. Later on in the day, one of the girls that my brother had been dating comes by and also tells my mother that she too is pregnant with her sons child. A double whammy on the same day for my poor mother. I clearly remember my father coming home from work, my mother taking his aside, then going to the garage, taking a sledgehammer and smashing the windows out on my brothers car, and then slicing up the new upholstery. It was the first time I had seen my father enraged. My mother called up the Commanding Officer and requested an early discharge for my brother.
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