Growing up I was blessed with being able to travel with my maternal grandparents several times a year. Ranging anywhere from Disneyland and Sea World to camping and boating. I was with my grandparents at Lake Powell the day it was considered officially full in June of 1980. Lake Powell is my favorite place in the world and the resting place of my grandparents.
Except for the times my grandfather flew us in his Cessna, vacations were usually started with a Bronco pulling a trailer or a boat name The Beverly Anne II. The drive was usually long enough for something to leak, break, fail, catch fire, or blow out along way. Adding adventure long before we were screaming at the darkness in Space Mountain
It was my grandmother who gave me the term “adventure” during those times that I still use to this day. Living in a 30 year old pink single wide trailer with only a swamp cooler to get through the Vegas summer heat, was quiet an adventure. My grandmother took one look at the trailer and told me to just pretend I was on a camping adventure. There was even a big pine tree growing by the back door, reminding me of many Colorado camping trips. After spending two summers “camping” and being pregnant with my second child we thought it better to end that trip and bought a house.
When the market went to shit in Las Vegas and we made the mistake of re-financing beyond our means we lost our home we had for eleven years. So we started a new adventure in Arizona. While most of my family lives there I was not really close to them. I had spent 17 years in Vegas, I did not know them and they certainly did not know me. They thought they did after reading all our private letters and journals, something I think they are proud of. I do not think they would like me to do that to them. Actually, the thought to do that would not cross my mind.
A week before Christmas they kicked us out with our twelve year old son. They have lied, stolen, and have turned into people I do not know. I had an awesome childhood which makes what they did even more hard to deal with. Something changed when my maternal grandparents passed away. I know in my heart there is not a chance this would be happening if my grandfather were alive.
My grandfather’s favorite holiday was Christmas, and I think he sat in Heaven watching what was being done to his great grandchild, and if you can get pissed in the afterlife, I am certain he was. My son was in a hotel room with his mom and dad who were on the verge of breakdown, while my parents got drunk with my daughter on a little holiday vacation at a bar in Laughlin. Something is very wrong with that.
Two weeks after we were kicked out and we had been living in hotels, I told my son to think of this as an adventure. I even said we could just live in hotels for a year while I wrote about our adventures. Nothing is as easy as it sounds and hotels got expensive. A twelve year old needs to be in school, not sitting in a McDonald’s on my laptop while his father and I figured out a way to get 60 dollars for a night at hotel in the ghetto.
A few weeks ago I was talking to my son about our adventures and he said something I will never forget. He said “Mom, I am all adventured out.” It broke my heart to hear him say that because I knew this adventure was not the kind my grandmother was talking about. However, this adventure taught him to have compassion for others I have never seen, especially in a twelve-year-old. Everyone we have come across has told me what a helpful and kind kid he is. Teachers are telling me he is intelligent and articulate. That being said, our adventure has done damage to his trust in people and given him a fear and an uncertainty a child should not have to deal with.
I know there are families and children who have horrible lives compared to ours. I thank God every day for what we do have and I know it will only get better. We will have the adventures my grandmother talked about, and our son will learn to trust again.
- Family Reunion Roadtrip Style – Lake Powell, UT (travelpod.com)
- 8 Ways That Grandparents Really Rock! (aarp.org)
- A Never Ending Thanks To Grandparents (thebrightersideoflife57.wordpress.com)
When you hear about the loss of someone’s beloved animal, you call or send a card. Being at what can only be called a war with that person, and anyone associated with him, makes sending a card a non-option. As does an order of protection. While your war will continue, you make a choice that for today, you will remember his friend. The one he sat with late at night sharing his thoughts. The one that gave him comfort when no one else understood. The one who was unconditional love.
For today… you will give your anger and pain to God…
For today… you will say a prayer for peace and comfort in your enemies loss…
For today… you will remember his friend…
May you be running free, across sunny fields of green…
With the warmth of heaven taking away your pain…
Know that you were loved, and will be missed by many…
Until we met again…rest in peace, my beautiful friend…
Their path you are to follow looks clear…It looks easy…It is like walking on air…For miles you can see the open space in front…Nothing clouds the view…you can see everything ahead long before you have to adjust your step..You turn to look over your shoulder…You can see a reflection of the path in front of you…Everything is the same… You start to wonder if this is all there is on this well-worn road…
The Monarch touches your hand for a split second, pulling your eyes to follow..He dances around the bright blooming flower that grows on the side…The humming bird drinks her nectar…You wonder…Can no one else see that beauty…Why do you stay on this path…
You continue on, every step becoming like last….The Coyote plays hide in go seek, watching as you walk…The flicker of his ears allowing the sun to reflect the morning dew as it flies through crisp air…His dark eyes searching your soul, wondering if you have the fearless craving to seek out more than you understand…
A small break appears in the cactus and trees that surround you…Sitting on a rock…the Coyote stares…waiting with his knowledge for you to follow…You stumble and you fall…You cry out as the cactus are sharp and rocks do not bend…
You stand proud with bloody knees and scraped elbows pulling the quills out…Next to you are those who laughed when you followed the Coyote to your own path…You will heal…Your mind is quick…Your heart softens into kindness…Your eyes able to see beauty they cannot….
And you will follow…What is Yours…
Leaving them to continue on What is Theirs…Only following their own refection…
Creating one email to insure an order of protection will be placed on you is not that easy. It has to be a detailed step by step run down of what you would like to do. Involving the elderly will improve chances the judge will issue it against you. However, if you really want to see your name after the word defendant, make sure the plaintiff writes fiction well.
With an OOP, they are going to arrest you first, ask questions later. Which will probably stop most from contacting the plaintiff for the next year. You do not want to spend the night sleeping on urine saturated cement, digesting a dry bologna sandwich and peanuts, with twenty other happy souls and one toilet . If you are lucky enough to live in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s county, you will get to enjoy your meal in a 120 degree sweat filled tent wearing pink. I do enjoy being outside, feeling the morning sun on my face, and I look good in pink. However, I learned years ago that, I, in fact, do not like Joey’s bologna sandwiches.
You have to be careful, especially if you are not certain who is involved in wanting you to meet the sheriff. Situations will be created, enabling constant contact with the authorities. While this can be stressful at first, most cops are understanding of the situation. They have even heard the F-Bomb dropped once or twice, and probably will not freak out much if you slip. If they ask strange questions, remember they were probably told a story, so just answer the best you can. Once enough police reports are written documenting you are not crazy, but the plaintiff may have some issues, the questions fade.
If you ask for a hearing, and it results in anything other than dismissed, Brady will apply. Which means you are on the “Fed’s Gun Blacklist” for the next year. You probably want to re-frame from having a gun within your reach. Notice, I said “a” gun, it does not have to be one acquired for yourself. If you know it is around, according to Mr. Brady, it becomes yours. You might ponder that idea into clarity, over the next five years in the Federal Pen, if it confuses you now.
I one hundred percent believe in the second amendment, and in Arizona’s gun laws. If a criminal wants a gun, they are going to get one. Or five AK-47‘s with a thousand rounds, if that is their desire. Regardless of the law, Mr. “What You Need”, is always standing on the corner, like a Walmart greeter to the black market. Supply will never disappear as long as there is a demand. Until society does a 180 and someone figures out why we shoot each other, I demand the right to defend myself.
Which brings me to the bullet proof paper that has me listed as a defendant. The creative writer of fiction, the plaintiff, is quoted as saying, ” I have no doubt, she would use a gun if she had one.” I did have one, when I sent my OOP granting email, a nice Smith and Wesson 45 with a hair trigger. The hollow point ammunition that filled the two clips may have even been illegal, I do not really know. I can promise there is not a lot that would stop one of them once the trigger was pulled. Certainly not a piece of paper.
I do respect the order, and the gun sold with me never breaking the Brady Law. My beautiful Smith and Wesson will be replaced one day. When it is, I will still continue to fight my battles with words, maybe even a F-bomb or two. That being said, come at me with an intention to physically harm my family, it is a guarantee, I will use my right to replace F-Bombs with hollow points.
You sit, the music plays loud. Your stomach twisted in knots. The lies you hear are heavy. More come. The reason escapes your ability to understand why. You will stop it. It will crush you to watch. You know you should look away. You cannot. You are tired. You try to get the normalcy back. Your spun 360, face to face with the same shit, over and again.
You want to move on. It consumes you. You run the pictures of words on a loop. It never stops. You pray for serenity. It is the calm contentment that will slow your run. You feel the freedom you have earned in your struggle. You broke away long ago. You keep looking back for a glimpse of recognition. It is not there. You cannot recall when it was.
A place you adore. The hot morning sun burning your skin as your dreams fade. You can smell the bacon, hear the voices laughing. You look down, the water cool, reflecting back at you like a mirror. You feel the tears burn your checks. A moment remembered is all you have of a life that is no longer yours. You pray for courage.
You look down to your calm, the cool blue mirror looking back. You jump, the rush of the freedom filling you. You know the mistakes you have made. They are your own. To learn from them, or not, is your choice. God is always patient. You grow tired of being right. He still there. Decisions, choices, repercussions begin to mix. You can no longer tell which are yours to accept. You get stung, trying to untangle the mess. You look up, towards the Wisdom, and pray. The light comes down engulfing your storm, leaving you free.
Today will mark the 100th day that we have been “on the run” from family who have lost their minds. This is what they are saying with their loving actions….
“Sorry, Dear, you are guilty of theft, period. We will not ask you anything about your guilt directly. We will only speak through emails. We will tell anyone that may give you a word of encouragement that you are a piece of shit that deserves nothing. And now that we have reached 100 days, we will be forwarding out a three-month old email, trying to prove that this entire FEST is all your fault. We did nothing wrong. We did not steal clothing and give it to Goodwill. The JUDGE did that remember?”
“Of course, Dear, we read every thought you wrote, typed, or drew, and kept for 20 years. We had to steal something we knew for a fact you could not get back from us. Here are your thoughts back dear…See, we cannot give them back. However, we can and will share them with others…friends, family, police, courts, CPS, and anyone else we can think of. We are so happy you are good with that! ”
“Oh, your son? Well, we thought it would build his character for ALL of us to completely ignore him on Christmas. We wanted to show him exactly what kind of people we are. We spent the day with his sister, we had to make sure she got her gifts. Oh, his sugar glider died? I am sorry, we cannot ever acknowledge that. We do not even see him. You allowed him to have a potty mouth in the email he sent out, and our eyes filled with our own blood blinding us for life.
For this 100th day, in recognition the death of the innocent sugar glider, “Shug Zoe”, mate of “Shug Night”, I am posting that twelve-year old’s email as he sent it, potty mouth and all. I guarantee he has handled this shit storm better than the adults who dragged him into it.
December 28, 2012
So, you screwed us once again. You know…. I’m starting to lose count of how many times you have just straight pissed me and my entire family off. Come on what the hell did me or my family ever do to you prior to these events? Nothing…Absolutely nothing. You know, I don’t consider you family anymore, or anyone else in that bloody house. Except “XXXX”, who I would consider a friend.
You are one fucking idiot, man. By the way, who in the hell fucked with my father’s FX Light Saber? That shit was sealed, and we got it only to find it open. I am done being quiet now. It’s time I gave my opinion on this stupid situation. You tried to get into my mom’s safe, didn’t you? By the way, the only way you could get into the Ford Explorer is… Guess what?…BREAKING AND ENTERING!
I am absolutely fed up with your bullshit. I hate you with a passion, I guarantee you that. Oh, and guess what happened, just today?….You know our sugar gliders? Yeah, there WERE two of them…But guess what? ONE OF THEM IS DEAD! And you know it’s your damn fault. If you didn’t drive us into this damn hotel, we would have been able to care for them properly, and they would have been fine.
All because of this lie XXXX said, you automatically, Hell, I would say INSTANTLY accepted as one-hundred percent correct without even asking us. Nice job with the restraining order against my mother, but you didn’t get one on my dad or me. That means we are allowed to go to the Explorer, and you can do nothing about it. Because you can try to twist the law into your own vision and make it all happy for you and your family, but in the end you will pay. You can think yourself a god, but once again, you will pay.
Nice talking to you, Asshole.
The Twelve-Year Old