Wednesday, December 7, 2011
December 7th....This guy has been my husband for 32 years....sometimes we don't get along, sometimes we fight, sometimes we fight ALOT, sometimes he is not so good to me, sometimes I am not so good to him....but when I saw this picture from our Oct 2011 Fam Photo Shoot and how much fun we still have being together......I think that we should keep working at it until we get it right.....
And then on December 7th, 1990, I remember that morning....it was a frosty cold day on the prairie of Colorado that I birthed Winter Rose at home in my bedroom and her poppa, my hubby Bo, just barely caught her in his arms and changed her name to Winter Rose!
Happy 17th Birthday Hunny!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
|Betty, Lisa and Jim Packard at Indy 500, May 1960|
I was born to a millionaire, but he didn’t know it then. There were still races to win and years to live. He would have let me work with him in the business because he trusted my mother and I am like her, smart and business-minded. He would have built a great empire in the racing world had he lived....I would have been treated like a princess, a real southern brat, I meant belle.
|Dan Wheldon with the Borg Warner Trophy|
But it didn’t work out the way it was supposed to. My daddy he got killed in a race car in Fairfield, Illinois on my mother’s birthday. I was 11 months old and missed him every day, ‘where was my kiss, daddy?’, ‘where was my daddy?’ My mother, who was very pregnant with my brother couldn’t answer, choosing unconsciously, protectively to stare out the window without a tear. Stoic she felt was the best way to handle this event, but in so choosing she drove a wedge between me and her that no one could ever figure out how to remove. She grieved him more in later life it seemed than at that moment, but people grieve in different ways. I learned to understand her and let go, but the wedge remained to remind us of our loss.
My brother, on the other hand, grieved a grief that few know of; when we were young and skipped school together and sat by the creek smoking mom’s Viceroys, he would say as he looked at me, “I never felt my father’s touch.” .....What do you say to a pain like that? I just puffed and handed him the cigarette for his turn….within a few years I would do the same with a joint and we would feel a bit mellow but the pain remained and does still.
|Dan Wheldon died October 16, 2011|
I was at a race once, after being a mom myself for nearly 30 years and I happened to turn my head just right to see a young girl of maybe 10 or 11 give her daddy a hug. He was dressed in a driver’s suit and turned to walk after his car as it was pushed from the garage towards the starting line. I choked on my emotion and I couldn’t breathe. If there is a God, please don’t let that be the last time that she gets to hug her daddy.
|Dan Wheldon at Las Vegas Raceway where he died on the track 2011|
It happened again today, another child’s daddy taken by the track, so young and oh so sweet his boys looked in all the pictures I poured over, driven to find, driven to relive as if somehow watching the horrific crash would scald the pain that still resides in me into numbness.
But no such luck, the witness, the pictures, the YouTube just made my pain sharp and raw.
And now there is nothing left to say, there are no words and to steal a phrase from a woman that has experienced such pain and sorrow, death comes quietly as if on cat paws in the night.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
I was happy to see a picture of a couple getting married. They were obviously in love, you can see it in their faces.
For some this picture causes controversy....it is a picture of 2 men, more so it is a picture of a United States Military Officer marrying his partner.
The U.S. military closes the books on "don't ask, don't tell." Navy Lieutenant Gary Ross and his partner celebrated the end of "don't ask, don't tell" with a Vermont wedding just after midnight, when repeal officially took effect.
Some history of dadt here:US politics live blog: 'Don't ask, don't tell' repeal.
For me? I am happy for them....there needs to be more love in the world, more romance, more understanding, more tolerance.
As a young girl I was exposed to intolerance, bullying, division, racism and more at an early age. Born at the end of the 1950's, racism was still alive and well, even in my extended family.
As a 4 and 5 year old I was brutally treated by my neighbors, not just the kids, but their parents. Why? Because my mom was a widow and refused to marry immediately after my fathers death. That was a time when a woman 'HAD TO HAVE A MAN' and how dare her to not remarry soon. My mom on the other hand was young and shell-shocked to be widowed so soon after her marriage to her soul-mate. She was waiting for a guy that would be a good father to me and my brother and a good husband to her. It was a tall order and she never found a guy to be both instead marrying a good companion for herself when I was a senior in High School.
The people of my small town could not fathom such a thing and it created such agitation in them that they grew angrier and angrier and more brutal as the years went on.
I remember as a young girl, maybe 8 or so, calling my classmates to see if they could play. Their parents would get on the phone and say, "Don't call here again, you can't play with our kids." - the reason was that my mom was single.
When I was in third grade the kids started bringing to school the anger that their parents carried, one day during PE some girls through my clothes in the toilet....it wasn't just any outfit, it was a cherished jumper that my very elegant and charismatic Grandma Juanita gave me....it was zebra striped and I felt so glamorous and pretty in it.....I came back to the bathroom to find it stuffed in the toilet....it brings tears to my eyes to this day.
Even the teachers bullied me, one going so far as to pull my ponytail so hard during lunch that it brought tears. I never went back to lunch at school. That was a time when we got an hour lunch to walk home...you know, all mothers were at home waiting for their kids....only the poor, stupid kids had to stay at school for lunch and the teachers hated being there. I never went back....when my mom found out that I was going home for lunch she had me take my brother too....I was happy to take him as I loved him and we were company for each other.
My brother was always quieter than I was, God only knows how he was treated at school and in the neighborhood....so I started cooking lunch for my brother and I at the tender age of 8 or 9. We were in Junior High before we knew that you are supposed to brown the hamburger before you put in the Manwich sauce.
Things always got worse, never better, both my brother and I barely escaped with our sanity from our small town and I am not sure that what you call sanity is what we live in to this day, but we are both happy, mostly and successful.
These years of mistreatment just because I was different, because we were different, ingrained in me a fierce understanding of what it feels like to be different and I will defend over and over again those that need defending.....
To quote someone else, "I have a dream when people will not be judged by the color of their skin, whom they love or how they look, but by who they are."