My bond with Frida Kalho

I don't want to dwell too much on the accident. But a few details of my recent life may create a new bridge of understanding with others. I was taken to surgery after the accident. I had an open book fracture of my pelvis, the front bones of the pelvis were blown out and opened like a book. The first operation was stopped because of my blood loss. I spent days on a ventilator, before they could go back and complete what had been started. My survival tools, denial and I didn't have my contacts. I could not believe what they said because I could not 'read' their faces. I was treated at the U of Calif. Medical Center in San Diego. I was truly blessed in countless ways. Too numerous to count. I spent several weeks at the hospital, then I had to be moved to a rehab center. This is an outrageous joke--it was a nursing home. I learned so much about the women who took care of me, I learned finally at the end of my six week stay, to stand with support, which was my first vertical move since the accident. There are dozens of stories from this time. It was rich with learning experiences for me. I still have all the cards and letters that were written to me at the time. The accident happened in July. I was able to come home in Sept. and started developing the muscles to walk. I did most of the work in a therapeutic swimming pool. Then came the winter, struggles with depression. When Freida ( there are different spellings) Kalho's story came out on film it was inspiring and challenging to me. I have a rich internal world...but less likely to "put it out' there. I am a little more private in corners of my life. lizzzzzzzzzzzy

gall stones. oh, crap. That is all I am going to say about the matter.
Many grey days, I feel my soul is as dry and crisp as a brown autumn oak leaf. My creative level has hovered around 1 or 2 on a scale of 100. It is just a good time to curl up and read.
Growing up, my best friend was Chris Greer. There were no girls in the neighborhood. Chris and I played kick ball, hide and seek, and with dinky cars and tanks in the dirt under MY tree in the back yard. I was always the red jaguar automobile. We dug garages, houses, and built bridges and roads.
Chris' father was a Cadillac sales man. He came home for lunch. Chris and I must have been 4 or 5 years old. Mr. Greer drove this big long sleek black caddie home for lunch on that summer day. Chris had discovered the lighter worked in the car, even if the keys were not in it. Now I wish Mr. Greer had a shorter lunch, because we successfully burned these neat little circles in the car seat. I doubt it was leather in those days, but what ever it was Mr. Greer got real excited when he discovered our creative design. Odd I don't remember anything past seeing how excited he was and I don't think I will try recessive memory exploration to discover the missing parts of the story.
Chris had an older brother, Timmy. Chris was shorter than everyone on the block. So when we gave up digging to China, we found out the pit was just deep enough for Chris to stand up in . The hole was right by the back driveway for the Greer's car. Mrs. Greer was excitable just like her husband I guess. Because when we heard her drive up we all scattered like wheat in the wind. Except Chris because we filled up the hole and only his head was sticking out. It looked like his head was cut off and sitting on the ground. It was really neat looking. But just like the car seats, she did not think it was so cool. Summer time before TV and little parental supervision, ideal.

Do you Remember the days when girls HAD to where dresses? Yes, that is the way I grew up, even in the dead of winter, I wore a dress, tights and corduroy pants with my fancy like-everyone-Else's goulashes (sp). I really have a heart for the lower grade teachers who had to help 20 something little kids removing the ugly black over boots, then trying to match the dozens of boots lined up under the coat hooks, to the dozens of squirmy little kids. Once David Dick paid (I guess his name should go unmentioned) this kid to go out and pee in every one's boots. Next to the heat radiator the smell ruined the end of the day for every kid, but it was so funny. Of course the corduroy pants had to come off at school, so all the girls froze at recess, too posh to put the pants on again. O the cost of vanity. In corduroy pants, you are never walking alone, zup, zup, the sound of two legs rubbing the cord with the roy.
But what I remember about fourth grade was the spring day when I got another one of my brilliant ideas. I tend to learn from experience, so life was interesting, and full of embarrassing moments. Tuffy was my golden hamster, mostly nocturnal, kind of a dud of a pet in reality. But in my imagination Tuffy was full of character and I created many adventures for Tuffy in my mind. This spring day, Tuffy had a real adventure and I had the longest day of school in my life. Where was the little voice to protect me from my own foolishness? I guess my creative side won most of the internal arguments that happened in my head. My mother worked, so the only person to see me off was my high school age brother, who just made sure I didn't go to school with my underwear on my head. So, it was easy to get Tuffy out of the house, sleeping in my dress pocket. That part was the only part that was easy. I swear this little nocturnal beast had been hit by a sudden burst of ADDHD. Tuffy was a closet overactive hamster, a hamster-zilla! How much sweat can a little girl sweat, I found out that day. I just knew I would get the horrid punishment of going to the office, to visit the dread paddle. The paddle viewing happened only once, the rest of the memory was blank. Tuffy spent hours in my desk, after-cont. in next post

Tuffy

That part was the only part that was easy. I swear this little nocturnal beast had been hit by a sudden burst of ADDHD. Tuffy was a closet overactive hamster, a hamster-zilla! How much sweat can a little girl sweat, I found out that day. I just knew I would get the horrid punishment of going to the office, to visit the dread paddle. The paddle viewing happened only once, the rest of the memory was blank. Tuffy spent hours in my desk, after pooping and peeing in my pocket. The desk was a metal open drawer type under the desk top. Tuffy was happy making confetti out of my papers, scampering with his toe nails that sounded like a flamingo dancers, tapping out Morris code, "Iam here, I am here!" Long story short, I did not get caught. Maybe the teacher realized I was suffering without additional consequences. Maybe she was deaf that day. Rest assured it was Tuffy's last day of school, and as far as I know Tuffy returned to the mild mannered normal nocturnal cutie. I often wonder how Tuffy would tell the story. Lizzzy

first grade at Dora Moore

David, just in case you come back to look at the blog, you filled in a blank for me! I missed 70+ days of first grade, and could never remember my teacher's name. As soon as I saw it I knew it! Miss Wyatt. All kids remember their first grade teacher's name, not me. This is so exiting to me. Do you remember the librarian, she was a fossil! She was there when the school was new, for the rest of you it was built in the 1880s. It was a remarkable piece of architecture, and still there. The librarian could remember looking out the window and seeing Indian camps. When she said this, my eyes could have been mistaken for two over easies. I remember my fourth grade teacher, Miss Parks took her place. The significant think was Miss Parks read us from Babi Yaga, a Russian tale of a witch who lived in a house on chicken legs! When I was in East High School in Denver, I met an exchange student, whose parents immigrated to South America from Russia, OK, long story short, there were tears in his eyes when someone could relate to his childhood story. If I were clever enough I would now scan my photo from Dora Moore. East was designed after Independence Hall, a much larger version to house well over 1500 students back in the late 1960's. I graduated in 1969. More later. Lizzzzzzzzzzzy

mouse earrings

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things to do was to dig in my mother's bottom drawer. Don't ask me why, but she kept her jewelry box in that drawer. Maybe so I could look in it? Anyway there it was, easy access for a probing six year old. It was 1957 and I was in first grade. My mother had a wealth of earrings: big red hearts, little brass tea pots, and my favorite the little grey mice earrings. There were others of course, but those tiny stuffed-grey-half-inch mice with little black -bead eyes, and wee tails were my absolute favorites. In those days all earrings were screw-on, only a few were clip-ons. Only the Catholic girls had ears pierced from birth. The mice had screws that held them on, and they were most uncomfortable.
I remember the conversation I had with myself about wearing the earrings to school, I told myself I would be the most enchanting girl alive at Dora Moore Elementary in Denver, Colorado. I was not hard to convince since I loved jewelry almost as much as the air I breathed.
So, they were carefully tucked into my pocket as I headed out for school wearing the red dress with a huge round collar with an apple embroidered on it. My mother made all my clothes, and my Ginny doll had the identical dress. All went well, then after lunch as I reached up to touch the little mouse whiskers, my stomach lurched...I only had one earring on! I remember looking high and low for that little mouse earring. The floors were wide hardwood boards, that I knew had swallowed the one dear mouse earring.
My mother knew something was terribly wrong as soon as I came home. I confessed all immediately, like a nun who had eaten all the chocolate. My mother gave me the worst punishment imaginable. Some viewers may want to look away at this point as it gets graphic. She said, "If only you had asked, I might have said 'yes'." Crap, I had suffered that day, and all I had to do was ask if I could wear the earrings. Secretly, I think she would have said, "no", but that is for another day. I would have rather been spanked.