I haven’t seen her in years.

She had lots of feelings and happenings.


Serious lows.

Delicious highs.

The world was different.

She was different.

Perspective changes, and it’s fresh to see it.

It’s fresh to feel it too.

Everyone thought of themselves.

It was a selfish time.

And no one knew what to believe.

Because it had been confused,


Or not.

For some anger.

and a need to blame.

Others exhausted.


Some blissfully oblivious.

Late 19th.

There was Haymarket, labor unrest.

It was like this.

Or not.

No charismatic leader, right?

Maybe a hated leader,

Like now.

No social media, ergo


Biggest difference.

More of us now.

We’re the same as before.

We are alike.

We sentient beings.

My muse eludes me.





Being a woman who has been on this planet & in this country a long time, I want to talk about what it’s like sometimes. Usually it’s pretty damn good, and I’m thankful for it.

The last few months I’ve been seeing a lot of ugly things about and toward women on media. I read a blog post about sexual harassment on the street, which brought to mind public sexual harassment I had experienced once. From a person I worked with. In his environment, a construction supply house. And I hadn’t thought of it as harassment, I just felt ashamed, not really knowing why. I realize now it was definitely sexual harassment.

I ran into him there one Saturday & I was picking up a part a mechanic needed “in the field.” This guy had an audience of guys working behind the parts counter, who knew me by phone, but I’d never met personally. His name was Joe. I’ve lost touch with him but Joe and his wife ended up having about 8 kids, maybe more, and I used to babysit for them sometimes. Not after this happened. His wife was a saint. He later went into the ministry.ūüĎÄ

I don’t remember exactly what was said but Joe said something personal & embarrassing about how I looked. And it was posed as a question, so I felt all eyes on me. Don’t remember what it was. I just know I felt: humiliated & sad. I never wanted to see those guys at the supply house again. I was embarrassed the next time I had to call them for something. It was the days before email. Some people would say my telling this out loud is making a big deal out of nothing. I learned this bc I have a big mouth, and sometimes talk very frankly about my experiences. This is your warning. ūüėä

Now, in 2016, I feel like he wanted to humiliate me, bc I had never seen him act like that to anyone. And I babysat for him! I was about 22, so I hadn’t learned to stand up for myself at all. It still does not come naturally. Sometimes standing up for yourself is viewed negatively, too.

This particular incident came to mind when I thought about street harassment. Thinking about this incident made me think¬†about the number of times I’ve been sexually targeted, so to speak. This incident felt like that, and it was the least ‘sexual’ of the times I’ve been targeted. I remembered 4 more times that were overtly sexual. Once a stranger masturbated at me in a parking lot we were sitting in. ¬†A few spaces down. It was night & I was waiting for my sister to get off at the Shoney’s in Ashland.

Another time I was looking at the travel sizes at the drugstore, oblivious to the guy next to me until he ejaculated into the travel sizes we were viewing.

Another time I was at the Westhampton Library and noticed a preppy-looking guy, prolly in his late 20’s early 30’s. Looked like a Dad, cute. I was prolly 20. A few minutes later I was looking at books. In the aisle where I was there was a window at the end. I was engrossed in the books, then noticed this same preppy guy standing outside, outside this window, rubbing his dick through his khakis. ¬†I walked or drove quickly away after ea of these incidents.

There was something else I don’t remember at the moment. I had never thought of them cumulatively before a few mos ago!¬†Oh, and in elementary school I was assaulted on an ongoing basis for about 3 years by a group of bigger boys. They’d circle around me & tease me & put their hands on my chest & crotch, through my clothes. And I wasn’t particularly safe after I told my Mom, which is prolly why it went on for 3 years. ¬†Although it tapered off after I told her. I felt more empowered, I think, to say stop. And it became a memory.

I remembered 2 more a few days later. A total of 6 times I have been sexually assaulted. This doesn’t include Joe’s or anyone else’s harassment. The last 2 incidents are a rape when I was unconscious, mid 20’s. And something with a great uncle ¬†when I was 10, that I hate thinking & talking about and don’t remember all the details. I remember the way I made sense of it, when it came to mind later, was I thought he was having a diabetic seizure. But why didn’t I run & tell my grandmother & aunt? It was at the beach. Memom was prolly on the beach & Aunt Louise was prolly sitting on the street side in one of those plastic folding lounge chairs w/ no arms, with the sides up on ea side of her. I remember being too scared to tell anyone, so.

To be clear my assaults occurred in these places: a library, a drugstore, in a parking lot in Ashland, VA, at elementary school, at a friend’s house and at the beach with my grandmother, in the cottage where we stayed. In the living room, watching tv.

So, that is everything I remember at the moment. Women get assaulted all the time. It starts young. Maybe it tapers off too. I haven’t been assaulted in 20-25 years! And I’ve done a lot of healing work around all of my experiences. Don’t feel sorry for me. Know that most women you know probably had or will have one or more of these things happen to her.



If you’ve read my blog you probably know a place in NC, Belhaven, is close to my heart. This summer I got to visit, and it was joyous. Other aunts, uncles & cousins who don’t live there were visiting. My generous uncle had a crew to cook & clean up. We had the best fried shrimp I’d had in a few years. And this incredible layer cake he gets in Currituck or somewhere on the way.

My cousins and I rode all over town in my uncles golf cart. It’s probably less than a mile from downtown to River Forest Manor, where we were staying. The house is being renovated and I told a little of its history here. While downtown, the golf cart ran out of gas and we were chugging and pushing home, and I was periscoping it, which was hilarious. It took 1/2 an hour to get back!

My Uncle rented a luxury bus that had bedrooms, a kitchen, etc. He also rented some of the outer cottages that have been renovated (very nicely, I might add, they were skanky for a long time.) He also brought his cars. One of them is the the Rolls from Arthur, which my uncle got at an auction. ALS (which killed Dudley Moore, star of this film,) is related to Parkinson’s, which my uncle has had for 20 years. He’s only 10 years older than me and has lived such an active life. I got to drive his newer Rolls in the parade! Here are some pics from the weekend.


River Forest Manor


Preston and Uncle Sonny


Water Street view


Bishop Home on Water St.


Preston rolls into Belhaven


4 of his cars


My cuz Chelsea



Preston and Aunt Libby


Preston’s Kris Kraft


Arthur Car


Boats at the marina


Preston’s Rolls


¬†Aunt Nellie’s house


I drove this!


My view at parade


Late afternoon


Boats at the dock


New Marina


All the water pics are Pantego Creek

Here is Annie’s writing prompt #14. It is a lovely picture, but I decided to deal with the quote in the picture for this prompt. ¬†It says “If I let you in please don’t break anything.”

She told him,

“If I let you in, please don’t break anything.”

A wounded heart,

fragile like glass.

She longs to feel safe,

but what does that look like?

She must create it herself.

I was having a hard time downloading the picture prompt. Click here to view the picture before or after reading my little poem.

She swings listlessly in the mist

In an Alice in Wonderland tree.

Cruel branches, knobby and angular.

In the weight of her surrounds

She sings mournfully of her man

Who fell in spring at Monte Cassino.

I am writing in response to Annie’s Prompt. I’ve not written a lot with visual prompts. Usually my prompts are written. So, we shall see how this goes. ¬†I found the pic and prompt over at her blog in,¬†Writing Outside The Lines. ¬†Here is the prompt: (I can write about the words on a few of the rocks, or all the rocks, lots of options.


I want to talk about the colors.

The sentiments-floating or sinking.

The purple Peace is lovely.


You Are Loved

What I want to write about are my feelings right now. They are wavy and very confused and hurting in a way that feels palpable to me. Someone recently told me they appreciated my complexity. That felt comforting. I am feeling strangely determined. I am feeling hurt. It is visceral. I feel it in my heart.

If I write will I comfort myself?

I fell today


and busted my ass. It hurt like hell. I hurt my knees & then my cheek hit the asphalt. Oh, and I didn’t pass out or seize or anything. I distinctly remember my feet fumbling and the fall in detail. Every time I tried to sit up I got dizzy and couldn’t. ¬†It still hurts and I’m going to show you a pic or you can check my twitter time line I tweeted one…

However, right now, what I’m thinking is about when people who are jaywalking or not wearing a seat belt or something else entirely uncriminal end up with their cheeks slammed to the pavement and receive not only no care, but usually at least a little more injury. No sympathy, no comfort, no feeling of safety. The whole staff at the vet’s office came out & one of the vets and tended to me. Brought me ice, called my husband, a towel for my head bc I couldn’t move. Gave me a Coke. I was dazed for a few minutes.

Tim left work and brought me home, got me situated and iced. I’m injured but great.

I can’t imagine hitting my face on the pavement like that and not being in pain and injured.

I’m thinking about how many times a day this happens to people on the streets of our country. No one gives it a thought.

Makes me hurt for our society. And ashamed I participated in letting it get this way.