The INSTITUTION OF SLAVERY existed OFFICIALLY in our Nation for approximately 250 years. Of course, taking advantage of others who are lower in some ways than ourselves continues. Who realizes that this trauma has affected some families…. FAMILIES for approximately 15 generations…. ??
The trauma will probably affect these people for at LEAST 15 generations more…
Listening to a hearing in the house (DC) on reparations. There is a bill under consideration to study the issue of victims of U.S. Slavery. I grew up basically hearing African Americans, and Mexicans being talked about in derogatory terms. The speaker at the moment, a woman with an incredible background in terms of accomplishment and education, and also a descendant of PEOPLE used for slave labor. I have for years and years repeated what I heard without thought. “I did not own slaves, I don’t owe a thing.” I do feel bad, and embarrassment when I find an ancestor who had slaves. It makes me incredibly sad. Today, the lady at the hearing pointed out that we who are living today, that even if we have not owned slaves ourselves, that we have indeed lived off of the improvements that were created in this country by slave labor. We live on the backs of slaves…. our standard of living. It was slavery that largely built our nation. And yet, these folks had little to say about how they lived. And when I mention slaves… I am not only talking about African American, though they are the main victims. I am thinking of our ultra cheap Mexican & Chinese labor, the Irish who were also victimized, the indentured laborer (basically a slave), and any others who were treated as sub-human, and as work, mules to make someone else’s reality better and more comfortable. This is not a conservative/liberal thing in my opinion. This IS a human thing. This is a need of repairing our relationships with ourselves and our neighbors. It becomes even more important when we realize that we are indeed, living upon culture, society, and a physical domain that would not exist if it were not for these PEOPLE. If nothing else, our nation, as a whole, needs to set up a written document that apologies to each and every soul that was treated in a less than compassionate way. This apology to the African Americans, Mexicans, Irish, and any other person affected is LONG OVERDUE and much needed. I am a person who has grown up with trauma. The consequences are not just long term, they are LIFELONG and GENERATIONAL. And my trauma has NOTHING to do with the beatings my ancestors gave their slaves (people). My trauma has nothing to do with my ancestors taking advantage of another human being to make their life’s more wealthy. The mindset that comes from living with the after-effects of trauma pigeon holes a person and leaves him in a way that they very slowly make it through their life. More often than not, the bottom line for these people is simply survival. It is very, very hard to crawl out of that hole. I, myself, have been in and out, mostly in, therapy for nearly 30 years. And this damage is from trauma from childhood and trauma from domestic violence through a marriage. If this kind of trauma lasts this long in one person’s life, can you imagine the effects of a family of people who have been enslaved for generations? Slavery is another form of trauma that people must learn to overcome. These people have literally only survived for generations. They deserve a hand up in some form, and a very sincere and official apology. I for one, am humbled when I realize that without slavery there would be no Wall Street. There would be no interstate, no railroad, and many other infrastructures that we all very much depend on today. If ever I felt the need to be sad and apologetic for what these PEOPLE have gone through in each and every one of their lives regardless of what role they filled, i.e. slave, child of a slave, supportive spouse, wench, laborer, a forced and unpaid sexual worker (call it what it was, when there was rape involved), regardless of skin color, and ethnicity: I am sincerely and humbly sorry for our horrible past and our horrible present, for I realize that racism has not stopped, and there are still people out there who honestly believe that people of color are less than PEOPLE. Until that is completely over and dead, I will continue to be sorry and sad. I for one, have found tears…
So, it’s official… I’m female, and I’m a Beaver. I know the jokes that will eventually come from that. But, for now I’m going to enjoy and absorb the idea that at 57 years of age, I have been accepted into Oregon State University and I’m going in as Junior. Nearly all my credits from Santa Rosa Junior College were accepted.
For now, I will be working on a Bachelor’s degree in History. From there should I decide to, I can go for a Masters and then a PhD. I’d actually love to go for the PhD. I’d love for people to call me, “Doctor” … who???
I am excited as can be. I start in late September. They are on a quarter system so classes will be concentrated. I’m going to pray I can keep up.
So, for now and in the meantime, and later when I start, Go Beavs!! From an OFFICIAL Beaver Girl!!! (ahem, Old Lady!)
You know, Clyde and I have known each other and have been living together for 15 years now — in different states including marriage. LOL. Two days ago was our anniversary. You know we still like each other???? Totally amazing. One more year and I will have surpassed the length that my ex and I made it. There will be no issue getting there banning anything extreme (like death). I am amazed every single day that love, and passion still exists. That we still don’t seem to take each other for granted and make an effort to do our best for one another. A true team. I realize this is everyday stuff for a lot of people. But, it was not every day for me, not the first time. Not sure my ex ever put his best foot forward-I was property for him. I am unsure if I ever really took him for granted, but I can say my attitude got worse and worse as the years went on. But, you know….. mental, emotional, physical abuse will do that to a person. The difference (not that it is at all fair to compare the two) between these two men are like night and day. Every day, almost Clyde lets me know he loves me. He tells me how sexy I am (really???!!!!). He calls me beautiful. These things matter to me. Not that I believe it all the time, but it’s great practice at taking a compliment with grace. We have our moments and disagreements. But, we both care enough that we never push it too far, and have asked for help at appropriate times (both of us). He is probably more committed than I am. I say that because where I come from, (divorced parents) has left me with ‘one foot hanging out the door’ for most of my life in terms of commitments. I am proud of Clyde and I. We both came from our own kinds of backgrounds. Yet, we are both grown up enough to care enough, to make it work. When we were married my pastor told me that this was truly my first marriage. I agreed with him at the time. But, looking back, with more experience under my belt. I agree with him even more now. Thank you Clyde for the best time in my life. For reminding me that it’s ok to play, and that hard work does work. That really good men who are relationship worthy do exist. To put up with and then allow me to outgrow my ‘man bashing’ years….. He has done a world of good for me and my health with his patience and love. Who do you know that would walk 12 miles to get help to get you off the top of a mountain and out of at least 2 feet of snow!!!! Still my hero.
This essay, such as it will be… was going to be called, “My Kind of Crazy”. But, I realized suddenly that to call it “MY KIND OF…” means that I approve, condone, am ok with. The reality is, that I am very, very sad about where I come from. My family is highly, highly dysfunctional.
Instead, officially, the title of this essay is, “A Spy In the Family” the idea comes from a conversation I had today with my therapist. And it suits the situation perfectly. I often feel as if I am the odd man out in the family. I won’t go so far as saying I’m the black sheep, though I think I probably am. I was a child who was fearful and at the same time hyper-aware of everything going on around me. I was watching the show, even when grown-ups thought I was not. What it has come down to, is that I watched and heard, and was told enough to put the puzzle at least partially together. Yet, after all these years, I have no final conclusion.
Having found some new cousins recently — I felt the need to protect them from the truth. I told the adoptive mother of one of them tonight, and I hope she got the message that if I could talk as plainly as I wanted and if she could hear it – don’t let your baby get to know his biological family. He doesn’t need them. He may look just like his father, but there is NO need to set him up for failure by introducing him to the idea that his real father was probably a piece of shit. Just cause his father was a loser, doesn’t mean that this kid is a loser. Don’t let this history bring your kid down.
To say that this was hard to say is an absolute understatement. I probably could not have said it 20 years ago. I told her, they are all dead now so I can say it. I was in all truth hiding truths that showed that most of my uncles and possibly grandfather were at the very least sexually promiscuous. And at the most, sexual predators. I am unsure just where on the spectrum they were all on. It is funny and not- in that our culture teaches us to not speak ill of people, and especially of the dead. And yet, if people are trouble makers, why should we not warn others? Why should talking about the dead shake up a person so much?
Then it dawned on me…. that just because my father was a loser in some ways… (probably the same ways as his cousin and brothers) doesn’t mean that I am a piece of shit. I should have never let it hold me down. But, you know, kids just don’t know these things. We have to figure it out and it comes one small step at a time if it ever comes. One must be willing to look at history, and family stories, the myths, and the truths and tease them out without denial. It is a very hard process. It is very painful. I am 57 years old, have been in therapy now for more than 1/2 my adult life. I’m still teasing out the truths, still trying not to have denial, and still wanting to cry as I come to more realizations.
I just posted this to Facebook only 30 or so minutes ago: “I had my therapist laughing so hard she was in tears today (not a lot, maybe just watery eyes, still…) Problem is I think that the laughter was because I told something that shocked or surprised her. I told it like it was funny, but the truth is, that it was not funny at all. She told me I should write a book. And I must have looked at her like she was nuts. She said, “Fictionalize it, no one is going to believe it was ever real life.” OMG—– All I did was tell what I grew up hearing and heard after growing up, and what I saw with my own eyes. At the end of my session, I had to look at her and say, “And that is just one side of my family”. The paternal side of my family. But, consider that my mother married into this mess, and after dad left her, she married a what came to be known as a child molester, and that, dear reader, is documented:
And yes, reader, just so you know, I am actively working and have been for years, to ‘overcome’. At 57 years of age, thanks to adoptees coming into the fold, and me feeling the strong need to warn the younger of them — I came to some new realizations. It was NOT just my father and his brothers with the issues, and that showed me that these problems went beyond them in the family generational structure. On the Rowe side of things, I can document violence going back probably 5 generations. On all sides of my family, I can document men at war, if that has any bearing on the situation (studies show that it does a have a bearing). On the McClaskey side, not so much. But, to farm out a 10-year-old to be a servant, probably knowing that sexual ‘service’ was part of the deal. I’m not quite sure just how my great grandfather lived with himself. Maybe this is why we never see him smile, and even looking downright sad in his later in life photographs. As I put the graphic together, it became evident that there was probably NO one in my father’s family (mother, father, siblings) who had not been touched in one way or another of some sort of sexual abuse. And I AM including verbal abuse, emotional abuse, and physical abuse.
Getting back up to that graphic up above. I have a 2nd cousin, we’ll call him Johnny. Johnny had a girlfriend when he was 17, turned out she was way older than he was (think statuary rape). I really had issues with my cousin accepting this and not having the woman thrown in jail. Very recently, I was told that she had been married to Billy (my cousin, today, if Billy were alive he’d be 57. I doubt that Johnny is even 30). And even more recently, I realized she was one of the women that Billy and my Uncle had swapped. So, this woman has had three generations of ‘Rowe’ men (boys). Don’t get me wrong, she’s a good looking woman. But, the whole situation creeps me out. I am fairly (like 100%) sure that this would be considered a normal reaction to an abnormal situation.
This is the gift that my family has given me. And every other child of my generation, and to our children and grandchildren. It is no wonder we have boundary issues. Problems saying NO. It is NO wonder… mom wanted to keep us from that side of the family, and that her brother and parents considered them “uncivilized”. Where do I go with this? Who wants to help me write this book? Rather than fictionalizing it, perhaps, I should just write it up as part of my biography. After all, I keep telling myself that I have/will overcome, and I can talk a good one about ‘bouncing back’.
My God, this is where I come from…. How do the women in these men’s lives live with these stories and images? I am a child of one of them and grown and still having trouble placing it where it belongs in this puzzle we call life.
(To add to the graphic above — Alveta’s first husband was a bigamist, and her second was a winner at domestic violence. She was beaten and hence a divorce. The third was her charm, and thank God for him. He was a stabilizing force within the family.
While writing the previous post, it dawned on me. That being a ‘whistleblower’ is a theme in my life. The outcome is very nearly always the same. Wow.
The first time I was a ‘whistleblower’ is when I supposedly betrayed my mother. This might be what she is talking about when she says I betrayed her, I really do not know. Not sure I care at this point. But, when I realized she was involved with my step father’s criminal acts, I worked very hard to get the detective to arrest her, to get the D.A. to press charges, to get the school district to fire her. And I’d agree that it was a betrayal, except to say that the betraying had already been done by herself, once she decided that my child was the other woman, and she had to protect herself from the said seven-year-old. The detective in an act or acts of support actually nagged the District Attorney. I went to see the district attorney in person. It finally was explained this way. Criminal charges are very much linked to money, and by money, I mean the money it takes to prosecute a criminal. The taxpayers in our country do not want their taxes spent unwisely. They see it as foolish and a waste of time and resources. And so, yours and my local district attorney must weigh each case to see if it is a winning case. IF it does not look like it can be won (regardless of how guilty they feel the person might be), they will not charge the case, because it’s a waste of time and money.
In the case of women — they have a tendency to be able to play up their so-called ‘womanhood’. In my mother’s case specifically, the District Attorney, explained to me that women her age have a tendency to: 1.) find the best attorney they can afford 2.) Act old 3.) Act helpless and the jury reacts by letting the criminal (woman) go free.
And that is the only reason my mother wasn’t charged. The detective was pretty sure she was guilty. The District Attorney was pretty sure she was guilty. Everyone told me so. And just to finish the story completely, my mother did hire the best attorney out of San Francisco who’s was very well known for protecting child molesters and advertised and was proud of it, along with the acting of being THE victim.
So, yes there was ‘harassment’ there on my part. How in the hell do you let things like that, that hurt your child so badly go? Obviously, she never hung onto the hurt that my father rained down on me. In fact, I’d say she blamed me for it when I was still quite young. The same way she blamed my daughter for what my stepfather did, because a seven-year-old is, of course, an impossibly irresistible ‘other woman’ for the man of the house. (YUK!)
The net result of this small campaign of mine, was I suppose, being cut off from my mother. She threatened to have me cut off from the whole family. And at the time I thought she did. And I stayed away from EVERYONE including my beloved grandmother, because I thought I was unwanted. So, yes, I have paid in spades.
But, in the end, I bounced back.
Then I sent a message to an almost son in law. They are still not married so much as I know. And I’d never felt the need to send the message except since what happened to my child I made a solemn promise to myself that children always came first. Had the same (grown up now, and in her 30’s) beloved daughter not told me that she did not like child of the house and considered her a spoiled brat, I would never had a reason to send a message to the almost son in law. The worst of it though, was that she told me that the young child had done some smart-mouthed talking back to her. Daughter basically told me of her reaction. Her reaction was to tell the child that she could talk to her biological mother like that, but she was NEVER going to speak to her like that again. Um, confusing much???
This child’s father was raised Mormon, and it is soooooooooo intertwined with his personality that regardless of how he says he hates it and doesn’t approve of religion and is atheist and so forth— I’m sorry it made him mostly the man that he is, which is considerate, and kind, and a pretty good father to boot. I was/am pretty impressed by him. One of the things that he seems to have stressed was that was important to him that he stay on good terms with his child’s mother, and that his child shows her mother respect. I will tell you, the way the man is, it is hard for me to not see how a person could disrespect what he wants. He’s just a good man, albeit, somewhat angry. But, not angry with my daughter, apparently and in denial since obviously he doesn’t think she’s capable of uttering such words of basically disgust for his child and for what he believes is best for his child. Had she thought about it, she’d known that what she was doing was manipulative toward him and what he wants, as well as toward his child. She is poisoning the child against her mother. She is confusing the child at the very least. My daughter may be well-intentioned, but she is really and truly poisoning the well.
And so, I got kicked to the curb for warning the father to not let the child be alone with said daughter. Because I am afraid of the little girl being hurt by my daughters sometimes incredibly hurtful mouth, which she’s has in her possession and is probably the biggest defense mechanism she owns. So, for basically for being a ‘whistleblower’ again. And it hurt. My god, it hurt. This is partly what led to be my being suicidal at one point.
And just to make an extra point. If I could have handled it another way I would have. But, I was already feeling threatened by the time I opened my mouth. I am sorry for how things turned out. But, I am not sorry for what I tried to accomplish. My ultimate goal was not to hurt anyone, or cause trouble, but to protect a child from a person who owns at times a very nasty mouth. (and her having that mouth, that’s just a fact, and it can not be denied. I would not be surprised at all to see acknowledgment on her headstone!) “Here I rest, Here you see, in the end, MY MOUTH got the better of me. Now kiss my assets!”
but, I HAVE bounced back…
And then, came the situation at the Douglas County Historical Society. Where I got into trouble for having the audacity to point out that artifacts were being abused. That I opened my mouth to point out that board members are not ethically or legally allowed to use DCHS property for their own personal use. I pointed out that it was becoming a habit and that the people were becoming untruthful, unethical, and participating in mutual illegal behaviors. I have turned them into the state of Oregon and into the IRS. I was President of the society, and I was told to turn in my keys. I thought there was board backing or I never would have. Lastly, I have pointed out to the officials that the bookkeeper on the board is Mobile Tune’s bookkeeper and receives her paycheck from Ken. Had she never told my husband that she does as told or she doesn’t collect the paycheck, I’d never thought anything of it, but ahem… her being on the board is unethical. And I know that Ken knows it, because he’s a board member on other boards, and probably knows more about ethics than I do. So, the bottom line is that I got kicked to the curb for being a whistleblower… (Ken Deatherage of Roseburg, Oregon arranged that little Harrah. Beware, and do not use his business, Mobile Tune, for if he can’t be ethical at a small town historical society, imagine how ethical he’ll be with YOUR automobile. Ask my husband what happened to his Jeep and a rear end job that Ken’s shop was paid to fix & did not. I’d stay away from Cynthia Rockney Wilson too, she and Ken both thought it was ok to use DCHS property for their own personal use–and in both cases, a small yet, illegal gain)
I bounced back & I have and will PREVAIL…
I rediscovered my goal and have taken the steps to be able to do a better job with what I feel is my calling, and I will enjoy every step along the way. My goal is to know more about our world and it’s history and apply it to our culture in terms of women and children and how they are used and abused, and what we can do to change our world to where it should be concerning these issues. I have applied to the University of Oregon @ Corvallis for a major in history, and women’s studies for a minor. I have been accepted. And I will fulfill my calling…and remain true to myself, and true to what I believe is acting right. Protecting women & children (all of them) first and foremost, and using history and the written word to do it.
The past couple of weeks have just been absolutely nuts! So much going on. A car in the shop to get the transmission worked on yet again. We have not driven it like a race car or abused it in any way. It’s still under warranty for the rebuild, so back it went. It’s leaking Transmission fluid and having trouble engaging the gears. I’ve only lost my temper and drove it fast once. Really! Yes, for me that’s a pretty much a record. Another idiot thought he could run me off the road coming up on my rear end probably close to 100 MPH. I think, (not that I’m a mind reader), but I think he thought I’d see him and get out of the way. I was going the speed limit. I was keeping up with traffic, and I was in a SOUR mood. I tapped my brake which had the desired effect. He panicked and hit his brakes pretty hard, and I used that time to speed up and get even with a big rig. He actually thought he was going to get around me. He had to slam on his breaks again. So sorry, dude. From that point on, he spent very little time behind me after that. Scared much, stupid?? He did think he was going to push me off the road one more time. So, this time I put a little oomph into the brake. That was the end of the game. He did not try it anymore, and I got ahead of the truck on the uphill and got over and he went happily around us both. People really need to take others into consideration though. You know…. I have been rear-ended, and I am fairly sure I have PTSD left over from that. I have terrible reactions to people coming too close to the rear of my car. And by golly, if I can’t see your headlights, you are just too damn close and I’ll take action at that point. Most of the time, I see people coming and get over, but sometimes I miss it. It happens… just don’t ride my ass. And we will get along just fine. I won’t say how fast I was going at one point when I looked down at my speedometer. But, suffice it to say, I had NO clue the car would move that fast on a steep uphill mountain (Cascades, I-5, between Roseburg and Grants Pass). I had absolutely NO freakin clue!!!
More good and nutty news, I’ve been accepted to a University. Yea, age 57, close to 60 and wondering if it’s gonna be a waste of time But, accepted to work on a history degree….and I am absolutely ELATED, I think I’m going to be a BEAVER (Corvallis?). Being a Beaver will be kind of fun. I can hear the jokes now, considering I’m female and all. LOL. Now, I have to break it to my youngest. There is a good chance we’ll be starting and ending at nearly the same time. Which I think will be cool, but she stands to lose a little financial aide. That part is not good. I’ll see if I can not take that away from her.
LOL – and that’s not all. We’ll have an unofficial official anniversary in two days, that will be 14 years. It’s official, in all honesty. We’ve not spent a single day apart in anger…. or any other negative thing. For the most part, I would not change a thing. But, wait, there is more. The best part of this for me and it’s an OLD thing, in one more year, I will officially be married to this one longer than to my first one. If that ex of mine has not been officially been tucked away in my psyche, then I will do that this year. Next year will be one hell of a celebration for me. As the sage says with his/her words: “The best way to get even is to live your best life.” Been there, doing that. LOL. Have realized that most of my PTSD do actually come from my first marriage. Which my family of origin did set me up for. But, most of the stuff I avoid is anything that reminds me of that situation. The final divorce was in March 1995. I waited 10 years before officially tying a knot. There was a boyfriend in between if he can be called that. I have my doubts. It was a pretty one-sided relationship that was fairly emotionally abusive.
Crazier: ….I caught the Detective Pikachu. Not once now, but three times. That’s important, right? Ahem, yea… almost 60 years old and catching Pokemon. LOL, Hopefully, there are worse ways to waste time. I think it is fun, and the game serves its purpose. Even though I swore it would NEVER encourage me to move my body, I was wrong, it does. I’ll walk for a digital, form-less, but cute Pokemon. Crazy right?!? I think so.
After swearing, out loud even, that I would not have any more hens, I’ve given four young hens a home. I’m back up to eight hens. We are getting between five and eight eggs a day. We had our first omelet in about four years. It was just for shits and giggles, and OMG, it was so good. There was no meat in it. Sauteed onion, red bell pepper, and mushrooms wrapped in an egg blanket with lots of fresh black pepper in the egg. Yum. We did do a couple other really bad things with that meal. I included a generous portion of Mexican mix grated cheese (OMG, GOOD!) inside and atop the omelet. We bought a small container of sour cream for it too. The truth is we’ll never be 100% vegan. I wish we were not such meat lovers, but it’s how we were raised. I think only having an omelet every four years could be once a month, we are doing very, very well. That’s nuts!! (Hazelnuts?? !! Nope still haven’t planted the hazelnut trees yet, nor the Cherry trees…)
Speaking of Cherry Trees, we’ve planted two more apple trees, and two new pear trees and have two semi-dwarf cherry trees to plant. We are looking for another plumb tree now. And he’s decided to get a pineapple guava and plant it on a pig fence arch (yet to be installed).
He is moving the fish pond for the third time. I really liked it where it was. It really makes me sad. We’ll see what the follow through looks like. A third time though… that’s nuts. And it’s only about 20 feet from where it was originally (or will be when he’s done). Ha!
The crazies. Well for some it’s not crazy at all. For me it is. I’ve seen people abuse drugs, and show so much lack of empathy (apathy?) that I’ve spent the majority of my life avoiding all illicit drugs. Well, in Oregon, Marijuana is no longer illegal. And it’s not like I fell into just using it, I use it mostly medically and I find that it helps a LOT. But, yes, this is fairly nuts for me. I have to say in my own defense, I waited to even try it until I was pretty desperate. It was not yet legal, but there was the talk of it being on the ballot. I was in so much pain from a psychological viewpoint, that anything, and I do ANYTHING would have passed muster if it helped. My first hit was simply to try and get help overcoming the pain. It was never about getting high, and it never will be for me. Even though, I did it with hubby having full knowledge (he’s an ex-MP, and was in law enforcement for 8 years, ahem…) that did not make it really ok. He accepted it, but did not approve I guess is how I’d say it. But, I had reached the point where I had driven off with the plan of saying goodbye to my loved ones in the cemeteries of Oregon and then driving to Washington (because Oregon land was just too sacred for me to even think about committing suicide in) and plowing myself into a far off mountain ravine. And that is just not me. If ever there was a fighter in this world, it is I. The 2nd and 3rd times, at least 6 months between each hit was for the same purpose. A painful time in life to say the least. My boy was still giving me his growing pains (and still does sometimes, but gosh he is really trying hard right now) and my youngest, well, she was just being hard-headed, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to be her mother for a while. The 2nd hit I got a little too much and got ‘high’ and I fought it as best I could. My son sat with me through it. He kept telling me that I wasn’t acting like it was affecting me at all, and he had trouble believing that I was under the influence at all. Considering I was the one who was clocking out from reality and had the worlds best apple at snack time….. I was till preaching about how bad the shit was. LOL. Mostly because I didn’t intend to end up that way in the least. A hit or two is very relaxing. It helps to melt the hurt away even if only temporarily. In general, I lay down and sleep. I have had a bad case of insomnia my whole life. It is due, I think, to hyperarousal from PTSD. I’m on the constant lookout for the man in the night. In fact, I’ve been running from him for just about my entire life. The unknowable, unseeable, gotta be the male perpetrator of my life. Probably my father. Once the worst of it was over, my son left the house, and I laid down for a nice sleep. I then talked to my sister (who has experience with these things) and she warned me to never take one or two hits. So, I don’t. Except that I’ve now made the same mistake twice. It doesn’t hit instantly so I think I don’t get anything, and I go in for more. That is what happened last week to me and my hubby who did his very first trial run. He hated it because it felt like he was having an anohter stroke. But, we giggled and had a ton of fun. We are both so serious… we’ve never giggled like that before together. I for one liked it. He said never again. I told him he got too much, and a local grocery owner told him he got the “FEAR”. LOL–which I suppose is what I got when my son gave me a brownie full of the shit and I thought I was dying. Either way for the two of us straight-laced old farts, the mold has been broken. Neither of us is virgins of wacky tabacky anymore.
After a while, when the giggling was all over, I guess, at least for him. He wanted to rest and get away from the terrible feeling of an impending stroke. I was left alone with my thoughts, and for someone like myself who likes to break a thought down into its pieces and really think about what they might mean in every way. Well, let’s just say I was in 7th heaven. It was awesome, I thought, that I could think in “Parallel” (the best word I have for it), and that was not all. I had feelings I had not felt in years, and I realized and wondered if I’d been under the influence as a child (2nd handed smoke from dad, entirely possible). Suddenly it made absolute sense and still does. And I was on the very edge of memories. I could almost reach out and touch them they were so close. I have since begun a search of how marijuana might be helpful in retrieving trauma memories. If it helps, even with tears, it would be helpful to move on from all that crap, finally.
So, that is where I stand as of now. I own a little baby clone. It’s cute. My son said to feed it pineapple juice (I don’t thinks so). And it’s still very under control in terms of that it will be used for only pain (Psychological and physical — diabetic neuropathy is hell!). Because my arthritis has taken a turn for the worse and so has the neuropathy, even for temporary relief, mostly so I can get good sleep, I see as a reasonable ‘excuse’ for use. That is the craziest, I guess… of this past week and half.
Note: I have turned off comments to this particular entry. I am not going to even entertain ANYONE about this idiot that some call a legal President. And I have no interest in wasting my time reading the crap either.
“Trump would have been charged with obstruction were he not president, more than 370 former federal prosecutors assert in statement
“The statement — signed by former federal prosecutors who worked in Republican and Democratic administrations — essentially offers a rebuttal to Attorney General William P. Barr’s determination that the evidence uncovered by special counsel Robert S. Mueller III was “not sufficient” to establish that President Trump committed a crime….” …. An email update I JUST received from the Washington Post a highly qualified and respected news outlet. There is OVERWHELMING evidence that TRUMP IS THE SCUM the resides atop the pond that he PROMISED to clean out. Yet he’s effectively added more cronies to the pond. When will enough be enough for this country?? When will people realize we’ve lowered ourselves and our country to a place that this nation has never been before? As far as I am concerned, he has been the worst President in history. I think him setting this country back a couple of generations in terms of racism and Misogyny is an understatement. I agree with Mr. Biden when he says that Trump is ushering Jim Crow back into this country. I can only shake my head in disbelief, and when I am done I hang my head…. I am embarrassed at this situation we’ve put our country in. I am ANGRY that people actually support him and continue to believe he is a good president. I keep waiting to wake up from this National NIGHTMARE!
This is just my latest post. A cousin and I are in a verbal knock down drag out at the moment. Seriously thinking about copy and pasting here. Her words are so old and tired. And yet, she is probably 15 years younger than I am. Her arguments come from the voice of those who are mostly uneducated and accept an argument at face value rather than a people who might research the subject and make sure that it’s truthful. This is a problem even educated people have thought. People develop their bias, and then they stick with it, become attached to it as if it were God-given truth. Trump — is not what people think he is. He is for all intents and purposes a criminal, a liar, and in the words a psychiatrist friend, “Malignant narcissistic personality disorder.” It is not hard to see if you are studied up on the information. Sometimes, I just have to tell myself to just breath….
It is interesting that the mental health experts in the country mostly say that Trump HAS “Malignant narcissistic personality disorder’ (THANK YOU, B.A.M.). I have noticed, and I am sad to admit it, that most the people I know who cling on to this man the worst, have come from dysfunctional backgrounds. Of course, I am not a doctor, and I have no right diagnosis. But, having come from a family of origin that I consider highly dysfunctional in terms of mental health issues and criminal issues — having read HUNDREDS of books on the subject and having OVERCOME most of it. It is quite easy to look around and see…. birds of a feather..
For those who use Google Photos and don’t know about a couple of features that make sorting photos into albums easier, let me tell you. There is a feature that lets you name every face that Google finds in your collection, and then Google will sort all the matching faces into their own Album by name. If you have a family where people have very similar features rest assured they’ll all be thrown into the other’s albums. My father and his brothers have really, REALLY confused Google a lot! LOL. Another thing you can do is start an album throw a photo into, then name the photo and again, it will sort by features and try to get the right photos in the album. In this way, you can sort through people and ‘pets’. It hasn’t done a great job of sorting our pets by face yet. hahaha!! Google also sorts by places, things, posters, dates, months, cities, and about anything else it can stick a name to. I saw a search for ‘dogs’ that was built into the Animals album. After searching for dogs, the algorithm came up with photos I had taken of deer, bulls, cats (calico & tabby), and of course, the dog! I don’t think Sadie would appreciate being mistaken for Jake. LOL, she’d be even more miffed at being confused for a Malamute! hahahaha!!! For what the service does do, it does save a LOT of time in sorting things for the sake of Albums… Just don’t expect perfection. You won’t get it!
When I was watching the Curlews on the beach the other day, and taking pictures of their wonderful selves…. I remembered a show I saw as a kid, “The last of the Curlews”. And I kind of brushed off the memory. Mostly because I did not believe that I was remembering anything right, and because I did not think I was looking at real Curlews. I really did not think that I was looking at Curlews.
Well, tonight, I remembered the show again, so I typed the title that I remembered (which was exactly correct) into Google. I found that those birds on the beach are called Curlews. I also found that I remembered the detail of there being an After School Special, was correct. It was the very first after-school special ever and showed in October of 1972. I was all of ten years old when the show aired. The story was about a sub-species of Curlew called an Eskimo Curlew.
I thought about it some more after all remember a story from when you are ten years old. What was it that made the memory stick all these years. After some thought, I know why the memory stuck with me so long. The story caused me to cry…. I cried hard over those little birds and how they were going extinct. A little girls tender heart even at 10 years old showed some compassion for another being. If I were my daughter, I’d been proud that she was capable of such feeling.
The birds on the beach and the birds in the story are probably not the exact same subspecies of Curlews, but obviously, they looked close enough alike to jog my memory. I did not know until I looked it up tonight, that it was a work of fiction, based on what the author thought was happening in the world in his time. I might not have cried so hard had I known it was ‘just a story’. But, then…on the other hand, I cried when Dumbo was being rocked by his momma, and I cried over several of the Lassie shows, so maybe not. 🙂
More photos will be available in the ‘gallery’ under the ‘photography’ link in the menu. From there just click “Photography 2019”
This past week has been very, very busy. On the 18th, I saw my cardiologist who looked at my MRI Scan of my heart results and declared that I probably have not had a heart attack or else my ejection rate would not be back at a normal rate (with help of medications). I now own NO dead heart muscle and I am allowed to do anything I want/can physically. So my main goal is to work my health back up to as good as it can be. I found it interesting that he did not even change my medications, though I have the beginnings of Cardiac Artery Disease (CAD). I guess I am not far enough in for the change he thought I might have needed in an earlier appointment. This is all GREAT news!!!
Two days later, as if on cue, my husband said,”Honey, I think I need to go to the hospital.”His chest hurt mildly, and he did his home EKG and found that the pattern matched the picture that the cardiologist (same as mine, Dr. Fred VanDis, Roseburg –we both highly recommend him, get there before he retires!) drew for him so he’d know what Afib looked like. So, I drove him to the hospital around 6:30ish. The intake crew immediately confirmed Afib. Blood was drawn pretty quickly. And in the long run, it came back normal. So there was no heart attack in the making, just Afib. Now, don’t think that I am taking Afib lightly, I am very aware that it can cause life-ending blood clots that lead to stroke. In those moments, I was pretty damn scared, but, you know, you have to be strong for the one actually going through the actual problem. Of course, he was very full of humor. If he was scared, he sure wasn’t letting on.
He got his very first ever, shock. You know, you see it on TV, with the paddles and all. It was determined that he’d caught the Afib and got himself into the emergency room fast enough that shocking the heart was actually an option. If he’d been in Afib for days (as he was the first time) then a shock to the heart is out of the question because there is a good chance that a blood clot has formed and a shock could help it circulate through the system and create a stroke. He consented and signed his life away. The crew knocked him out, and the crew noted how ‘entertaining’ he was while he was on the way out. Then they shocked him.
In the meantime, I very willingly, stepped out as asked. I do believe that would have been too hard for me to watch in all honesty. I got to the waiting room. I used the girls’ room, and I played one game of solitaire. Then Kyle (part of the intake crew, and expert blood drawer) came out to get me and let me know they were done, and that it was a success. They then began to let him know that as he was able he’d be ready to go home. He was still somewhat groggy. But, his heart tried to go into Afib again, so they decided he had to stay and be watched for 30 more minutes after he was given metoprolol in his IV. Probably an hour later, after his heart had finally settled down for a full 30 minutes, he got to go home. We were home and in by 3:35 am.
While there…we talked about what might have triggered the Afib, as apparently it can be triggered by outside things like stress, exercise, etc. We decided it was probably the physical stress of taking out a mature butterfly bush. Our oldest bush, at least 10 years old, was showing signs of considerable decay— aka rot! He was able to just push branches off with his foot. But, that was foot, leg muscles (the strongest in the body) and quite a bit of effort. OF course, there is also the underlying stress of his bankruptcy. But, we think ultimately, it was the butterfly bush.
But, you know the very next morning (er, same morning) we were both up doing what we had to do. He fixed our push weed wacker and started the lawn mower for me. I finished the front yard, and he started working on the very back which was knee deep in grass and weeds. I pushed the lawn mower to the place that I was afraid I was too weak to do, and the truth is I had to stop once and just breathe. I am not as strong as I was, but I can see now that as long as I have my medications (until my heart gets stronger) that I should be able to do whatever I did before. Good news!! And he got all of the inside of the back yard done. What he did was really no big deal back in the old days, but now, knowing that I didn’t even want him out there, well, I was happy he made it and did not go into AFib. He’s been told he can no longer participate in strenuous exercise. Of course, the joke is…what in the world will you do when sex becomes strenuous. His answer is that he’s going to die a very happy man. LOL
And two days after this round of Afib, and getting put to sleep, and then being shocked to reset the heart’s electrical signal, it was my 57th birthday. He offered me a day trip, which I gratefully accepted. We made a huge circle. And made it to the Oregon coast. He drove the whole way and never once even looked tired. He’s an amazing man. And though, I know he was not trying to prove anything, on our trip, we stopped in Port Orford at Battle Rock to walk on the beach. The man can’t see a rock that he isn’t trying to climb them. Up and over he went, two days after an episode of Afib. Indeed, life goes on…
Note All images copyright April 23, 2019, Peggy A. Rowe-Snyder. Do not use without prior written permission. These and other High-Resolution shots from this day are available for purchase.
Not quite sure just why I am so worn out at the end of each day. I am not liking that I can not accomplish all that I want each day. LOL, I am not used to being slowed down. I wanted to write what is below last night and did not have the energy.
Yesterday’s class about ‘purpose’ confirmed for me that which I knew. I’ve known my purpose, such as it is, for a long, long time. We were given a shortened version of the workshop that the Blue Zone’s project workshop. If you live in Douglas County, then you qualify to take the workshop. (google: blue zones, Umpqua).
I am a person who has made for myself, many purposes. But, the end game for me has been for a long, long time – – expressing why (the argument), (especially) women and children need protection from abusive behaviors that are for the most part still condoned by society at large. Our country does a lot of lip service about protecting women and children. And there are a lot of compassionate, and honorable people out there trying to make a difference. But, there are just as many more willing to turn their heads, sweep under the rug, and deny what really goes on in the world, in their families, and to their children and grandchildren.
The trigger that led to this purpose was having a child hurt by my stepfather. I choose my child over everyone/anyone else in the family. I have been accused of betrayal because I chose my child. Hence, I have lost family to what I felt, and still, feel is right. It is a mighty painful price to pay, and having said that, the ‘pain’ from the situation keeps me writing about my situation, and what I learn from it. (The truth is all my children were touched in one way or another by this horrendous crime)
Of course, I have realized over the years, after years and years of education and picking up of the pieces, that domestic violence in my primary family played into and set us (kids) up for what happened in our family life as adults. And having said that the study of history and genealogy has led me to the conclusion that it is all generational — in other words, it is what we grow up knowing. Unless we educate ourselves about it, we are doomed to repeat it. George Bernard Shaw said that men are basically too stupid to learn from history. I beg to differ. All of us are capable of learning. Hence, my purpose.
I am one of many, many voices trying to change the future for women, children, men….. everyone and anyone who has felt the sting of a backhand, or the belittlement of a cruel statement, a threat of bodily harm, and the bruises from hands that one can not keep off another. Sexual abuse of any form. Everything I have done in my life since 1991 when I found out that MY child was hurt has come back down to this. Whether it is working to heal myself and my family, working to keep my children safe and healthy, writing for publications, including my own blog, studying history (all of it), or loving my genealogy. No one will ever silence me. Because it is increasingly apparent to me that it is going to take EVERY VOICE OF EVERY PERSON who is willing to make the changes in our culture that are needed.
I understand that friends and family (some of them) wish that I would shut up. Just know that I can not and will not. It is a drive and passion that, I think, only one that fills my particular shoes can know. I am the mother of a person(s) who was hurt for a lifetime. I am the daughter of a person who considers themselves the biggest victim in the whole situation. I am a friend to many who simply do not understand the enormous consequences (i.e. mental and physical health) of generation after generation of violence in the family. The sad part is that I am nowhere near unique.
I am planting seeds. And I know it. I have known it for a long, long time. Everything else is an end to a means. All else helps to support the main purpose one way or another. My life has been a participant based, customized, education-that leads this person who is meant to make a difference at some point for someone. I’ve gotten practice in writing, public speaking, and just plain making my point. It all comes down to that. The only thing that will ever stop me, is when my life stops. And I hope when that comes, I will have said enough to someone(s) to have made a difference – for at least one abused child, or one abused wife / husband. Nuff said.
I have been reading. It turns out that 1 in 10 families live with one sort of parent/child estrangement or another. People stay silent about it due to shame, guilt, and other reasons. I myself have kept reasonably silent about it. Only people closest to me know about what is going on in my life, at least with my kids. I am not at all quiet about the fact that I’ve not spoken to my mother in about 25 years now. That is a story that legally I should not share. But, suffice it to say that her side is that I betrayed her. My side is that I choose my seven-year-old daughter. It is impossible to betray a person who SAID, “I had to protect myself from ***** because I was afraid that he would divorce me and marry her.” ***** was a total of seven years old when the statement was made. My stepfather was 57 years old, and my mother was in her early 50’s. In her very sick thought process, though she probably never saw it in concrete terms (due to denial) she made my daughter the ‘other woman.’ This made a seven-year-old a threat to a 50 something-year-old. There was no comparison, and there was never an excuse for any kind of thought process that came to a deduction such as this. I could never in a million years betray that sickness. Not that I am incapable of the behavior, but that it is impossible for a daughter to betray a mother whose thought processes are so sick that she blames a child for behaviors that she can only honestly, blame on her husband who was a predator. It is impossible, betrayal is not possible–when you are placing the blame for a lost cause marriage on a seven-year-old child. So, this particular estrangement, while it is sad, and I have cried a lot over the years, is probably something for the better. We are at such an impasse, and she denies that she ever said the things she said. Emotionally, it is obvious that my mother is every bit as emotionally abusive as my father, and stepfather ever were.
I have kept quiet about the issues with the kids exactly because of guilt and shame. Even though, I know I did not do anything major wrong. In fact, even one of the daughters sent me a text and told me that no matter what happens, it’s not my fault. No explanations as to why I am being treated as I am. That is what is going on between ourselves and our 2nd oldest.
Let me just say now, before I move on, that I am sorry for the way things worked out. I would have approached the situation differently if I had to do it all over again. But, the end result would have probably been the same. As keeping a child away from an abusive mouth was the goal. Moving on….
With our oldest, the story is quite different. She said some things that caused red flags to fly. I decided to try and protect a child as best I could, and it bit me in the butt. I knew it would. I did not know what else to do. She is a confrontational type, and can have a mean mouth, and an attitude that if she’s right and angry then anyone else is in the room better sit down, shut up and listen. That attitude may work with others but it does not work with me. In fact, with me, that attitude has created a chasm. It has kept me at arm’s length (and others, including her newly adopted father) from her for years and years. Further, if I let the attitude stand in her treatment of me, then as I age, and become more vulnerable, then I dare say I don’t want to be under her care. We, I, love her with all our hearts, but when angered, which can be triggered easily, we avoid it at all costs, including changing our behavior in her presence and not talking about or saying things that might normally be said elsewhere.
The truth is, I’ve been afraid of her for years, because of her rough, tough, macho attitude. As I age, I’ve protected myself more and more by wrapping myself up with tools such as never being alone with the said child. The bottom line here is that I’ve seen this train wreck coming for years. In the long run, I do not harbor a lot of guilt about this other than perhaps, I could have chosen a better father for my children. And I wish I had known what domestic violence was when I was young. So much of this could have been avoided had I only had the education.
You know, I never considered myself a perfect mom. Just never happened. Never will. One sees what they see, they hear what they hear, they mull the situation over and contemplate what the best way forward is. I have pretty much consistently done the best I could in each situation. My daughter knows that I put children’s safety first and foremost and if she’d think about it, considering that I was trying to protect a child from that harsh and angry mouth. (and only from that mouth). A mouth that had already done damage (according to what she told me, she did not realize it, else she’d never shared). No child deserves to be confused or manipulated (intended or not). So, my imperfect ways created a rift that will probably be life long.
Hence, a mourning process. One does not estrange themselves (purposely or accidentally) without emotional pain. When it comes to children, regardless of the reason for the estrangement the pain is in the extreme. Nothing in this life has ever hurt me more. And I’ll tell you, my father left our family when I was 16, and then he died when I was 21. As stated earlier my mother and I quit speaking 25 years ago, and my eldest daughter had already divorced me once before when she was around 12 years old. Emotionally, I’ve been through the wringer. But, nothing, and I mean NOTHING hurts as much as losing two kids to estrangement.
It took quite some time of mourning. This has been going on for about three years, perhaps longer. I have purposely not been timing it all, I don’t want to know. It just hurts too much. The mourning process has gone through the normal phases several times: 1. Denial and isolation; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance.
The kids themselves may read this and laugh at the isolation part, but the truth is, when you do not share with others because of guilt and shame that makes it so that you are indeed, isolated. And while my husband has known since day one, and been very, very supportive–the isolation is still there. No one and I mean NO ONE, can feel the pain but me. And considering I am the one who has spent years and years with these kids (present husband is my 2nd and not the bio. father of the kids)—in my pain, I am utterly alone. I have been in and out of the anger part, too. Including the indignant, “how can they treat me this way?” That was an emotionally necessary phase to go through, but also a perfectly good waste of time. It doesn’t change anything, and the energy used could have been put to so much more efficient use. I’ve tried to bargain (and beg, and plead) with the kids, with the devil, with God, with my husband…. all to no effect. Another emotional necessity, total waste of time. Depression and me, well it just happens. This situation along with health issues that crept up on me have led me to drive away expecting to never come back alive. That was at the worst of it. I have dealt with long term depression over the kids. I believe that at the height of it, the struggle was in learning to finally let go. But, before I could do that, I had to return to mourning in a sort of way, this time as if they were dead. My children no longer walk in my world. They do not exist. They are no longer part of my thought process in terms of planning for the future– I have chosen to move forward without taking them into account for any part of my future. Firstly, they inherit nothing. When on my deathbed, they need not appear, for it would only torture me, and at that point, I’ll just want peace. Eventually, if I have my way we’ll sell our house and move far away, and they will not be informed where we (or I) will go. I do not want to be under their care when am old and fragile. And yes, husband is very aware of this attitude and agrees. I guess this whole process ended up with an acceptance in that there is nothing I can do about the situation, and nothing is going to change (ever as far as I can see), and so I might as well quit punishing myself, as it is not all my fault. In fact, most of it, if not all of it, is not my fault. I have children who need to grow up, and learn to communicate — depending on the child either they just need to learn new communication skills, or they need to think about what they say, and not say it out loud again, because if they are not going to change their ways, then they at least need to not admit to their mother what they said to the small child. It puts their mother in a very bad, bad spot–in that I will always choose the safety of a child, ANY child.
The last time I was estranged from my oldest, I waited until she was around 16 years old, and it then dawned on me that, I’d purposely chosen to stay in the same town so that when she was ready and able she could find me. I’d made a website dedicated specifically to her, a communication and invitation to come home. I went through all the same stages, in that I thought it through, and tried to figure out why, and I tried to bargain, beg and plead. I even legally tried to get her back. But at a point, I realized she was old enough to get what she wanted, and if she wanted me in her life she could choose to make contact. At that point, I lit a candle, and I said goodbye. I choose to move on.
Today, I have yet to light the candle, which I think will finalize the situation in my mind. This time, I will light three. One for my mother, one for both daughters. In fact, maybe I will light six. Two others for other family members who are deceased, or that I am just not on good terms with because of the stress of these situations over the years. One for my own heart, and it’s healing, and a conscious renewal of health.
I’ll light these candles because emotionally it’s just time. But, I’ll also light those candles because of the physical toll this has taken on my body. One heart attack later, which was due specifically to the mourning process. I think this speaks volumes about how serious I have taken these situations, and also speaks to the very real and deep pain, I just need to let this go. For me to heal from this heart attack, I need to let go, and let myself live the most fully that I can with no more guilt, no more shame. It is time for me to stop the punishment and be best that I can be.
In a final note, to all the parents in similar situations, know… I feel your pain. There are websites (I very recently discovered) that are there for the specific reasons of supporting you. They have things for sale (if you wish) including self help books, and even memberships to supportive forums where you can talk to others in the same boat. But, there are even more FREE resources to help you through. In fact, it was through these free resources that I discovered that I was truly not alone, and that we parents who are estranged are a major portion of the population at large. Do not remain silent. Share your pain with others. Let go of the guilt and pain. Look for concrete ways to overcome and get on with your life. Light a candle, let it go, and move on before it kills you. Live your best life. If there is ever to be a reconciliation it will happen in it’s own time, when all parties are emotionally ready, and not before. Go outside and play!
Some search terms you may wish to put into any search engine (each is a link that will go through Google):
I have been given the diagnosis that most people just don’t want to hear. My heart is in such good shape after having a heart attack, that I can drop dead at any moment. The heart doctor said he could not believe how good I look considering how sick I am. The only treatment known to work for what I have is losing the weight, and exercise. Of course, I’ll be medicated and medicated. Right now, I’d be happy to be rid of the constant chest pain, and pain in my shoulders and arms (angina).
Genetics plays into this. Stress from family members (i.e. KIDS, now), Childhood Abuse (ACE – 7+) all play into this. I’ve told more than one person that this is all a result of a broken heart, and I’ll tell you what, I kid you not.
But what makes me unhappy is not the situation in and of itself, I knew it was coming eventually. But, I do not consider myself old, and I have tried to take care of myself including going mostly vegan over three years ago. I just don’t understand why, no matter what I have done to protect myself (No smoking ever, No drinking, No wild life, No drug abuse history) I have not managed to protect myself. I’ve been taking statins since the day they hit the market. I started taking Metformin before I went Diabetic. I went Diabetic after a neighbor from hell stalked me enough that I became a prisoner in my own home. I could not work in the yard anymore. I quit moving. Some of this IS on him. He a drug addict and mostly broke, or I’d sue the shit out of him. (Kelly Roper, Myrtle Creek)
This is basically a rant. I got a diagnosis that I do not want, and that I will fight until I can’t fight anymore. No one wants to live more than I. My life is not miserable much. LOL.
OK, I’m done. For now… Diagnosis, Class I (can go up to Class III) Ventricular something or other. I’ll probably be looking at cardiac rehab really soon. I need to move closer to the hospital.
Warning: There is explicit details in this essay. IF your stomach is queasy then do not go here. If rape is a touchy subject for you, do not go here.
Well, a new thought to share with my therapist. Can my own intense anger over one thing be a trigger for what is certainly a PTSD related trauma – and also a totally unrelated issue that I lived through years ago? And with that question, I have to say, I was unaware that I was still this intensely angry after all these years.
You know, being kicked from the historical society as I was, has left me intensely angry. The people who did the ‘dirty work’ made up reasons to justify asking me to step down. The truth is, I think, is that I began to realize that I was seeing unethical behavior and was saying something. I was becoming a whistle blower and they had to see it coming. Yesterday, one of those people contacted my significant other (2nd husband) and asked him via text for information. He had to ask me for it which he waited until bedtime to ask for. Which of course, triggered the anger at bedtime. A time when we are supposed to be settling down, and trying to sleep. To them I say: I am not going to share any information with you, ever, period.
So, getting kicked to the curb for no good reason is one reason to be really really hurt and angry. But why for heavens sake would it remind me of my ex husband and his stupidity? I really have no clue unless – the intense anger is something that was produced from both situations.
When my ex and I were first married in the early 80’s…newlyweds, and that is no stretch, he came to me over a series of days and had me do certain things and told me certain things. For some reason I was to dress a certain way so that he could parade me around down town Cincinnati. I never quite understood that one. I did not like it in the least. I was embarrassed because at that point in my life, I was very, VERY modest. He came home from work (as a security guard) from the Cincinnati Enquirer and let me know that someone there thought I was a beautiful woman and wanted to take nudes of me. He wanted me to do it. I did not want to. Eventually, he didn’t want me to, and turned the guy down. To this day, I am not sure why the ex had the change of heart, but I have wondered since if he were not just plain full of shit. Maybe there really was no such person? During this time period, ex also came home from work, from the Cincinnati Enquirer and asked me to sleep with another couple with him. He wanted to ‘wife swap.’ I said no, and there was some intense pressuring. I did not even know in those days that that sort of thing went on. I was really that naive. So, part of the answer to the problem was that he started buying Forum magazines so I could read them and see what other people do. I guess, he thought it was time to educate me. It was also during this same time period though, I do not remember why it happened back then, that he first uses the technique of sleep deprivation to get what he wanted from me. If I said no, he just kept me up all night, rattling on and on about why he or we should do something, until I said yes. Back in those days, before the birth of children, and being young — he could have kept me up for a week, and I’d still said no. But, the abuse had begun. Even though I had no clue that it was abuse at the time. This was the phase in my marriage where I lived with objects being stuck up inside of me for his personal delight, and to my pain. The most memorable was of the night of the coke bottle. A coke bottle is no dildo if you get my drift. I said ok because I had no clue that I could say no. In those days, in my reality, man and a wife, alone, the wife gave it her all and stayed in that miserable place for the rest of her life. The bottle was very, very painful, and it brought tears to my eyes, and I tried my damndest to suck it up and stay silent, but complete silence did not come. It killed me when he asked me if it hurt, and through my tears (not so silent) I answered no–and he was so callous as to not see or hear through my denial. I was a very good wife, I suffered on for YEARS! Nearly 20 of them.
Fast forward about 14 of those years. I have either filed for divorce or about to and he knows it. I encourage him to date and move on, all the while staying and trying to work it out. Letting him go about his business is part of how at the time I was trying to help him not feel so hampered and controlled. After all those years, I agreed to an open marriage. While I agreed in principle, I never thought about a spouse swap. For me it just was not in the cards. In my mind we’d each just date who we wanted, and I had not realized the jealousy that would come into play. But he came to me, and told me he met a couple and she was HOT, and he wanted her, and he wanted me to sleep with the husband so that he (my husband) could sleep with her. I said no. I said no because while I knew them to, and thought she was gorgeous, he on the other hand gave me the creeps, and I wanted nothing to do with him. I could not have been clearer why I was saying no.
If I recall right this was one of those issues where he wanted what he wanted and he kept me up all night telling me all the reasons why we should. Now, I had an 8 year old, and a 3 year old. I was working night shift, and I was packing and getting ready to move 2000 miles to the east. At 4 am. I finally said yes, so that he’d leave me alone and let me sleep.
I did not know it at the time but, he must have that day or the next, or at least soon thereafter, approached the husband and tried to convince him to swap wives with him.
Now, husband in the couple did have a female African Senegal that appeared to be in great shape, but lonely. She kept laying eggs. I had a male, who had been obviously lonely for his own kind. He literally cried the most mournful cries. Knowing I could not take him when we moved, I’d been on the look out for a home. I gave the bird to them, in hopes that it would be happier there than with us. The husband of the couple called me and asked me to come over and look at the birds. They had laid an egg together and he wanted me to see. It was the middle of the day, I had no clue the man was alone at home, I packed up my 3 year old and around the corner we walked.
He answered the door and invited me in. He took me to the room where the birds were and showed my 3 year old the backyard where he could play. Once the boy was just outside the open sliding glass door the man informed me of what my husband had come to him, and what he had proposed, and how he felt about it. I’ll never EVER forget what he said. “He is not going to have my wife, but I am going to have you.” And it started.
My child was now on the patio, still close too the house, and so I would not scream or make noise because I did not want to alarm the child. I said no, I tried to fend him off physically, but I would not scream. When he could not take my clothes down to the level he wanted he grabbed my hair and forced my face into his crouch and demanded that I perform orally. I wish today, I had thought to bite him. But, even if I had thought of it, I probably wouldn’t. I had no interest in my son seeing or hearing a thing. I did not want him to be affected by this ugly scene.
The man’s penis had something on it. To this day I don’t know if it was moles, or warts, or just what kind of growth it was. But it was gross. The sight and situation made me nauseous. Actually, it still does, and to this day, I can not get that image out of my mind. So obviously, I do not want to think about it and I have been running from it. At least until this morning, I was still actively pushing this scene away—25 years later. These moments are from 1994. (2019-1994=25! I just checked with the calculator)
So, the bottom line, I am not sure if it was rape in that there was no penetration to my private parts, but I can tell you, it most definitely was forced and unwanted, and fought. When it was over, and I was released, I scooped up my little boy and walked back around the corner to the home where we were staying. It was the home of his Uncle and Aunt who lived on Glenwood Street in Fremont. They may have been understanding had I confided. But, we will never know. I was a master of keeping these things to myself. But to this day, I associated that rape or attempted rape, with the all night torture ritual of keeping me awake until he got permission for what he wanted. I told my soon to be ex about it. Nothing happened. There was no offer of reprisal of any kind. It was after I was long gone that the two men met up at our daughters former elementary school, and dear ex husband claimed that they shook hands and he squeezed the offenders hand very hard so that he was aware that ex was aware and angry. According to the ex, the offender turned tail and ran. If the husband from the couple did turn tail and run it was probably because he didn’t want his wife to know what was going on.
It was the end of a marriage, and there were head games, and harassment. My intelligence was insulted over and over again. In order to make up, one of the things I wanted was for my ex to take responsibility for his behavior. I had known he’d cheated on me years before. I had finally just realized that it was indeed stepping out, and that he’d brought home an STD to me. That is what had happened. All he had to do was admit it, and apologize, and offer to try to not go down that road again. And he had to do that, without laying the blame on me. Instead, he said he’d talked to his mom, and his mom told him to never admit it. I knew that was an admission, but the lack of taking responsibility for his actions was in my mind an insult to my intelligence, and I was not going to stay where those types of head games were still going on.
While living in the home of the aunt and uncle it became clear to me that head games were part and parcel of his family of origins dirty laundry. His uncle was relentless with the headgames, and so was his cousin. The whole situation was demoralizing, and crazy making. His aunt (who was the blood relative from family of origin) was an angel, and very, very kind. But, she was also aloof working hours a day, and coming home and pretty quickly retreating to her bedroom. Though, she treated me with the utmost of kindness. I had already been told that there was marital problems between said aunt/uncle. And cousin was addicted to drugs and a thief. She stole a quilt that I had hand embroidered and put together for my son, shortly after I showed it to her. She stole a brand new rag doll that I had bought myself as a special present to myself for my efforts in life. No doubt they were traded for drugs. The disrespect and crazy making for the most part was suffocating. The sad part, is that, my sister and mother were less than 10 miles away. That whole situation in my own family of origin was so sick, that I could not call them for help or support.
My family of origin is quite dysfunctional. Hence, I married into the familiar-and tried to stay in the marriage until ‘death do us apart’.
This is what came flooding into my mind this morning while in the midst of being intensely angry about the historical society. Did the anger over the historical society trigger the memories? I would have to answer that one in the affirmative. I just find it hard to make the connection.
I have known that I was angry about the deafening disrespect shown to me by my ex. Over the years it built up to where if I had been a snake I would have bit him. IF I were a snake, I’d chosen to be a Cobra and I’d spat in his face—aiming for the eyes. I was angry. Yes, Yes, Yes…
I am not sure I ever felt any anger over the rape until possibly this morning as the memory came rushing back. In order to protect my son at the time, my automatic reaction was to keep quiet and hold any feelings in. It was most certainly, survival mode that I was in at the time. When I told my ex about it, there were no tears– it was just the facts. I was 1001% disconnected from my insides.
So obviously, even if we decide that we are NOT going to be angry person, and not take it out on those around us, and not let it affect our hearts, there is more than a conscious mind at play, and we are not in 100% control of what we do and how it affects us. 25 years later, I am just now feeling the real and intense anger in such a way that I can identify where it comes from and why.
I never got an apology from anyone. I pretty much lost my mind for awhile after that scene. No one knew why. They still do not know why. And yet, I am the one that was “no angel” — I am the one in the wrong. I did the rejecting, I filed for divorce.
Over the years he brought home STDs, and filled my body and mind full of things that were just obscene. He expected me to perform acts that I had no interest in, and very often led me to tears. I lived through cracked and broken teeth created by being hit on the face and bruises from being hit elsewhere. Before it was all over, I was fairly sure he’d sexually assaulted his sister before we met or were married. I had lost all respect, if there was ever any to begin with.
Again – I get to make a point, that until we walk in the other person’s shoes we know not what their experience may have been, or what they have lived through.
The disconnect between the perpetrator and his feelings of shame must be something the size of the Grand Canyon. The disconnect the perpetrator causes in their victim and her shame while it may seem to not exist, is real, and life threatening. I was suicidal and was 51-50’d at this time. I thought it was because I had filed for divorce that I was suicidal. That is what I told the doctors. The truth is, that it was probably more over the rape, and the headgames, and the shear years of piled on disrespect and disconnection.
In these days of #MeToo, women are looking for acknowledgement, apologies, respect, and probably some retribution. I get it. I am a textbook case of a person assaulted as a child and that situation setting me up for assault after assault after assault my entire adult life. It is typical history for a woman in modern America. Peace even when it comes, still has the pain and memory of the violence from the past.
And the fallout keeps coming. My son has a pretty bad case of PTSD. How much of that came from that day 25 years ago….where he probably heard and saw the unbearable and what should have been unseeable and unhearable. A mother’s secret is about to become known…
Nothing, and I mean NOTHING can break a heart faster than a child can. I’m not talking about a young child, I’m talking about an adult child who you love with all your heart. Said child(ren) has grown up fairly arrogant and think they know absolutely everything, and that you (their parent knows nothing at all). The children are in their 30’s now, living their lives, and doing their thing, and you are happy for them. Suddenly it dawns on you that you are getting older, you are beginning to feel vulnerable in the world, and the kids are the people you kind of think might be there for you when you get older and can’t anymore.
I have discovered it was all a dream. And not a very realistic one at that. My older kids show about as much compassion as the perpetrators in their life showed them. As you might realize that means just about naught. There is no empathy. No attempts to try and walk in our shoes. No apologies. Not even, “I’m sorry you feel that way” —which doesn’t admit anything, but shows a tad little bit of compassion. I do feel let down. I’ve been to court for my kids and fought and fought and fought for them. I don’t expect much from them, as they have proven that I dare not. But, I never expected a proverbial kick in the teeth either.
For my oldest, I worked with the detectives and d.a. and got a perpetrator thrown in jail. I complained to anyone that would listen (senators, congressmen, judges, sheriffs, district attorney, police….) trying to make sure he did not get out on her 8th birthday. That was to no avail. But, I tried.
I fought to keep them safe from their father, that I eventually realized was abusive. I fought and fought and fought for them. At this point they agree that he was abusive. So, abusive that he took her and ran for about six years. When I found them each time, and made it known that I wanted to check on my child, he picked up and ran again. And I do mean, he’d pull her out of school that day to run. Literally.
My 2nd one down whom became the third one down after an adoption is bi polar and autistic. At ages 4, & 5 (approximately) he’d come home repeating the things he heard his father say before the father ran. Through tears I heard how “daddy is going to kill you, mommy, and throw you in the desert where no one can find you….and then Tina is going to adopt me.” Kids this age just do not make this stuff up. He could barely pronounce adoption….he was really just a little guy. And he was already showing signs of having issues… he needed absolutely Zero percent of this abusive treatment from his father. Between his mental illness, and his treatment by his father, and hate to say it, treatment by any man I have tried to have a relationship with, they single him out, and really treat him like shit. So, he too, has grown up with a lot of problems, and again, I have fought and fought and fought for him. I.E.P, Child protective services, etc…. I gave him up to the state to get him treatment when I could not longer control him. That was an absolute painful act of love. It was one of the hardest things I ever did in my life. But at the time, I was worried that I was raising ‘Charlie Manson #2’ — something had to be done.
My adopted one. Now the #2, is someone that I felt very special for. For me she was in a class all of her own. And you talk about side blinded. I never saw today coming. Not in the least. I think because of her, she is where most of my heartache, my heart break comes from.
With my oldest, its easy to see she’d picked up a lot of anger along the way. A LOT of anger. She is dysfunctional to say the least. A functional dysfunctional. But, between her anger and her arrogance (both of which comes from father and prior step mother attitude) — it is what drives her on in life. I knew we would reach a point where I could not live with it anymore. I reached my point. Where she basically attacked me over social media, and disrespected me and my husband in our own home. And she is not capable of even saying, “I’m sorry you feel that way mom.” That is the sad part for me.
For months now, I have been telling my significant other that I have a broken heart. When drs. started realizing that there is something wrong with my heart, I’ve been telling them that I have a broken heart. No one heard me until today. My cardiologist was looking yet again at my stress test. His answer today was, “You know, you just might be right, I think you’ve had a heart attack.” My answer, “Dr. I have never been diagnosed with a heart attack.” So, now we get more tests, I am waiting to be scheduled now. I need more blood work, and IF I have had a heart attack then, I need different kind of medical care. But, the doctor showed me on the pictures the dead part of my heart. I saw it with my own eyes. And I am pretty sure now, with thought, that I know just when it happened.
I know, exactly when it happened. When I was hurting the worst over those two angry girls, my 1st & 2nd. I have decided at this point, that we’ll probably never make up. Either way, the pain is real and it is there. Neither of them realize just how much of me, is invested in them. I don’t think I could make up now, if I wanted to. I’d be afraid they’d be willing to be just as compassionate and sympathetic — caring as they have been these past couple of years. The truth is, if I were to go through it again, they’d probably kill me. Other than the fact, that I had to learn to let go (again)….. I just can’t go through that again. They are too willing to be very hurtful. I am not willing to hurt. Although, I have to say, my heart will be broken and will hurt literally, for the rest of my life.
I do not hate them, I simply can’t take the pain. I am worn out. I have fought all my life in a kind of survival mode, first for myself as an abused child. My father raped me and had a lot of fun torturing me. Then raped again (In every conceivable way) by the first husband. Then again, by a boyfriend….his was mostly emotional and mental manipulation but it is just as bad as any physical abuse. While this is going on, I’m fighting for my kids.
Today I fight with hubby #2, over the kids. The crap never ends. There is a good chance that we’ll be going our separate ways, as I just can not take the stress anymore. period.
I have let go. I love all my kids, but I will not let them walk all over me or abuse me. Since at this point, there is no trust, and probably never will be again, in my mind I basically have two kids now. Now I put the ink to paper to try as a way of releasing the the harmful and unhealthy mush that has been holding me down literally for years. I can’t live with it anymore. I have to let it go.
At the same time, I can finally get it out, and say it out loud, I find out that I literally do have a broken heart. And I told the doctor it is probably because of my kids. And I have been saying it for months. Probably a couple of years now. I hope they are happy, that they literally, laid on the last straw that broke their mothers physical heart.
NOTE: I received a note from the Oregon Department of Justice yesterday. In the note I was encouraged to get the word out about these issues via social media, blog, news outlets, AND by addressing the membership of the Douglas County Historical Society. This essay will be distributed accordingly.
State of Oregon – Oregon Department of Justice 100 SW Market St. Portland, OR 97201-5702 Oregon Department of Justice Ellen F. Rosenblum, Attorney General 1162 Court Street Salem, OR 97301
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
RE: DOUGLAS COUNTY HISTORICAL SOCIETY, Nonprofit, 501-c-3, aka DCHS. P.O. BOX 2534, Roseburg, OR 97470 EIN: 930495047
Until about two weeks ago, I was President of this organization and had been for about two years. I had approximately two more years to go on my term. Approximately two weeks before that, or so, I’d been diagnosed as having heart failure. However, the doctor was not a cardiologist. I let the Vice President, K** D*********; know about the diagnosis, because I thought he should know. I specifically asked him in an email not to tell anyone else, as I was still dealing with the news, and wasn’t ready to deal with others yet. I soon discovered that he called everyone on the board and told them. They decided that they had to help me with my chores.
Prior to diagnosis I was well aware of the fact that I was overwhelmed. Over the past 13 or so years with the historical society, I had taken on more and more responsibilities. Some of them were things that I loved to do, like write for the Publication, the Umpqua Trapper. But other responsibilities were taken as others on the board got older, sick and couldn’t do their jobs anymore, or they just flat out wanted to retire. I saw my term as President as my chance to get folks trained properly in what needed to be done at the historical society. At least to the best of my ability to teach, motivate, and yes, lead. I absolutely was aware of the need to fund raise, and increase membership numbers via activities that could attract folks to the historical society. I was aware that there was a lot of items that needed accessioning in properly (no one had done it since I’d been around), along with a whole slew of other things that just needed done in terms of keeping up a museum. My goal was to eventually have the Floed-Lane House receive accreditation from the American Alliance of Museums. I knew there was a big job that lay ahead of me and others. I knew that I wanted to approach these tasks ethically, legally, and even more important in the proper ways that helped to maintain and preserve the very rich past that is housed within both the walls of the Floed-Lane House, but also the ‘Annex’, a storage building behind the Floed-Lane House, aka Lane House, aka, The Douglas County Pioneer Museum.
As it turns out, I do NOT have heart failure. This is according to a cardiologist. I verbally tried to tell K**, but he wasn’t listening, and then I emailed him about it. What I do have is not life threatening, but it can be debilitating, as I have discovered. So, had K** kept this news to himself, perhaps things would be running smoothly, except for what I list below. Please note that everything can be proven via: minutes, agendas, photos, where applicable, notes, etc., email.
Weed Eater: This is really a very small thing. However, in my mind it shows the mindset that is being dealt with the current board. Specifically as it pertains to the Vice President and a particular Director at Large: Months ago, I realized that a brand new weed eater that was bought with historical society funds from the general fund, and still in the box, specifically for the back yard at the Floed-Lane House, was gone. It had been removed from the box, and the box was left to lay. Eventually, within a week or two, the weed eater returned. Soon, I heard that the weed eater had been taken by a particular board member, and that she had used it on the yard of one of her rentals. What really bothers me about this situation is that this particular board member just returned from a week’s long vacation in Europe. This implies of course, that she can afford her own weed eater and that there was absolutely no need for her to put the wear and tear on one that was owned by the historical society. Now, I told the vice president about it, and he agreed that it was wrong. But he said it was no big deal, and that she was worth far more to the society than the weed eater. Of course, what bothers me about this is the mindset, and will either of them know when to stop, when it comes to property that belongs to the historical society.
2. Paint tools, etc., on an unprotected steamer trunk. Not long after the weed eater incident, I found a recently donated steamer trunk covered with paint tools. The steamer trunk was not protected in any way from the tools or potential of paint drips, etc. Probably only 10 feet away was a box of leaf and litter (garbage bags) that could have been used as a protective layer. However, in my opinion (and of that of a local peer who was aghast when she saw the photo) nothing should have EVER been put on top of that steamer trunk. I sent out an email to all board members. I did not name names, though; there were only two board members in charge of the labor (inmate work program) and painting. I asked that people stop working a little earlier so that they were not too tired at the end of the day to clean up properly. Judging from the reaction, I’d say that the same board member mentioned above, a Director at Large, female, made the mistake. She ‘fixed’ the problem. She took a piece of clothing, also a donated artifact, and put it on top of the steamer trunk, and then put the tools on top of that. As of the last time I was in the Annex, the steamer trunk was still in this state, though I had already protested more than once. Please keep in mind, that this bothers me for these reasons: These items were donated by descendants of the General Joseph & Polly Lane family. This family trusts the Douglas County Historical Society to protect, preserve, and maintain those items. I see the treatment of that artifact, and others in the Annex as a slap in the face to that specific family who donated the items less than two years ago. They are in VERY GOOD shape I might add. I also see this as a lack of respect and slap in the face to the membership of the Douglas County Historical Society who not only trusts the board and volunteers but expects us to preserve, protect, and maintain the items for the future. You can take that last sentence and remove “membership” and put in its place, “citizens” of Douglas County. Yes, this whole thing makes me angry. (see photos)
3. An antique pancake turner was apparently used as a paint scraper. I first found the pancake turner in the bathroom sitting on the sink counter. It was clean, but did not belong there. I put it back into the utensil holder it came from. The next time I found it, it was in with the paint tools. This item is also a donation from the Lane Family descendants and came with and inside one of the steamer trunks. It is very appropriate that we keep these items according to DCHS mission statement. They had no right (they meaning the labor, or said Director at Large mentioned above, who was in charge at the time) to use said historical items as tools of this type. Had they asked me, I’d said, no and asked them how many scrapers they needed. I’d made a beeline to the hardware store! In fact, I’d been told we’d bought several scrapers much earlier in the job when we were still preparing to paint! (see photos) The problem with these two issues is that they came after the weed eater incident. And after, ,the Director at Large started paying for labor to get the Floed-Lane house painted, and AFTER she’d told Vice President she didn’t want anyone to know, and after he slipped up and gave the information to me. The information came during an conversation where again, he was telling me that the unprotected trunk and pancake turner incident were no big deal, and that Director at Large had donated so much at this point that we had to let it go. She was just too important to the organization. I see this view point as dead wrong and I have made it known. (Proof via emails) I cannot let this go. If she feels she can abuse an artifact like this, how in the world can we trust her in any other way? To me, what I see is a feeling of entitlement. She was upset that the board passed a policy that no equipment belonging to the historical society can be borrowed by anyone. She voted for it, apparently without realizing what is said. That should not have upset her in the least. The policy is common sense in my mind.
4. Toe boards: DCHS (Douglas County Historical Society) – Some history. The deck on the lower porch on the Floed-Lane House needed replaced. An older member offered to pay for the job. Somewhat later, she said she wanted a certain contractor to do the work. The former President, John Robertson, approved of that. Well the ‘contractor’ was young and did a historically incorrect job, and didn’t bother to let anyone know how rotten the supports underneath the deck were. So, the society had to start all over. DCHS received a huge grant from the state of Oregon and the decking and supports were replaced in a historically correct way. The lumber from the brand new (First) decking was saved. Ideas have been tossed around for using it, picnic tables or back steps for the back door. The lumber was stacked behind the storage building. One day, a Saturday, when I was the volunteer docent that day, I was` opening up the Floed-Lane House I noticed a man taking boards from that lumber pile. I tell him to put them back. I had no clue what was going on, but no one was taking that lumber. The boss of the roofing job next door, at the Vice Presidents house came over and informed me that the Vice President said they could use the lumber for toe boards while they were on the job. There has been a discussion in the past of the boards being used for picnic tables or for back steps at the back door of the Floed-Lane House. Either way, they were not his personal property, he had NO right to tell that contractor to use the lumber, and he CAN absolutely afford to buy his own! (This man is the owner of Mobile Tune on the corner of Washington & Rose in Roseburg) This happened WEEKS after the weed eater incidence.
5. Formation of the Board: Two days after turning in my keys to the society, after my husband made a remark about something he was unhappy about, in terms of the behavior of these people not listening to what was right about how to treat artifacts etc., I came to the realization that I basically let the Vice President stack the board just like a deck of cards! When I gave up the keys last week this was the board’s formation:
A. Peggy A. Rowe Snyder, President, Myself, voted in nearly 10 years ago first as Director at Large, then as Secretary by another board.
B. Kenneth Deatherage, Vice President, voted in by a previous board.
C. Carol Dudley, Treasurer, Mr. Deatherage’s book keeper at his business, Mobile Tune.Based on her statement to my husband, we know she feels her paycheck depends on her doing whatever Ken wants her to do. The question is, does this include a vote on issues before the board?
D. Cynthia Rockney Wilson, Secretary, chosen and introduced by Ken Deatherage. (She was asked to leave the downtown association board for some reason, Ken promised to “keep her under control”)
E. John Robertson, Director at Large, former President. (120% totally innocent of any of this) (and wasn’t contacted by anyone other than me and wasn’t asked for a vote on any matter)
F. Lois Deatherage, Director at Large, Ken Deatherage’s wife.
G. Clyde Snyder, Director at Large, my husband, voted in by a previous board. (also innocent of this stuff, mostly a witness to it)
H. Dale Greenley, Director at Large, chosen and introduced by Ken Deatherage. Whom I interviewed and still had 2nd thoughts about because of a past experience with a family member of his. Mr. Deatherage informed me prior to the vote that he had the votes to get him in, so I had to just get used to it.
I. Nicholas Schaebert, Director at Large, suggested by myself. (120% totally innocent of any of this)
J. Maria Crince, Director at Large, Ken Deatherage’s wife’s best friend.
“This gives Mr. Deatherage a clear majority, if anyone feels obligated to him…“
This gives Mr. Deatherage a clear majority, if anyone feels obligated to him. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that Ken Deatherage would abuse the power, as he has. It just never even dawned on me that he would. But when you fail to follow the by-laws that are filed with the state then you are breaking the law. Kenneth Deatherage can’t sight lack of experience, or knowledge, he sits on at least two other boards in Douglas County: 1. Salvation Army board in Roseburg, & 2. The Downtown Association Board (President). Surely he learned a few things along the way??
6. Abuse of Power: Within a couple of weeks of hearing the news that I had ‘heart failure’ Ken Deatherage, Dale Greenly, and Maria Crince had put together an ‘Executive Committee’. Keep in mind that according to the by-laws, the President makes committees and assigns people to them (unless I am mistaken), and I had tried to do this, and no one followed through on what was asked of them. This committee called a meeting and informed me that I needed help, and Maria asked that I make a list of things that I needed help with. Ken asked me to drop off the mail key to Carol Dudley. (Turns out he’d given his copy to her already). I am a slow thinker, in that things need time to percolate in my brain. Things did not hit me until after the meeting, hours and even a couple of days later. But during this meeting, I was told to not talk to anyone on the board anymore about any of my concerns. My messages were not ‘palatable’. After nearly 25 years with historical societies, I cannot believe that I was EVER not palatable. But, I had used the word “boundaries” when I spoke about the unprotected steamer trunk. There is an email to prove it, but, yes, I said someone clearly had boundary issues. According to Ken, I ‘triggered’ someone. Personally, considering the disrespect shown to the donors of the artifacts, and supporters in general, I don’t care if I ‘triggered’ someone. I was also told that Ken had talked to a lady that a former board had kicked off a prior DCHS board due to unethical behavior and for fear of artifacts coming up missing. Dale Greenly is a cousin of this lady and was obviously advocating for her, and stated she’d run these types of organizations before. Ken Deatherage had me know that she was going to be welcomed back to the historical society, despite a previous boards decision, and without a vote. Her name is Charlotte Eggleston. During that same meeting, Ken also made it clear that the committee had decided that Bernie Woodard would be welcomed into the society. I had already given a flat out NO to Bernie. He is a convicted felon. A neighbor to the Floed-Lane House believes he is a ‘white collar criminal’. I have researched Bernie Woodard and showed the research to fellow board members. The previous board wanted nothing to do with him. Again, this welcoming was decided with out a vote. Since this time, Ken has informed me that they only wanted a sign that Bernie was willing to give the Floed-Lane House. Again I said NO. I contacted the McLaughlin House in Oregon City and asked them if Bernie had ever worked for them, and had they given the sign (some piece of chimney off the McLaughlin house) to him as he claimed. They emailed me back and let me know they’d never worked with him, and never associated with him. I deduced from the answer they never gave him the chimney piece either. So, my NO to taking the sign (chimney piece) was fear of ‘receiving stolen property’. I don’t want the Douglas County Historical Society associated with that man or his history in any way, shape or form!
7. I wrote Ken then and told him with Charlotte coming back, and at the time I thought Bernie was being brought in, and between that and the abuse of the artifacts, and that no one thought they were important that I was ready to step down as President. And I wrote that the moment Bernie stepped in, I was stepping out. And I meant it. During this same meeting, mentioned above, Dale Greenley informed me that a box of newspapers should go to the other museum. Our mission clearly states that ALL Oregon History is within our pervue, that box of newspapers belongs with the society if it so chooses and NO one person should make that decision, unless they are a trained collection manager!
8. Days later, Ken called me; I gave the phone to my husband. Among other things my husband was told that at this point, if I did not step down, they’d vote me out. I had to this point, nothing wrong except perhaps say one unpalatable word. I had not yet missed one meeting. I had missed one of my docent days. ONE! Thirteen years of service, NO complaints, and a LOT of hard work, taking classes to be sure I am doing stuff right, writing two major grants, and this is what I get for trying to do things right! I had refused to attend a meeting, called by “3 or 4 people”. They were not telling me why the meeting was being called, it was originally called by the secretary which was not according to by laws, and I told them the person who should call the meeting, if I am uncapable (and I was NOT), & it needed to be done properly. But, maybe this is why I was to be thrown off the board, because I refused to sit and listen to them tell me about all the wrong I was doing, when I was NOT. Ken let my husband know that it was time to return all DCHS property to the Annex including the keys. So, basically, I was removed without a vote by the board. For no reason whatsoever in my mind.
9. So three or four people decided that I didn’t belong on the board. Ken Deatherage because my opinions and legitimate concerns were not “palatable”. Cynthia probably because I triggered her, and because obviously she thinks she should be allowed to do as she pleased, because she NEVER corrected the clothing being used as protection problem on the steamer trunk to my knowledge. And Dale Greenly because I had the audacity to send the whole board an email voicing my concerns about Charlotte Eggleston which are as follows:
A. We would be breaking a former’s board’s precedent, and ignoring their very valid concerns.
B. It looked to me like Ken was making this a command decision, and there really was no vote yet.
C. At the time, Charlotte had told me to print a message in the Umpqua Trapper, “from the President” and in his name, John Robertson, without John’s permission. She had given a box of genealogical stuff to the local Genealogical society without anyone else’s knowledge or permission, and I saw it returned, so I know it happened. I had been told that she had brought in an appraiser, when that is unethical. She either attempted to sell or promised to give a sewing machine away. There is a confederate money(s) that may be missing. Board members at the time had NO clue what all had happened and what was missing that is how far out of control they felt at the time.
D. I also stated that had Charlotte really run a historical society, she would have not done the things she did simply because what she did, did not follow proper museum protocol (accessioning in AND OUT). And with these concerns, I honestly, don’t see why anyone would take a chance. Yet, when my husband delivered the keys to the Annex, Ken had Charlotte in the Annex, and it looked like an interview to my husband. We figure she’s on the board at this point. Which gives her unlimited power to throw things away, which is something she told me she did. Which might have been fine, if she had followed proper protocol.
At this point, if our collections are audited, we’d never pass the audit.
…”she told Clyde that she had to do whatever it was the Ken asks of her, because her paycheck depended on it. Does her paycheck depend on her vote(s) as well??”…
0. Last but not least, While dropping the mail key off to Carol Dudley, my husband Clyde made a remark, it was probably meant to be humorous knowing him. Carol’s answer however spoke volumes. Not a direct quote however she told Clyde that she had to do whatever it was the Ken asks of her, because her paycheck depended on it. Does her paycheck depend on her vote(s) as well?? I do not know at this point, if any of these people, have broken any laws severely enough to be looked at. I know if I sat in an official’s seat in Salem, I’d want to look further.
Please note that when it comes to the protection of history, I am and have been for years and years, very passionate about not only the protection, but also preservation, conservation, maintaining in an ethical, honest, transparent, and absolutely legal way! I know that there are several people out there that would back up that statement whole heartedly. Thank you for your time. Please note that I do have emails, notes, agendas, minutes, etc. to help to prove nearly all if not all of what I say here.
Thank you for your time, Peggy A. Rowe Snyder Former President, DCHS, and now a VERY concerned citizen. (P.S. I never officially resigned, and I still have no letter informing me that I have been voted out.)
Please take note that I am talking about specific people that I have an awareness of. Most of my writing comes from awareness of actual living conditions of someone. Often such people are close to me. So, when I am saying anything, I may not name a name because truly, I don’t want to make any bad situation worse. I simply hold the situation up to the light, hoping that others will not fall into the trap of thought that creates the arrogance that surrounds these attitudes of intolerance and hatred.
My children, specifically, my three biological children were raised on the idea that when they grew up, they would be able to research their spirituality, religious inclinations, sexuality, gender, or whatever it was (no matter what it was) for themselves, and that I would not try to sway them. My idea was that they’d decide for themselves what was important to them because for whatever reason, they’ve researched it or lived it, whatever. My hope of course, that they’d make good sound decisions for themselves.
I have watched all three grow up to be non-believers. Each for their own set of reason(s). I do not fault them for it. The youngest two were taken to and participated in church services in Geyserville, Sonoma County, CA at Geyserville Christian Church. A church that I could live with, be active in, and be proud of for it’s inclusive nature, loving stance, and non-hypocritical themes. I do believe with all of my heart that they got some ‘good stuff’ from those experiences.
The kids were made aware that I was raised by a non-practicing 7th Day Adventist, and avid atheist. The kids and I also attended 7th Day Camp meetings, and other of the same type of gatherings with friends, family, etc.
And while in no way, did I force the christian outlook onto the kids, neither did I insist they believe the dogma. I simply stated that due to my childhood circumstance it was a fight to believe in God, but it made me feel better and comforted when I did. Nothing was crammed down their throat by me, and specifically, that is because of my very own experiences as a young person.
The oldest child was stolen away from me for six years. Father took her and ran, and hid away. When I found an address, usually they’d already moved on, but if they had not, and I made a move to contact said child, they’d pick up and leave. I had absolutely no involvement with her life. And this was NOT by choice. The courts were warned that this would happen, and as far as I am concerned, they let it happen.
During this child’s time away, she grew up, and became a person that I really did not know. She was exposed to Catholic tradition, which in and of itself, I do not see as a bad thing. But, her distaste (i.e. intolerance, hatred) for all things Christian leads me to believe something NOT good happened there.
It would have been OK if oldest said she didn’t approve of youngest’s boyfriends family. Youngest might have taken it under advisement. Personally, I see nothing wrong with this family, and I do see an attitude of prejudgment from older daughter that frightens the bajesus out of me when I think of young people being around her.
If oldest would have made her statement and left it alone, perhaps she might have even gotten her way, because she wouldn’t have been nagging and threatening the youngest, and causing youngest to rebel even more (which at her age, she’s going to do—it’s her age, duh!)
But the matter was forced from what I hear, with a lot of anger mixed in which in all reality made older daughter look irrational, jealous, arrogant, full of hate, and intolerance. In fact, in her mother’s eyes, she has become the epitome of the extremist christian view only on the other side of the wall. And she can’t even blame the middle of the ground faith of her mother for it. She can only blame herself for falling for an extremest, hateful, and intolerant view point. (Not all Christians are bad people, and YOUR attitude is far less loving, than most Christians I’ve ever met. And before you say you don’t care how I feel, let me just say, YOU ABSOLUTELY KNOW BETTER THAN THIS!)
The kids WERE warned to stay away from the fundamentalists, and extremest, as we didn’t need any more of those in this world, no matter which side of the argument they stood on. And on an aside, I know I have mentioned at least to one of them, that they needed to be careful that they didn’t fall to an extreme attitude in the exact opposite direction of the christian fundamentalists and or any other type of extremists.
Now, the people I am talking to right now, had at least two situations going on. I’ve done a basic introduction to the one situation I’m going to write about. But, I also want to mention that animal abuse is also involved with this story, and as far as concerned, now that the animal is under my care, ALL parties involved are as guilty of animal abuse. The accusers were under as much moral and ethical obligation to take care of the animal as the ‘owner’, because the animal was in their home and they were watching the neglect happening and doing absolutely NOTHING except ragging on the owner: a 19 yr. old who has discovered (finally) that life and the world is FUN! Either way, at this point, my stance on this situation is that this animal better never leave my home again. Ridiculous is an understatement. I’m not sure but we are looking at a chargeable offense right now. What this animal has been through is more than neglect, it was down right mean. Nuff said. (I may post photos of said animal, it is sad and tragic.)
Back to the original subject of this essay. Part of the reason said young person was kicked out of her living space (a room in an older siblings home that a boyfriend owns) is because she is seeing a young man whose parents are christian. Participating christian in that they go to church, and apparently at least try to walk the walk and talk the talk. I’ve never met them, but I can say, I’m very impressed by their child, and their home. Oldest daughter and boyfriend ordered youngest daughter to stop seeing boyfriend because his parents were trying to to convert her.
And my answer to that is, “SO!?!?!?!?!?!” Really!!!!??? Older child needs to take a step back and listen to those around her, and more than anything else, listen to herself. She is espousing arrogance, hatred, and intolerance. If she had a conversation with herself, and really, really listened, she’d know, she’s wrong.
There are people out there who are ‘very’ christian and are VERY GOOD people. There is a mixture of both good and bad in every sort of human group imaginable. But, do you hate one whole group because of one bad person? Yes, there are stupid people out there, but does that mean that they are not sincerely trying to live a good, honest, compassionate life?
I think what is the most important in this case is that these people are loving, supportive, compassionate, involved. Their child has been so well directed in his childhood that he’s looking at possibly becoming a nuclear engineer and you honestly think he’s not good enough for your sister? OH, give me a break! If someone is not good enough for another, it’s probably that you are not good enough for your own boyfriend!
The judgement that has been rendered is short sided and woefully, prejudice based on personal experiences (which were not good), and incredibly hurtful. Oldest daughter was taught to live and let live. Her mother NEVER tried to control her in anyway, even when said daughter, decided that Wicca was her thing. Did I agree with it? I am open to the earth based religions only because of their tie to the planet, and the ancient human cultures. I’ve never practiced it to any degree, and no, I do not believe for one minute that anyone can be a witch, not even a good one. I saw said child as confused due to her very bad childhood experiences (which I had no control over).
One final paragraph to said daughter’s boyfriend: Look at what your young daughter has now been exposed to and tell me this is NOT going to hurt her in the future. How long do you think it is going to take before that mouth and attitude has found it’s way to being directed at YOUR daughter??? This is obviously, at this point, not run of the mill anger being spewed out in your home. Your daughter has a beautifully UGLY example of arrogance, hatred, and intolerance before her. And you actually want her to learn this? It’s one thing to instill your values, it’s another to encourage these traits. And it’s another to leave her in a situation where you know this attitude can be turned onto her — that would be child abuse.
This website is built & maintained by Peggy A. Rowe. It is her personal insight into the world around her. All graphics, stories, etc. are copyrighted to Peggy A. Rowe. Please ask before using anything from this site, i.e. reproduction and/or modifications. In most cases, I’ll say yes. If something is not mine then I will say so. Please DO ask.