Original post – October 8, 2020

When I began thinking about starting a blog, I obsessed for a bit on what I would call it. My daughter reminded me that it didn’t have to be perfect to begin and that I shouldn’t let the name of the blog be an obstacle to getting started. I chose the name that I did because I wanted to use this space for all kinds of things. My previous posts have largely been of a similar theme. This one will be a departure. It will be the introduction of stories – true stories. Some will be sad, some will be hilarious, some will just be interesting. So here we go!

Today is my mother’s birthday. She would have been 83 years old today but she passed 3 years ago. In October of 1937, a force of nature came into this world when my mom was born. My mom had a very rich life. Honestly, she really had about four lives and all were completely different.

She was the second child of three in her family. She was born into an Irish Catholic family – well, that’s what they hung their hat on but it was all smoke and mirrors to make themselves look good. Her dad was a logger like his father. Mom grew up in Eagle Creek in a logging camp. That suited mom just fine. She like the woods, the outdoors, and not being painted into the girly girl corner that was the norm of the era. She liked getting dirty and doing “boy” things every bit as much as she enjoyed putting on a ball gown. In the logging camp days, mom had freedom. Her parents were just trying to survive as so many families were in those days. They didn’t have the time to oppress mom. That came later.

Mom never fit in with her family. She was strong willed, extremely intelligent, and way ahead of her time in terms of what should be available to her as opposed to the reality of what women were allowed to do. The older she got, the more her parents tried to force her to conform to their ideas of the perfect daughter in the perfect family because after all, what will people say? *gasp* Well, mom being mom, became ever more defiant and refused to comply. Her siblings were obedient and did what was expected of them without conflict. Not mom. She wasn’t having it.

As her father became more successful, life began to change dramatically in every way for the family. He amassed wealth and social stature. They were arguably one of the richest families in the area – if not THE richest. They were millionaires in the 50’s. One can only imagine how much that would be today but suffice it to say it was a shit ton. They moved to the city and built an enormous mansion on Waverly Drive. It was the last house before the country club. It was quite exclusive and conspicuous. Look at us – all you people going to the country club. See what we have? See who we are? They had houses in Palm Springs, Portland, and Sunriver. They had a private plane and my grandfather had his pilot’s license. (grandfather – because they demanded we address them as grandfather and grandmother) To further their perfect image, they bought the finest things for the family. Mom had THE coolest cars, designer clothing, shoes to match every outfit, fur coats, jewels for days. They had an entire walk in closet with a rack on each side filled only with fur coats, for God’s sake. They didn’t have just one or two. They had every length, every animal, every everything. Their house was perfectly appointed. As grandfather would walk me through the house, he would point out different things – this was given to us by the president of Vietnam, that was given to us by the Kennedy administration, and lots of other brag worthy stuff. They traveled all over the world. It was always first class, special treatment. It was a life that was beyond comprehension for that era in podunk little Portland. He even built a hospital that was named after him in Milwaukie. That was because, of course, they lived near Milwaukie and there weren’t any hospitals close by so he thought he’d just build one, in case his family had a need for medical attention. He was on the board of directors of many organizations – both private and public. He was SOMEBODY.

Well, mom didn’t really give a shit about any of that. Sure, she enjoyed the “things” and the experiences. She liked getting the best table at a restaurant and getting special treatment but it was more of a giggle than a lifestyle for her. Her siblings lived that life from the word go and continued all through their life. My mom’s sister never had a job – like not ever. Well, if you count being a judge on the LPGA then Ok. But that didn’t stop her from marrying well and having a collection of homes in various fun places. My mom’s brother took over the family business, siphoned off a bunch of money for himself, and ran the family into bankruptcy and shame eventually but not before getting his own mansion in town with a few vacation homes and putting his kids through ivy league college educations. That was not my mom’s story by any stretch of the imagination. She was not obedient so she got none of those things.

Her parents wanted her to be a lady – a debutant really. She was to marry well, of course. And they would decide who was worthy of her hand in marriage. They had tried to cram a few suitors down her throat. My mom was having none of it. Again, this image that they had so carefully crafted didn’t matter to her. She was a free spirit. She didn’t really give a shit about impressing the neighbors or keeping up with the Jones’. They tried to dominate and control her in every way, big and small. Her sister played golf and that was allowed because it was elite. It’s what rich people did. My mother was a diver and she was damn good. She could have been competitive but no. Diving isn’t lady like so that had to stop. They sent mom to the best college in the country. She wanted to take interesting, challenging classes. They wanted her to take flower arranging and etiquette because after all, she was just going to be someone’s arm decoration anyway. Mom hated all of it. But in the late 50’s/early 60’s, a woman of her class couldn’t just move out. She felt trapped.

One summer during her college years, she took an art class in downtown Portland. She was an incredible artist. She used her imagination and creativity to think outside the box before that was a thing. She wanted to learn, discover, explore, and experience life. So off she goes to class. Little did she know that choice would change her entire life, for the rest of her life. Enter my dad. He too was an incredible artist and was taking the same class. He was handsome, charming, and couldn’t have come from a more different background than the high society life she had become accustomed to and that was smothering her. He came from what was probably a very average family but they were always characterized as poor. Dad had a cool car – a Corvette. He was up to his ears in credit debt which was something mom had never heard of. In her family, everything was paid for in cash with actual bills. This was uncharted territory for her and I think honestly, she enjoyed the differences. Dad was a nice man. He was caring and kind. Somehow, the two of them struck up a friendship. One night, they found themselves at a bar drinking and commiserating. I’m sure that had been a regular thing however that one night, an idea was hatched in their altered states that they acted upon. Mom was telling dad how oppressed she felt. She desperately wanted to get out of the house to find independence and freedom. I’m not sure who suggested it but they came up with a plan. They decided to get married, let a reasonable amount of time pass, and get a divorce. That would get her out. It wasn’t the worse idea but it wasn’t great. I’m not sure being a divorcee was any more acceptable in those times and in that social class but it’s the best they could come up with. They were essentially strangers but……they did it. They drove up to Cascade Locks and got married. In a moment of TMI, mom told me how she felt that night. She felt free but here she was with this strange man that was now her husband. She wasn’t too psyched about having sex with him but she was his wife, after all, and in those days, she was used to being treated as a brainless possession by her parents so they consummated their marriage.

Well, as you can imagine, their marriage did not go over well on Waverly Drive. Grandmother threw the ultimate shit fit. How dare she be disobedient? So she did what every good Catholic mother did. She cut mom out of her life, period. And I mean mom no longer existed – she never existed. She threw out everything that belonged to my mom or reminded her of mom. She got rid of her clothing, her art, her photographs, everything. She erased her. Her dad wasn’t much better although he did gift mom a pick up truck because dad was a carpenter at that time so I guess he wanted to help dad support his daughter? Who knows. But they didn’t speak to her despite living maybe 20 minutes apart. My parents got married in May. Her parents typically went to Palm Springs for Christmas. Well, mom decided that enough time had passed and she could now get a divorce. She called her mother in the desert and told her that she was coming to the desert and she was leaving dad. Then she skipped her period. Fuck. Now what? Abortion wasn’t legal. She was Catholic anyway so she’d spend all of eternity in hell if she had done that. Being a single mom REALLY wasn’t done in 1961 when you’re from that class. Besides, she wasn’t employable per se. She’d never had a job and majored in fine art. She didn’t finish college since she got married. She was seriously fucked now. So she never got on a plane to the desert to join her family basking in the sun and splashing in the pool. She stayed in SW Portland with a man she hardly knew, with no money, no friends or family, and a drinking problem. My sister was born at the end of August, 1961. Talk about being ill equipped to be a good parent and have a successful family. Fortunately, dad’s family was generous, warm, loving, and welcoming. They were salt of the earth people that helped my parents however they could. They didn’t have much but there was always enough to share with us. If not for my dad’s parents, I’m not sure any of us would have lived through some of those years. They were stability and safety. They were a hot meal and a clean bed. Their household had serious structure. Grandma ran a tight ship and while on the one hand I hated it, it was also comforting compared to the chaos in my house. At least there were clear lines between the adults and the children and they were definitely in charge. Grandma had to be strong and tough. She had to deal with five boys, one girl, a husband, and us ragamuffins around all the time. She was an amazing woman. But I digress.

My oldest sister was born and mom got pregnant again immediately. My next sister was born in September of 1962. The pill was approved by the FDA in 1960 but wasn’t legal for doctors in all states to prescribe it to MARRIED WOMEN (only) until 1965. (because you know, we are all going to pretend that single women don’t have sex because women don’t really want sex. They just have to fend off these primitive men, dontcha know) Somehow, likely through her family connections, she got her hands on the pill. She may have told me it came from Europe but I might be wrong about that. Either way, when the pill first came out, it was STRONG. Mom was bi-polar though she didn’t know it then because that’s another topic that’s whispered in good company. We don’t like to talk about that – kinda like cancer. Whispering makes it all better but whatever. Anyway, she said she took the pill for a year and her exact words were “it made me nuttier than a fruitcake.” She went off the pill and here I come. Baby number one, August 1961. Baby number two – September 1962. Baby number three – July 1964. Mom talked about those days quite a bit. She was so in over her head and she knew it. She had somehow managed with two babies but when I came along, that was the tipping point. She said “I only had two arms but I had three babies.” She called me her koala bear because while she had a sister in each arm, I would sit on her foot and wrap my legs and arms around her leg. She’d walk peg legged into the post office, the grocery store, wherever.

Mom did her best to adapt to this new life. Not that she had any beautiful gowns or fur coats anymore anyway but there was no use for such things. Her life was now flannel shirts that were her husband’s hand me downs. She appreciated being a part of a big family full of boys. She liked boy things. They were a hunting family. Mom was all in for that. Dad’s family didn’t quite know what to do with or about her. She went hunting and the men were none too happy about that. Women folk don’t do that. They stay home with babies barefoot and pregnant. Not sure any of them really felt that extremely about a woman’s place but they definitely wanted unencumbered boy time. They tried to exclude her but she wouldn’t be refused – except for elk hunting. Conditions are brutal for elk hunting so she was fine to pass on that. The awesome thing about her was that she didn’t just go, she was a great shot! Better than some of the men. I’m sure that didn’t help her case. Imagine how unhappy she was when she was fully pregnant and about to pop during deer hunting season. They wouldn’t let her go, imagine that. But she was so pissed that my dad went without her. She went into labor and had my sister while he was gone. But mom being mom and mom being pissed took a flask with her to the hospital and sipped away on her whiskey during labor. Now calm down. Times were different then. They smoked during labor in hospitals then too. My sister is fine.

But those were hard years – for everyone. There are so many scary details and traumatic memories but let’s just say those days left scars on all of us and I for one, am still trying to heal. That would be a story unto itself but would serve no purpose to outline so I’ll skip it. My parents were not exactly set up for success. They were broke, drunk, trying to make it work when they were two very different people. My dad by nature was a gentle soul. He was fairly stable, for the most part. Mom was gentle in her own way but in those days, she was like a caged animal. She was overwhelmed, overmedicated, drunk, and half crazy. My parents fought like cats and dogs for what seemed like constantly. It was scary from a child’s perspective because as you can imagine, they didn’t sit down and discuss their conflict quietly and calmly. Mom pushed his buttons and he was an equal participant in their fights. They were never physical but boy, were they loud. I don’t remember how many times we were plucked out of our beds in the middle of the night to go to a motel but it was more than once, for sure. Eventually, they finally decided to get a divorce and be done, once and for all. I was in first grade. Mom and my sisters and I moved into an apartment near the house and school. That didn’t last long. My parents couldn’t figure out how to be together but they also couldn’t figure out how to stay apart. We moved back. We moved in and out a few times between first and sixth grade. Back and forth and back and forth.

When I was in sixth grade, during a time when we were all together as a family, dad got a good job in Pendleton. The plan was for him to commute because the job was building a shopping mall and it would end at some point. They’d bought a tiny travel trailer that he would live in during the week and he’d come back on weekends. The plan was never to move the family to Pendleton. Well, the universe had other ideas. The first week or two that dad went to Pendleton, he stayed in a motel and left the trailer home. Not sure why but I thought it was cool as hell because we could sleep in it in the driveway. It felt so fancy and for some reason, that meant that we weren’t going to be dirt poor and hungry anymore. Ash Wednesday, 1976, listening to Bohemian Rhapsody. (it’s so strange the details that we remember. I couldn’t listen to that song for years without feeling scared) We had a fire. We’d had a house fire before but when you live in chaos, it didn’t seem like a big deal because my sisters and parents put it out with water from the bath tub and buckets/pots and pans. I was too little to help. Dad rebuilt the damaged areas and we moved on. This fire was different. My sisters and I had the nightly routine of going around the house to put out forgotten lit cigarettes in ashtrays, on couches, on carpets, everywhere. Well this night, dad was gone and we were in the trailer in the driveway. We woke up to the glass in our parent’s bedroom window being shattered by the fire. We looked out the window and the driveway was full of fire trucks and fire fighters. As we looked at the house, the flames were pouring out the bedroom window. Bullets were also flying everywhere because they kept ammunition in their bedroom (why?) It was the middle of the night. There were no lights on in the house. Mom was in the bedroom – or so we thought. As we came out of the trailer, a fireman asked if anyone was in the house. We said our mom was in the room that was on fire. I will never forget the mental picture I have or the voice I heard when he yelled “there’s a lady in there!” About six men went flying up the stairs to the front door into the house. It was absolutely terrifying. What we learned in short order was that mom was at the top of the driveway directing traffic. We had a house that was difficult to find so she was guiding them to our house. Mom had fallen asleep/passed out while smoking in bed. She said she was aware of the cigarette falling from her fingers. She tried to find it but wasn’t able to. She assumed it had gone out and went back to sleep. She woke up to the bed and her hair on fire. She had the wherewithal to close the bedroom door when she got out and that saved the rest of the house. The smoke and water damage was severe so it was unlivable until it got rebuilt. So we moved to Pendleton, all of us. This was another defining moment in our family.

I think I’m gonna leave this here for now. I’d rather come back to it to do my mom’s story the justice it and she deserves than try to rush through it. There’s so much more and it has a beautiful ending, I promise.