Ascent Through The Dark Night Of The Soul: My Life Reflections

I cannot make these stories from my life nice and neat or, rather, whitewashed and sweet, in order to make them more palatable, or easier to cope with, for anyone reading them. Whenever the truth gets watered-down, it stops being the truth! I have lived through all these things. It is my story. It is what it is. Our lives are greatly affected by the pervasive consequences of Original Sin, the sins of others, and our own sin, and we must acknowledge that.

Sunday, February 12, 2023

'Mister Right' never found me. “O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?” . . . .

[NOTE: This post disproves the MYTH that 'MEN are NOT EMOTIONAL creatures'.]

In honor of Valentine's Day this month I am sharing some of the things that men have written to me over the years, which I had packed away, with all of my other memorabilia, that I sorted a few months ago. The emotions, men claimed to feel, for me, in these cards and letters, were saved as my reminder that I had at least gotten under their skin, if not in their hearts. It's so ironic that a woman who has had so many, superficial, chances at 'love' has still to this very day never had the deep, true, love, that I had simply expected, when I was younger, and even cried out to God for; apparently to no avail. Because of my being in the military, which is largely populated by males, and working as a dancer in nightclubs, for years, I have met and talked to and gotten to know thousands of men in my lifetime. Yet, out of all those men who have come through my life in some capacity there have only been two who have unlocked my very careful heart, and neither one of them wanted my heart. That is why I say that I have not found love. Being 'in love' has to be a two-way street for it to matter. The closest, I have ever come, to, mutual, love was with my second husband. The one I described in several of my posts as, 'the one man that I would love forever'. I honestly think that, our love was based on our intense, and incessant, sexual chemistry with one another, though; not on any, deeply shared, values, or goals. I view men as having been a quantity-over-quality let down for me throughout my life. I finally cut my losses and quit trying.

The following things are being transcribed here verbatim and the writer of each is identified, along with a little background on the person and/or on my relationship with them, although, I can't recall many of these men, who wrote these things to me. I've often felt that men say such things as are in these cards and letters just to try to 'sweet talk' a girl into bed with them. With that being my mindset about alot of what men say and do, causing all of it to be suspect, then, I probably just chalked up most of these statements they made to me to their being more horny than loving and let it go at that, as being something more superficial than special.

Even though it may be an ego trip that so many men made such a fuss over me I would gladly have traded all of it and more to have been truly loved, by one good man. I have NEVER known what THAT feels like; and knowing how my life's been, in that area, I fully expect to stay single for the rest of my life; using my vibrator, while, trying, to remember what laying there with another human being feels like. It has been decades since I have done that. Men. They have either been 'feast or famine' in my life, only the 'feast' seemed like JUNK FOOD that would have never satisfied my soul. Maybe I didn't give some of them enough of a chance with me. They seemed nice enough, on the surface. But 'chemistry' comes into play with a romantic connection, and clearly I just wasn't feeling that with ANY of these men.

The cards

Some of the notes that men wrote to me in the cards, pictured above, are below:

John responded to a personal ad that I placed

John and I dated very briefly. He was an Air Force officer. He responded to a personal ad that I placed in the local paper (how we met people before the internet and singles' dating websites, etc.) I had written that I wanted an intelligent man with an education, because I was tired of guys who couldn't discuss deeper issues in this world, and John told me that was what he really liked about my honest personal ad, and responded to. I just didn't feel 'safe' with him, alone, in person, and I don't know why. My spirit just felt disquieted within me, when I was around him, and I didn't continue to date him long enough to find out why. I just trusted my gut that he was not 'Mr. Right' for ME, and moved on.

My actual Personal Ad, from the local newspaper Bellevue Leader, was tucked inside this card from John and is yellowed with age. The date on the piece of newspaper says September 30, 1992. Under the "Personals" column in the paper, my ad read, "ATTRACTIVE WHITE female, slim, 5'9", blue eyed brunette that's outgoing, open, intelligent Christian with a spontaneous personality and a sense of humor SEEKS intelligent, college educated, non-smoking mature white male in 30s or 40s that's good company. Must be: communicative, not closed or moody, enthusiastic about life; honesty a must! NO GAMES! This lady enjoys stimulating verbal debates, eating out and has a wide range of interests including travel, music and reading. Photos appreciated. Write to: Box Holder, P.O. Box 1083, Bellevue, NE 68005-1083."

He sent me this card, during our very brief relationship, though. The printed card face read: Know what's special about you? Everything! In fact, it would really be impossible to single out one thing I like best about you. . . because everything about you is so great. Your smile, your way of talking, your way of understanding me . . . not to mention your great looks, and how fun you are to be with. It all adds up to one great person-- somebody I really like a lot! John added this note, "With great affection, your friend John". There's a gold gift card stamped "VICTORIA'S SECRET London" and a note inside it saying, "For Deborah The most special person in my life, and a good friend. John", but I have no memory of what gift he bought me from there.

He enclosed a lengthy, handwritten, note, in the greeting card, also, which said:

John Adams

"Dear Debora[h]

I feel, in such a short time I've grown very close to you. The affection I have for you is very real, and so intense I don't have words to properly describe it. I trust you and enjoy the time we spend together very much.

I'm not looking for a wife or a lover. I'm in search of a real friend to share my life with. I really think I've found her-- You!

I can't help but wonder if in some small way we were brought together as an answer to some of our prayers. At least for me you are the answer to one of my prayers.

I hope in some way I can help answer some of your prayers. I will do anything I can for you. There really isn't any way I can repay the happiness you've already brought into my life, but I need to try.

I'll always be here when you need me.

Your friend

John

[NOTE: John was ALL talk and VERY LITTLE substance. We didn't date long at all.]

Some of the cards, notes, and letters, from men during my dancer days

My main dancer alias, that I went by, for years, was 'Stevie'

I met Grant while I was working at Lipstix in Council Bluffs, Iowa. He was in sales and traveled his, multi-state, route, selling embalming supplies to funeral parlors, but he lived in Minnesota. He was married. We were never involved, romantically, or sexually, but it was clear, by the things, he said, and did, that he wanted to be. He reminded me of my father and even had the same last name, which deepened that perception I had of him. He had to stay in motels and eat out on his route so he asked me to eat dinner with him when his travels brought him back to Omaha again. All I ever did was eat out with him. He said he would appreciate having my company. One Sunday morning he called me, though, when he was home with his family, in Minnesota, for the weekend, and told me that he had stayed home, and sent them on to church, without him, because he wanted to call me. I realized he wanted more than a dinner companion, from me, then, and I didn't want to break his heart, or wreck his life, so I didn't encourage him in it. [The printed card face] "Getting to know you is really alot of fun for me. No matter what we do or where we go, I know I'll have a good time. Maybe that's because we never have to work at it. When we're together, good times just happen naturally. Being with you is something I always look forward to, and the times we spend together always leave me feeling in a happy mood. You're a nice person. I like you. And I just wanted to tell you so." [Part of the handwritten note, inside, from Grant] ". . . . I needed to sen[d] this card to thank you for your friendship. I pray every day that I won't do anything that will scare you away. I am looking forward to hearing more chapters. . . ."

Another card from Grant was a birthday card to my cockatiel, CeeBee-- my bird baby-- but he added a note to it, which included "Give your mama a big kiss for me- She is a wonderful lady".

Tim, was one of my 'Call Girl' customers, when I was involved in that, for a very short span of time near the end of my dancing when I worked as an undercover informant, for the Omaha Police Department. Tim was a married man. I REALLY did not want to bring that up again, here in this post, as I have already covered that [https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2021/11/twin-franklins-price-of-prostitution.html] and it was a low point in my life in so many ways. A definite 'dark night of the soul' for me. I sat here, debating, whether to 'sanitize' who he, actually, was, in his relationship with me, in this post, but the truth is the truth. It is what it is. I decided to go ahead, and include it, again, in the context of this post's particular subject matter, because knowing this is very instructive for the average person, who is most likely very naive, as I used to be on this subject, of who the men are, who hire prostitutes; and will, therefore, be shocked, at the reality of the situation. Try to comprehend if you can, something that REALLY SHOCKED ME about the men who engage in this. They are sitting in the church pews, on Sunday mornings, next to their wives. In fact, the man who is in the pulpit giving the sermon from God's Word, may be someone buying sex services. I honestly thought I could tell by looking at men, if they were the 'type' to seek such relationships, but there truly is no type, that someone can pinpoint. Men, are able to compartmentalize their lives, in a way women can't seem to do. That is the best way that I can explain how this happens, even with, 'good' men.

My customers ALL appeared to be truly nice, 'salt of the earth', guys. You would have NEVER SUSPECTED that they paid for sex. Some of them, were single, but some were married. Only they know their reasons for doing this. Besides my not being able to tell just by looking at them, the other thing that shocked me came from my erroneous assumption that the married ones must be in bad marriages and hate their wives, but that was not at all true! They talked about their wives, and kids, openly, and even spoke, lovingly, of their spouses. It didn't even really sound like they were driven to it, out of any particular 'unmet need' they had. It just seemed more like they were simply curious and wanted 'different'. I recall a maintenance man, at an apartment that I lived in, decades later, starting to talk about how he loved his wife, but that he wondered to himself, when he was in a woman's apartment, fixing something on their Work Order, what it might be like to just have sex with them because, as he put it himself, he just wanted to know if somebody else 'did it different', than his wife did it with him. Simple 'curiosity'. He had a very attractive young wife, and was a devoted married man and father.

Back to Tim, and the cards that he seemed to enjoy picking out and giving to me. One has nothing on the front but a sweet photo of a white Labrador puppy sitting in a tin pail that's hanging on a fencepost. The inside is printed with these words: Without you I'm a pail version of my usual self. Tim wrote "Miranda* Just wanted to let you know how much I look forward to talking to you and seeing you again. I truely enjoy your company and I'm hopeful that I'll get to know you in a more intimate way. You are an incredibly lovely person, both inside and out! See you soon, Tim." It appears to be one that he wrote to me when we were just getting to know one another, sitting and talking at the Backdoor Lounge, where I worked.

Tim brought me another card for our first 'date'. Because there was NO REASON that he NEEDED to romance ME, in the situation, I found it to be both surprising, and touching, that he did. Maybe men really aren't just looking for sex. Maybe, like alot of women do, men miss the romance, too. He handed me this card, and the front of it read, "I think of you often but sometimes forget that the thought doesn't count if you don't know it yet", and the printed inside said, "So here's a 'Hello' that's intended to say you've been on my mind, especially today!" Then he added, "ESPECIALLY Today!! Tim." and then, over to the side of that, "Miranda, I hope this experience is as rewarding and fulfilling for you as I am sure it will be for me. Tim." I added my own note to the card, later, that said, "6-4-98 $200.00 in this card for 1st 'pro' w/Tim 2 roses were w/card". He took me to dinner, first.

Another card from Tim had a front that read: "When you're not here, I just can't seem to get on top of things." Inside it said, "you, for example." Adding a note, inside, Tim wrote "Miranda, I saw this card and thought it somehow appropriate. I'm hoping you are looking forward to the 29th as much as I am, to remedy this situation. Thinking of you, Tim"

I'm sitting here feeling so sad, as I relived those memories from that dark time. I feel tears in my eyes. If you read my post about the prostitution (the link to it, is included, above) I referred to Tim as "Greg", in that post. I don't recall why, now, but I think it was because I honestly could not remember his name, until, I came across these old cards that he gave to me 25 years ago, as I was sorting through all my mementos, that document my life story. I haven't had sex with anyone, at all, since then. I had three TRULY AWFUL kisses, with a man, last summer, that I never should have kissed (and that was MY FAULT, for doing that, not his), which was the first, and only, time, I have kissed ANY man on the mouth, since my last marriage ended when I was in my 30s! It was also the only physical exchange of any sexual nature I've done in the last 25 YEARS of my life. Pathetic, I know, but true, nevertheless, whether you believe that or not. It seems that, if I stood right in front of Cupid, so his arrow would HAVE TO hit me, IT WOULD MISS somehow.

It may not seem like it, but I have been single, uninvolved, and celibate for most of my adult life including now. There REALLY is just not ANY man that is not more TROUBLE than THEY ARE WORTH. I literally THANK GOD on a regular basis that I am SINGLE! I have felt this way for decades. I enjoy laughing and having fun but I don't want a man in my private life because I NEED PEACE and they disappoint, anger, and annoy me, so often. I don't have the energy or desire to deal with the CRAP, they bring, into MY life. It is TOO STRESSFUL, and not a good enough ROI.

Paper bar napkins were always handy to have around, as communication devices. Club customers, who left the bar with a dancer's coveted personal phone number, scribbled on a napkin they tucked away for safekeeping, in their wallet or pocket,
were certainly grateful for those. Sometimes notes were written on them like this one to me from a, Jewish, club customer, whom I was using Yiddish phrases with throughout our chat, which I had learned from a gentleman who was a patient of mine in the hospital, when I was in nursing. Mel used the word "meshuga", and I am someone who has NEVER wanted to 'dull my shine', just to blend in, with the crowd, so I considered it a compliment! Mel and I had bantered back and forth in between my having to go up on stage to perform, and I know he meant it kindly!

Below, is a photo of some more old bar napkins. Tissue-like pieces of paper, that captured some of the moments, from my days working as a dancer, in the clubs. It's hard to see his faded signature, as Josh got right to the point, with me. I do not remember him at all out of the thousands of men that I met and talked to in these places, over the years, but I had an impact on him, that night at the bar. I likely saved it for someday when I was a gray-haired old lady, as I am now, just to reassure myself that there was a time in my life when I was young, attractive, and desirable, enough that, a young man would write a note to me, on a napkin, that said, "I want you BAD!" The other 3 napkins are just lipstick 'kisses' of mine that I would do and give to the club customers, as 'souvenirs' of their visit to the club, and their conversation, with me; hoping, they would be reminded to return.

I got a one page, typewritten, letter, from a club customer who signed it "Gary". I wrote a note at the top of this thing to remind me of some of the unsavory side of dealing with club customers. It wasn't all glamour and gentlemen, although some of it was. It was written to me, as "Miranda", which means it was near the end of my dancer career, when I was working as an informant for the Omaha Police, and for the first time, in my entire dancing career, I was doing some limited 'Call Girl' type of prostitution (NOT 'street walking'), specifically to sully my reputation, so I could get the criminals, and gang members and the dancers who hung with them to trust me enough to let me in on conversations and so forth. It worked but to a very limited extent and the price I paid for that, by grieving the Holy Spirit in me, was most definitely not worth it. This guy had sat with me on several occasions. I even had him coming up to me in the Old Market when I was off work. He tried to sit and talk with me there on my time off away from my job where I was required to talk to these men. I just walked away from him. He knew I wasn't into him. He was a 'sleazy, slimy' kind of just-really-gross guy. Other women, will know, what I mean, by that, but I don't know if men will know, what I mean. Maybe. Anyway, I wrote a note, to myself, at the top of this letter, that he typed, to me, which said:

"I got this from a (gross) club customer, that brought a plain, gray, ribbed turtleneck sweater into the Backdoor Lounge where I was a dancer, & then he thought for some sick reason he could actually sleep with me. I told him how health conscious I was (& safety, etc.), to put him off, & did; but, then, he gave me this & I kept it only as a reminder of how out-of-real[i]ty & gross & sick, etc., club customers can be. Ugh!"

Here is his letter to me as 'Miranda', in the bar where I worked as a dancer:

"Miranda,

Thanks for hearty comments on Tuesday, December 23. How nice of you to be so kind to someone had given you something for Christmas and was kind enough to purchase your new costume. I will be sure to wear my gloves the next time I stop in as I wouldn't want you to pick up any strange viruses.

I was touched to hear that you are pursuing other activities to earn a few extra dollars. I was thinking of giving you a picture of Grant just to help out during the holidays but I felt a little hurt as I walked out. [NOTE: I have blog readers in 62 countries now, not just the U.S., so for those of you who may not know, Grant is pictured on a $50.00 bill, and this jerk was trying to wave a 'lost' tip in my face because I refused to 'accommodate' him. As for his reference to my 'earning a few extra dollars' for my doing prostitution, I was paid $200.00-- twin Franklins, which are hundred dollar bills, plus taken out to eat, and sometimes drinks, as well, plus the men paid for a motel or a hotel room. Some even brought me flowers, and gifts! So, all-in-all, they spent at least several hundred dollars to be with me; each time. I also had repeat/regular customers, even though I only did this for a very short time, who KNEW the 'product' they were getting, after the first time with me, and were more than willing to spend all of that again, to be with me. So, this jerk that wrote me this is what my Twitter friends would call 'a whiny little bitch'. Plus, NONE of my customers that I slept with were GROSS like him. They were nice, clean, guys-- who even used CONDOMS, for me-- and STILL really liked it.]
I was thinking of asking you out on New Year's Day for a little fun. I would have picked you up around 3:30 PM. We would have gone out for something to eat then checked into to a motel for some mutual sex (your fee is appropriate and would have been in an envelope). I was thinking of giving you a lovely body massage -beginning with your back, down across your lovely little ass, down your legs, turn you over and finish with your legs, then start with your breasts and nipples which I would gently kiss and caress, down across your tummy to your sweet little pussy which I would have licked your clit while my fingers would have stroked your pussy. After you had a nice little orgasm, I would have laid down on the bed and you could have climbed on and rode my cock (with rubber) until I too had an orgasm. You would then lay down at my side and we would have just hugged and I would have continued to your nipples and breasts. After we had wound down, we could have gotten dressed and I would have taken you back to your apartment. I was even thinking of getting you some nice lingerie just for yourself. A nice long sheer gown to sit around in and enjoy.

But alas, you probably wouldn't want to touch me unless you had on rubber gloves and we were in a tent with alcohol mist since I am so covered with germs and I must be carrying all kinds of unhealthy sexual viruses."

(it was signed, Gary)

[NOTE: I wouldn't have EVER wanted to touch HIM, or HIM to touch ME, even if he was THE VERY LAST MAN ON EARTH, and, HELL had just FINALLY FROZEN OVER.]

NOTHING about that misogynistic, thinly-veiled-hostility, toward me, was in ANY way TITILLATING, or ENTICING to me. I have that same cringeworthy, icky feel, that I felt, the first time, I read that thing, just from having to reread it, now, to transcribe it, verbatim, into this blog post. It leaves me feeling like, I need to go take a shower, to wash his grossness off of me. I was never with him, nor would that have EVER happened with him. I even found his letter to be frightening. He seemed like that type of guy that would hurt you or worse if you ever fell for his bullshit; which I never did-- which is why he stayed so angry at me. He couldn't have me, and he was furious about that. He reminded me of creeps that torture women just to hear them scream and beg for their lives. When men I don't like, or sometimes, don't even know, or even those like Mark, below, that I did know well but wasn't at all attracted to, EXPRESS these EXTREMELY DETAILED PLANS, which they want to achieve with ME, that THEY ALREADY KNOW, are NOTHING I WANT, it's concerning to me. Even troubling. I saved the letter as an example of the dark side, of working as a dancer, in nightclubs. It was, dangerous, at times.

Good times, on the Air Force base

I have NO idea exactly where or how I met this man, but I think it was during the year that I was divorcing Tom but I still had my dependent ID to access the base. I was fed up, with trying to commit to a man, and continually being disappointed, by them, in marriage, so that year I had a blast, playing the field and dating ALOT of different men. That song, 'It's Raining Men' (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5aZJBLAu1E), was MY LIFE for that one, super fun year! I didn't have to try. I just walked onto the base any time day or night, and within minutes I had met a man, or two, or three or . . . . I didn't take a lover although I easily could have. I just enjoyed being wined, and dined, danced with, and desired, by so many men, because my attempts at marriage had always ended in heartbreak for me so I did not want to 'settle down' again with any guy, anytime soon. The closest I came to a 'steady' relationship that year was with an Air Force intelligence officer that was part of the crew on the Looking Glass**-- Edgar. Just now, after all these years, I Googled him, and there he was on my computer screen. The same guy, but white-haired now. It says he is the President and CEO of an organization in Washington, DC. He had an 'air' about him in more ways than one. He had "III" after his name and his family was very prominent, including, in military circles. But, the reason I broke up with him was because he would NOT WEAR DEODERANT! He would call me up, from some Top Secret location up in the Looking Glass which he could not divulge to me, to arrange a dinner date with me at the Officers Club, for when he returned to base. He did shower, and put on a suit, for those occasions. But when He came straight to see me, still, in his flight suit, and he removed it, to cuddle, I could not get past the fact that, alot of body odor was released, into the air, when he did that. I asked him to shower, at my place, and I tried to discuss it with him, but he did not want to wear deoderant, and that, really, stunk up our relationship, to the point that I stopped seeing him, because of it. My luck at love just STINKS.

Sometimes, even literally.

>sigh<

I digressed into the thing about Edgar. I do have mementos from my time dating him, but they are several photos of us dressed up for dinner at the Officers Club, and I did not include them in this post. Below, is an elegant cardstock Christmas card, from a man that was in Britain's Royal Air Force at the time that we met at Offutt. Allies do fly into U.S. air bases and dock at navy ports, at times. Again, I do not remember exactly how we met. Although I did drink and party some that year, I was mostly quite sober, but simply cannot recall him, after 35 years have passed give or take, including because I was seeing several men then and wasn't spending alot of time with any particular one of them, so I was spreading myself thin, socially speaking. This card has a navy blue grosgrain ribbon attached to it, and is embossed in silver, on the front. Inside Bob's squadron address is printed, and he wrote the note "Debbie, (I wasn't a dancer at the time so I was using my real name) such a dreamy voice! Bob. T". I don't know, his last name, to Google him, now, but I could contact the squadron, and ask them, if they can determine who "Bob T" was back then. After all these years I doubt that I will do it, though. I did pull this article up on Google just now, which at least talks about Bob's unit, among alot of other things. It has some photographs of its location, and so forth. (https://www.flying-tigers.co.uk/2021/raf-scampton-corgi-aviation-archive-and-hobbymaster-new-model-arrivals/) I had other saved correspondences from Bob so he tried to develop a relationship with me for awhile, mostly through letters. I likely would have thought that, the distance of him living 'across the pond' would be too much of an obstacle to overcome.It seems that I never encouraged him to have a relationship with me, for some reason, and eventually his letters stopped. I feel strangely sad about that now, because Bob wrote to me so enthusiastically. On the other hand because space is so limited in my home, which is why I sorted my mementos a few months ago, to narrow it down, from how many there were, I think I threw away the stack of letters from Bob, without even rereading them, because there seemed to realistically be no point in sitting here doing that, now.

In a torn and faded envelope, with the barely visible postmark of "1980" on it, I found a lengthy letter, written to me, on pink paper, from Mark [P.]. I was in the Air Force myself then, stationed at Offutt AFB. "Amn Debbie Gray PSC #2 Offutt AFB, Nebraska 68113". The return address was an APO, in "New York 09127". I do remember Mark. He lived in the coed dorm, I was assigned to, when I got to Offutt. He was extremely tall and lanky, awkward, and geeky-seeming. I wasn't attracted to him at all. I actually hid from him, at times, because he sought me out so much. I felt sorry for him, but that was about it. It's sad that my life has gone like that. I'm not attracted to men like Mark that would give me the world and all their love if I would just be in a romantic relationship with them. Yet the extremely limited times I've ever felt love for a man, those relationships NEVER COULD HAVE WORKED OUT. So, Mark, Bob, and many others, over my lifetime, have felt disappointment on their end, but so have I on mine. It has just NEVER MATCHED UP for me. It is so bad that, I don't even trust my heart, to know who really is worth loving, or who might, truly, love me, well, if I let them. For ME, I, REALLY, have to FEEL a GENUINE attraction and connection and that's SO RARE, for me. I am not in love with anybody, now, and I am so disgusted, at how men treat me, that I doubt I will even want to open myself up, to anyone, again. All things considered I am actually alot happier with NO man in my life. I am SURE that I NEVER found 'the one'. Or at least I THINK I'm sure. Maybe, Michael. . . ?

Here is Mark's handwritten letter to me, when I was a young woman in the USAF:

September 2, 1980

Dear Debbie

The moment I met you I knew that you were special. No other woman I ever met won me over as quickly or as completely as you did in the first minute of our first conversation. Being with you was like walking through Paradise.

Of course, everywhere there was Jim***. I saw no purpose in trying to fight against him over you for two reasons. First, because I am a coward in matters such as this and felt that there was simply no way I could win you from him. Secondly, I believed that you belong to him, as he belonged to you, and I had no right to try and steal what belonged to another man. I resigned myself to just being your friend.

Then I was cast out of Paradise. Why, I still don't know, but I guess you had your reasons, and maybe they were good ones.

I was hurt that you were avoiding me. I was angry at you, but I knew inside myself that the real blame lay with me, I had failed you somehow, and I was really angry with myself. Outwardly, though, I was determined to ignore you and have nothing to do with you ever again.

Yet everywhere I went you seemed to pop up out of nowhere and everytime I saw you I would feel chills and trembling and a racing heart. I knew then that I had feelings for you which would withstand anything you could do to me.

I kept hearing things about you. The dormitory is a small world, everyone knows one another and people talk. I heard, true or false, that you had broken up with Jim. The next day at breakfast I approached you and aske you how you were. I wanted to comfort you in any way I could. If my plunging the biggest knife they have in that dining hall kitchen into my heart would have brought Jim back to you and you and he would then live happily ever after, I would have done it. But instead I fumbled with your hat and fumbled with your CDC book and fumbled with my mouth and felt like a fumbling fool. You withdrew from me, so I left quickly.

A week or so passed, and again I heard rumors. The stories said that you were stripping in front of men in the dormitory, and that you had entered some kind of strip tease contest at some joint. [NOTE: This is TRUE. My entering the contest, anyway. Some male Air Force buddies took me with them to a stripper bar- my first time in one of those clubs- and 'to let off steam' I did enter the contest at the end of the night, along with other women who were there.] They

said that you were sleeping with Frank [B]. [NOTE: This is FALSE. I definitely did NOT sleep with Frank, although he had 'started to grow on me' at this point, until I went to his dorm room one morning to tell him that-- because he had been chasing after me, for awhile-- and found him in bed with not one, I think, but two women. Frank was the complete opposite of Mark. He, was smart, too, but not geeky like Mark, and Frank was not 'buttoned up tight' like Mark. He was relaxed, fun-loving, and liked himself, none of which Mark seemed to be capable of doing, given his personality. Just as I saw them in bed, Frank saw me, and I turned and left. He had his dorm room door wide open, so anyone in the hallway could see this scene. Maybe for some sort of 'bragging rights', with the other guys? I'm glad I found out what Frank was really like, right before I made a mistake, with him.]

This last story is the one that hurt me the most. It is also the story that prompted this letter and the question I am about to ask you. I should be asking it in person, but I am an ocean away from you right now-- in England-- so I will have to write it: Debbie, will you marry me? I love you.

Maybe you are rolling on the floor with laughter right now. If so, I can handle that. My greatest fear is that my proposal will upset you and make your life more miserable. If that happened, I would walk in front of a truck.

I want to share your life, be your man and offer you strength and guidance when you need them, and take them from you when I need strength and guidance. I guess I should add, to be completely honest, that I desire you physically as well. You're beautiful.

I would get out of he Air Force after one more hitch if you wanted me to, or even get out in November if that's what you truly wanted. I would dig ditches to support you, if that's the only job I could find. I would help you buy your house, and your department

store furniture department, and help you raise your children: black, white, yellow, red and brown (perhaps a Puerto Rican, just to prove that they don't all turn out like George [H].

I guess I know already what your answer is. Still, if there's the slightest chance for me, I had to ask. Maybe you love Frank Beale. [NOTE: Nope, and I was ANGRY about Mark writing me ALL THESE RUMORS that let me know how much GOSSIP was going on about me-- both true AND untrue-- that he was even hearing while over in ENGLAND! I disliked this letter as much as I did Mark himself. He was just ANNOYING.] Maybe you're back with Jim. Maybe there's someone else. Maybe there's nobody else but you just despise me. So be it. Whoever you go with or whatever you do, I want you to be happy. If my never seeing you again will help you achieve happiness, it is a price worth paying. I don't want to exert any pressure on you. Take care of yourself.

Sincerely,

Mark

. . . . I will be here until October 2, or thereabouts.

Michael, was a Lieutenant Colonel, in the Army, that I met when I remarried Tom and he was stationed at Fort Drum, in upstate New York, as an Air Force weather forecaster. Michael's unit was there, for training exercises, when I met him. They had to return home, to New York City, not long after that. We stayed in touch, by mail, and by phone, for many years, though. Michael wrote me alot of letters. He was tall and manly and bald; an officer and a gentleman, at all times, with me. I felt, very respected, and cared about, by him. He was wonderfully supportive, of me. I kept a few of his many letters to me, when I sorted my memorabilia. Here are some excerpts from those letters . . . . One last, but very important, thing, I am adding, to this paragraph, about Michael, as I near the completion of writing this post just prior to publishing it online: Of ALL the men I have EVER known in my life-- and there have been many thousands of men that I have encountered, in some way, or other-- MICHAEL, is the ONLY one, who 'stood the test of time'.

I told him when we met at Fort Drum and were first getting to know one another that I did not think we were compatible astrology signs, because he was a Virgo, and I am an Aquarius. That was 34 years ago. I always let that hold me back, in my mind, when I was interacting with him, over the years; as silly, as that may sound, to some people, who don't put much credence, if any, into such things. I was talking to a Virgo friend recently who's happily involved with an Aquarius. I also knew of another couple that we both know, who are those two signs, and I told her about that fact regarding them. In rereading Michael's letters to me, he spoke of that in one of them-- my hesitancy, due to that fact-- and let me know that he didn't think it was an issue for us. But, I allowed it to be an elephant, in the room, between us, versus a, manageable, mouse. I gave it power over love.

As I think about the men who have come through my life, to the present day, in writing this post, I see so clearly that, Michael, is the ONE, who ALWAYS SHONE ABOVE THE REST-- BY FAR-- in how he treated me, cared for me, and loved me. I have tears in my eyes, as I'm typing this, because, NOW, it is likely TOO LATE. Due to the passing of, so much, time, it would be logical to assume he married, and moved on with his life, in New York City. I tried Googling him, while writing this post, because sometimes I can find out what happened to the people, from my past, that way. I tried several different ways to Search for him online, to no avail. There was an obituary, for a man with his name, and some of the facts in the write-up about that person indicated that it COULD be MY Michael. Even the photo COULD be him, if he gained alot of weight, over the years, and lost his fit physique that the military requires its service members to maintain. The man in the photo, which accompanied the obituary, was bald, but I could not be sure it was him; and if it WAS, then he is GONE off the face of the earth. I do have one other way to try to locate him, but I would have to go back into the memorabilia that I kept when I sorted all this stuff months ago and see if I saved a reference letter that he wrote for me for a job I applied for, that had his contact info on it.

* * * * * * * * *

[NOTE: Today, Valentine's Day, 2023, I went upstairs to look through the things that I saved after sorting my memorabilia, and I found the reference letter that Michael wrote on my behalf. Using his Contact Information, on it, I tried to find him, but could not. I could see photos of his actual apartment address, in NYC, online, and it was very clearly a man's apartment. But it went on the market in December 2020, and was rented again, in just 2 days. I have no idea if he was the one living in it, just prior to that, either. The years we were communicating, we used mail for correspondence, and landlines, for calls. Cell phones were not yet available. Because this was a letter of reference for me he had put his work number on it. When I called that, I got, a recording, saying, "This number is not in service". The obituary, that I found online when Googling his name, was from 2011, and the man was 69 when he died. The photo could, possibly, be Michael. Comparing that photo, with the one he had attached to his letter to me, I began to cry, because the baldness and head shape were the same, the size and shape of the ears, were the same, the eyebrows, and eyelids, were the same, and the, shape, of the nose was close to being the same, in both pictures, although I had to imagine the age progression as well, after so many years. The biggest reason that I think it could be him though is because of what it said. It gave their name with the middle initial, and ALL of it MATCHED. Michael was a Virgo (August 23 - September 22), and the person in the obituary, lived from, September 16,1942-December 9,2011. Also, part of the obituary described the deceased in this way:

"Michael served his country in the United States Army and Army National Guard, retiring as a Lt. Colonel in 2002. He was a member of Holy Family Parish, Knights of Columbus and Knights Templar. Michael is a graduate of Marquette University and worked in the communications and advertising field the majority of his career both in Milwaukee and New York City."]

* * * * * * * * *

Michael's letters to me through the years were always so loving. As we discussed my troubled life, and misadventures, as I struggled to find my way in life through so much heartbreak, and loss, and abuse and such, he always gave me the grace to do whatever I thought was best for me, even if he wanted something different in the situation. He cared enough to want me to be happy. Isn't that what love is? I have tears in my eyes. It looks like, it is too late, to find out, what we might have been, with one another. Too much time has passed and life is so fast and so short! WHERE DID IT ALL GO? Michael, is, the ONLY man, that LOVED ME, WELL. Because of that, I trusted him, and I have never once felt disrespect toward him, for any reason, including because of any disrespect FROM him, since, THAT never happened, with HIM. My PET PEEVE that gets me REALLY PISSED OFF has always been, someone treating me with disrespect. I become LIVID WITH RAGE (at least on the inside; while it takes, all, my strength, to hold my temper, and my tongue, toward them, then, for doing that, to me). ESPECIALLY, when they do that to me, IN FRONT OF other people, and expect me to just, let it go (especially, time, after time, once I 'let it slide' by an act of great grace on MY PART the previous time(s) they have pulled that, for their own, EGO, and/or AMUSEMENT). A man, who had earned alot of respect in my eyes, lost it all because of doing that to me. Multiple times and multiple ways. I feel seething anger due to that and doubt we will ever be friends again. He is not the man I gave him credit for. One thing, is for sure. I can think of no worse feeling, when I deal with other people, than realizing that I gave someone, far too much, credit and I have to reconsider the place they have in my life; if any, at all. When it comes to, who, people, really, are, time, will tell.

"August 10, 1989

Hi Stevie!

I continually reread your letters sharing the wide spectrum of emotions and concerns you have dealt with since I met you. Like you, I have been very cautious in trying to understand the 'rocket engine burst of fire' that launched our friendship. . . . My fascination with you was further amplified by your candid openness about yourself, your problems, needs[,] hopes and dreams. I have never met a woman like you. . . . Ours might have been a passing event but I'm afraid we have linked minds, hearts and souls, as a minimum as friends as long as you wish. . . . In my mind neither you or I violated the trust you have with Tom. I respect that. He is luckier than he realizes. . . and I would tell him that to his face. But you must also accept that I met an intelligent, warm, open[,] attractive[,] beautiful woman. That new door of unbelievable candid communication and the emotions I felt can never be taken away. I will not forget your smile[,] your touch on my hand or your hug. . . . I am a healthy emotional man who is also physically attracted to you. I will always dream and fantasize even if we never exercise that feeling. . . . Love, Michael"

"September 19, 1989

Dear Stevie

I'm sorry that such unpleasant events were the cause of your call [NOTE: Tom had struck me, and was arrested for it by the base security police. He was angry at me, that he was in jail; not angry with himself, for striking me] but in spite of that, I was thrilled to hear the sound of your voice. . . . As a friend, I guess I have to agree that you have tried and endured enough of Tom's behavior. Apparently he does not realize how lucky he is to have you. I'm sure he has also not thought about the effect losing you will have on his life. . . . Stevie, it is time to reawaken that special, open, happy, confident person that I know you are. It is time to think of yourself, Stevie and get on with your life. . . . It is important however that you also consider the power and charisma of your personality and your other interests. . . . There is no doubt you are beautiful and talented enough to dance again but that is tough . . . work. The Stevie I met has much to offer the world and it's time to get on with that. . . . I remember and still feel the touch of your lips, your hand and your body as we hugged. I think we are both cautious about that uncanny electricity that started with one look into your eyes that morning, and your smile so infectious as was your genuine enthusiasm for the entire event. You thoroughly energize a situation and the people around you. . . . Consider carefully where Stevie will be happiest, in a place she can be what she wants to be, on her own. The companionship and people to live love and play with will follow. . . . You are special . . . Love Michael"

"2 February 1990

Hi Stevie,

I like that name too. It has a special meaning to me also, as I recall that incredible beautiful young girl in blue jeans and tank top shooting pictures of a band. [NOTE: That's how I met Michael. His unit had a marching band, and they were practicing on the road outside the temporary barracks that Tom and I were staying in at the time. I heard the music and lay on the road taking pictures of them as they marched in formation up and down the road, basically right on top of me. Because Michael was their commanding officer, he was watching the band, and saw me doing that.] I will never forget that moment when you smiled and said, "Hi! I'm Stevie! Isn't that band great" then the phone call in the office . . . Dinner, German wine (how prophetic that was) and your arms around me and that kiss. I'm stirring all over just remembering. You have pushed aside all other fantasies. We have been together often in my mind. You have danced for me many times in my mind and I have been in your arms and kissed your lips over and over feeling the warmth of your body on that chilly wet night. I would go on and on pages and pages about every inch of you that I have not seen or touched. You certainly tapped a well in me. . . . you have been through a lot . . . and I am continually impressed with how you handle yourself. . . . men will be after you. It's a magnetism and uniqueness that will always attract men and create jealousy in women. You are a very unique person, with a special gift and people do not like that. . . . I'm jealous of all who see you [dancing in the nightclubs], when I have not. . . .

Love Michael XO"

THIS ONE, from Michael, makes me SMILE! The letter is tri-folded in the envelope, and when it is extricated from there, Michael wrote on the outside of the folded up pages, "TOP SECRET For your eyes only". As I open the letter it is dated 6 October 1989. Michael taped a small photo of himself inside of it, showing his manly build, bald head, and a 'poker face' expression, befitting, of a colonel, in the military. He drew a picture of me, on the first page, that showed he not only had, real, artistic talent, but that, he really had, thoroughly, fantasized about being with me. It is a sketch, of me, fully nude (which, I never posed for, so, it was done out of his own imagining of what I would look like unclothed-- and he got it right!), in high heels only, holding a bottle of wine in one hand, and a feather duster in my other hand, just outside of my vaginal area. The letter reads, "Stevie, It was nice to hear your soft sexy voice whispering those tantalizing words 'Kiss me'. As you can see I may never have seen you nude but my pencil and imagination try to fill in the exquisitely beautiful details. . . . There can be no disappointment for me because you enchanted my mind first. Anything else would be extra. Your voice is incredible to listen to. . . . you do get my juices flowing. . . . Love Michael"

I had blacked out most of Michael's picture, to protect his privacy, but it appears that he is deceased, based on my research, for this blog post. So, I replaced the altered version of the photo with the original one, showing his full face, that I so wish I could hold in my hands and kiss. His handwriting was the absolute worst I have ever seen, and is a real challenge to read! But, because, I read so many of his letters to me, over the years, I can read it fairly well at this point. Only a few words, have, forever, remained, indiscernible! I was flattered, and honored, that he thought enough of me to SHOW me what HE saw in me. When someone puts themselves out there, like that, taking a real risk, to SHOW ME, what I mean, to them, through whatever efforts they make, on my behalf, it can cause me to see them as being very endearing, attractive, or sexy. Unless, or until, they show me disrespect, pissing me off then. You can BE SURE that someone DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOU, if they do things like, throw you under the bus, to make themselves look better at your expense, show no regard for your reputation or your feelings, or falsely accuse you of things. Michael had too much class, and intelligence, and love in his heart, to ever treat me those ways. He stands tallest in my eyes, over any man that I have ever met. If I could pick, one, man to live my life with, from all the men I have known, it would be Michael. No doubt in my mind or hesitancy in my heart; only it's too late now. All indications are he's gone. He was the best! "October 19, 1989

Dear Stevie

I still have not gotten over the soft sexy sound of your voice when you answered the telephone, especially after you told me why [I used to masturbate using a feather pillow, by scrunching it up until I connected with that 'sweet spot']. Never thought I would be jealous of a big pillow with kiss marks and a sexual fragrance. . . .

If I did not say so very well I am very impressed with your strength and persistence in a very bad situation. Not only are you a beautiful woman but a very strong determined one -- a little bit of 'iron magnolia' maybe, in a nice way. . . . I enjoy our communications, you excite every time. . . . I must see you. Love Michael"

[NOTE: Michael and I met right after I remarried Tom, and then, stayed in touch, from then on, with most of the years being when I was divorced and single again. I did not have any illusions when I remarried Tom after seeing how he was in our first marriage to one another. He didn't want a wife. He needed a mother, as well as a military dependent, which would allow him to move out of the barracks into nice, new, family housing on base. I had two very short, and virtually nonsexual, marriages, to this boy, who refused, to become a man. Tom had pretended to be more responsible, to convince me to come back, to him, and then not long after, he reverted back to how he was, in our first marriage. I never slept with Michael, but we had a strong sexual chemistry, from the moment we met, and all I was to Tom was his 'ticket' to the benefits, he wanted, so he could make his life, as easy as possible, for himself; and a homemaker. Tom was, technically 'married', to me, twice, but was never, really, a husband to me, at all. He told me he had changed, and was finally more responsible in how he handled his finances and managed his life, but it was not true. Tom was also physically abusive to me, striking out at me because I expected basic things from him. He was arrested for that, once, while I was at Fort Drum, with him, in this remarriage. Michael, refers to some of this, in his letters to me. While, no physical abuse should ever go on, in a marriage, Tom was much 'milder' in doing that to me, than my final husband, Mark, who abused me, in every way, shape, and form that one could imagine, and did it continually, exhausting me, from that, until, I lost my will to live, at one point. So, if I do not sound like 'the devoted wife', to Tom, I wasn't, because we never really had what two adults would consider to be a marriage to one another. We had a boy and his babysitter. I have written blog posts, about Tom, in the past, if you want to learn more about this, ridiculous, relationship. I gave him a second chance. I shouldn't have. I learned my lesson, with that. If someone does not do what it takes to co-create, a happy, healthy, relationship, with you, all along, then, they, never will.]

Miscellaneous Men

I have no idea at all where I met Dennis, but he wrote me a very touching poem. On a small, torn, piece of paper that's now yellowed with age, he wrote: "Debbie

As I sit in this lonely room, thinking of the evening past;

a pencil I hold in my hand, my feelings I try to grasp.

How lucky a man would be, to feel a love such as yours;

To say I love you, I need you, I want you, to feel how outwardly it pours.

Oh, to feel a love, with so much passion, so much power;

would be to walk in Spring, to smell the freshly blossemed flower.

To feel that innacient love, so pure with always a surprise;

To be loved by the girl with the smile, and the Puppy dog eyes.

Dennis"

I think it is so sweet, that he took the time, and put alot of thought into writing that, just for me! I transcribed it, exactly as he wrote it; spelling errors and all.

Another really caring guy named Chad wrote me a letter. He apparently lived in Ohio, but traveled to Omaha for his job in the insurance industry. Omaha is the location of the headquarters of some of the largest insurance companies in the U.S. It was written on Mutual of Omaha stationery. He wrote, "Dear Debbie, Im back in Toledo Ohio. I do want to say that I enjoyed the time we spent together. I wish that there was more that I could have said or done to ease your pain. Im Hoping over the next month or so to get to know you better and Im really looking forward to being with you again in the spring. My week was a very boring one until that nite I met you, I just wished that I could have met you sooner. You are a very warm and understanding person, one I truely would like to get to know alot better. I kinda wished I could have been all those things you where looking for. I know you would be a very special person to be in love with. I'll be praying every nite hoping you'll find your someone but, until then remember you'll always have me. Always Chad"

I LOVE letters like that! I don't know where, or how, I met him, or if we did ever meet again. Some of these things, that these men wrote to me, to express their feelings about me, are several decades old, now.

In an envelope postmarked APR 24 1989, addressed to me, as 'Stevie' (the alias I went by, for most of the time that I was a dancer in the nightclubs), in care of the Twenties Night Club, another man, that worked for a different insurance company, typed out a letter to me, on that company's letterhead:

"Dearest Stevie:

I thought I'd better write you today just in case you might forget me in a few days (I'd hope you wouldn't).

I was just logging some information into me computer and thought I'd just drop you a line to say hello.

I really did enjoy talking to you saturday night and learning to know more about you. You are one classy and beautiful woman! I wish we could have had more time to talk, it seemed like the time flew when I was in there. I wish I could have standed until closing but I didn't want to bother you anymore that night. I couldn't get over how sincerly honest and warm you were . . . . . . . . . . the world would be much better off with more people like you in the world.

You mentioned how much you would like to be married and have a home life, so many women these days are so interested in ONLY a career and themselves it is refreshing to find a woman like you!

I do hope this letter gets to you and that I spelled your name correctly.

The last couple of days I was hoping that you believed what I told you and that I wasn't just ' another one of those guys who try to hit on you'. I was completely sober so I did know what I was saying and I do hope that you did and do believe me. That's why I wanted to write to you as soon as possible so you didn't think I was just like the rest.

Please do feel free to call me sometime, it would be very nice surprise.

Take care Stevie, keep smilin and I'll be thinking of you!

(he signed it in ink:) A friend,

Steve [U]"

[NOTE: Based on his last name, which I withhold, to protect peoples' privacy, he owned the insurance company, because his name matches that of the agency.] I don't know if I ever got to talk with him again. I met and talked to so many men.

Here's a sweet-but-still-creepy letter, to me, in an envelope postmarked 22 MAR 1989. It's addressed to me at my home (apartment) address! It is handwritten:

"3/21/89

Dear Deborah,

Please don't think I'm some kind of nut (great opening line huh?). In fact I have never done anything like this before in my life. I remembered your address from your check, not really intentionally but because it is so close to mine. [NOTE: MY address was 2235 ST Marys at that time and his address on the envelope was 1001 Park Ave, so they are NOT AT ALL CLOSE TO MATCHING.]

After talking to you at the store [where apparently I paid by check and he took my personal information, from that check and wrote me this letter; which is all very inappropriate] and then coming to see you at the club, I've come to the conclusion that you are one of the most interesting people I've met in a very long time. But like I said, I'm more interested in the person I met in the store, The one you said was the 'real you'. She's the one I'd like to get to know.

I guess I'm writing because I'm afraid I won't see you again in the store, and the atmosphere at the club doesn't really lend itself to sincerity. I mean you probably get 20 guys a week telling you 'You're the most interesting girl I've ever met'.

There's a song I really like by the Smithereens called 'Behind The Wall Of Sleep'. The lyrics seem very appropriate, so I'll share them with you:

Now I know I'm one of many

who would like to be your friend

But I've got to find a way

to let you know I'm not like them

By the way I should tell you, you really are a different person at the club. I believe and put much stock in vibes or auras or whatever you want to call it. And yours were very different Monday as compared to Tuesday. Monday you were very sweet, very open, Tuesday I could actually feel the defensive wall around you even though you were talking intimately with me. Also, Monday you seemed almost innocent and vulnerable, that why I found it hard to believe you were a dancer. I think your ability to change roles like that intrigues me even more.

Well I guess I'll close now. My address is on the envelope, my phone is listed with directory and you know where I work if you're interested. If you're not you may toss this away without concern, it was just something I felt compelled to do. And really ad truly I have never written to almost a complete stranger before.

Kyle [N]"

[NOTE: It was interesting to me to read a description from someone saying that they could really see the difference, between 'Deborah', and 'Stevie', my dancer alias/alter ego/stage persona. I've described in previous blog posts how I had to learn how to do that, drastic, change, in demeanor, to be able to do the job of a stage entertainer in a thong bikini, etc. I liked so many attributes of my 'Stevie' side that I have kept 'her' with me to this very day. On any given day, someone may be interacting with me as 'Deb', my sweet and gentler self, or they may be engaged with 'Stevie', who 'takes no prisoners', and holds her own, no matter who, she is dealing with. One, of the reasons, I would REALLY ENJOY, having, a romantic relationship (although, I have, ABSOLUTELY, NO DESIRE, to, EVER, be MARRIED again, in my life, at this point) is that, I like doing role play; morphing into a wide range of personas, each with unique attributes. That's so fun to me!]

On a yellowed piece of notebook paper, Ron wrote me a letter. There's no date. I think it may be the friend of mine who was a hospital (patient) escort, that I met in the hospital we worked in, when I was in nursing. That Ron was a really sweet guy, but he had a crush on me, and would get really upset, with me, and moody, because I didn't like him back, romantically, which strained our friendship. A cute guy, Ron just wasn't what I wanted, in, an intimate, relationship. We would go do things together as friends at times, though. He had a sweet, sensitive, spirit, but he was far too fragile for me. He was more of a boy than a man. I wanted a man.

Ron wrote--

"Debby:

I'm sorry I pissed you off. I hope your feelings were not hurt. I hope you realize that I didn't mean to make you mad. Sometimes I guess I get too wrapped up in my own head. Trying to figure out myself and my feelings for myself. Thats what I was doing today. Maybe I should pay more attention to the feelings of people close to me. Maybe I should express my feelings instead of keeping them hidden inside of me. I know I don't say it alot, but you really are the sweetest, warmest, most caring person I know. And you are a very pretty lady. I'm sorry I'm this way. It's something that has bothered me for a long time. I want to change, but don't quite know what to do. I hope you accept my apology. I thank you for all the things you have done for me, you have been a true inspiration. I will always have a special place in my heart for you.

Love. Ron

P.S. - You're a very sexy woman also."

>sigh<

Valentine's Day is in two days, and just like, it seems to be, every year, for me, I have no one special in my life, to give that any real, romantic, meaning. As I pop candy hearts into my mouth as a very unhealthy comfort food, to console myself while there are no knocks at my door delivering flowers, and no candlelight meal, I'll watch Hallmark movies, where love triumphs over all and culminates in a kiss.

At least Amazon sells vibrators.

We human beings are complicated creatures. Therefore, our feeling, or finding, love, can be quite complicated. My best, physical, relationship has been with a piece of plastic that I ordered online. It is both intimate and impersonal, at the same time. There are pros and cons to almost everything in life, and this is no exception. I had to learn all about the eye-opening array of available sex toys. The 'lover' in my bed is a piece of plastic, that I turn on, but with the push of a button. It touches my body, but it doesn't come equipped to look into my eyes and tell me that it loves me above all others on the earth. There are no mutual expressions of affection, verbally or physically. I can't lie there and listen to its heartbeat, because it doesn't have a heart. It just vibrates, at different speeds. These helpful, and even gratifying, gadgets, are something that I am extremely pleased to have, however, as a, viable, alternative. Without them, it would be a very long, 'dry', spell, since, I remain celibate, and I have been so for 25 years.

It is what it is.

Happy Valentine's Day to all of my blog readers in 62 countries around the world!

* 'Miranda' was a different dancer alias I was using at the time because I have a sense of humor and it was funny to me to introduce myself to club customers as "Miranda Wright" and have them say to me, "Wow! You might not KNOW this but that is like 'miranda rights' that the cops say to people they're arresting like, 'You have the right to remain silent.' and stuff." Specifically because I was working as an undercover informant, for the Omaha Police Department, which was a strange motivation behind my involving myself in prostitution in the first place, I went by that name, during that timeframe.

** Looking Glass - https://medium.com/exploring-history/operation-looking-glass-americas-terrifying-doomsday-plane-eca1bcb4765f and https://nuke.fas.org/guide/usa/c3i/ec-135.htm

*** Jim was the 2nd Lieutenant that I was completely in love with, who was still stationed at Keesler AFB in Biloxi MS, when I got orders to report to Offutt AFB in Nebraska, where Mark met me. Jim became my second husband, is my son's father, and is the same man that I wrote several blog posts about being "the one man that I would love forever". Jim was also the ONLY man that I had sex with when I was in the service.

Saturday, January 14, 2023

It Can Be A Painful Pilgrimage For People

Life.

Life on Earth can be a painful pilgrimage for people, and I'm certainly one of those who is experiencing this. For those who may not contemplate their existence here, on such terms, this article does a very good job of defining, and describing, what I am referring to in this post:https://www.york.ac.uk/projects/pilgrimage/intro.html. It says,
"'Pilgrimage' is often used to describe an individual's journey through life, sometimes as a general description of personal growth and exploration, [and] sometimes, as in Christianity, outlining a particular spiritual focus or pathway which it is believed will lead to encounter with God." This month, I'm sharing my memorabilia as I have been since October, after sorting through alot of old papers and such, that I had saved, which are documentation of both my life story and my giving an honest and accurate account of it. In this post I am focusing on spiritual things, which I have felt, and written about, in some form or other, during my life.

A journal entry of mine . . . .

18 March 92

10:50 PM

. . . . Everybody thinks I'm always supposed to be strong, & Christian, & together, & forgiving no matter what, & I'm not. I'm tired! Tired of all the grief, & loss, & heartache, & betrayals. Tired of the struggle . . . . I want peace , & there is no peace. I've got to have peace. I need trust & there is no trust-- especially with my closest loved ones. Is love only in my imagination? A sugar-coated pain from Hell?

Another one of my journal entries . . . .

1 January 1993

As I begin this personal journal for the year 1993, I have seen the Lord meet every basic human need through each month's struggle and crises. I am going through frustrating, frightening, and difficult times, working multiple jobs with few hours and low wages, and on Food Stamps for the first time in my life. God told me just to trust Him, though, and so far He has met my needs for food, clothing, shelter (and to be with CeeBee), mostly through the help of others. He has not failed me, and yet there's the issue of me continuing to cry out to Him regarding deeper needs; desires of my heart . . . . I desire to love and be loved; to be in a committed Christian marriage with a man who loves God above anyone and anything. I desire to be a homemaker; have a sense of stability, home, family, affection, laughter. I desire a safe home for my pet cockatiel, CeeBee, and I. I desire to continue loving the Lord above all else and grow in Him and be blessed by Him. . . .

[NOTE: Some, of these things, became irrelevant, in my life, as the years passed.

CeeBee flew home to Heaven in 2011, after nearly 20 years of unconditional love.

I was in my 30s, when I wrote this journal entry. I am in my 60s, now. I wrote it following my last marriage to a man that I refer to as a son of Satan who abused me so continually and in so many ways that he finally shattered my soul, making everything about living life so much harder for me. He dragged me to the depths of Hell by how he treated me and the first time he ever threatened me was mere minutes after we had just said our marriage vows! Due to the terror and trauma, he inflicted on me, for my making the mistake of trying to love him, I backed off, from my desire to be married, and I have stayed single, ever since then. Happily so for the most part. I feel like I just can't risk that another man would think I'm his property to mistreat, especially because, I married him! I still wonder what it would be like, to truly be loved by someone, that I love. I've never had a man in my life who, "loves God above anyone and anything". I can't even imagine that.]

A letter that I wrote, to the owner of, mega home store, Nebraska Furniture Mart:

1702 Nicholas Street Omaha, NE 68102

July 15, 2017

Dear Mr. Blumkin,

Thank you so much for your kind response to my letter I wrote you from Siena Francis House Women's Shelter, where I have, as of today, been living for six weeks. I am so grateful for their help, here, as they take excellent care of us. My own personal ways of being able to 'give back' to them are limited, by my situation and resources, although I do find various ways, on a daily basis, to try to help meet needs here in the shelter. I reached out to you regarding the well-worn, torn, and stained carpeting because I could see it was a real need here, and I am so very grateful to you that you responded that you are willing to assist Siena Francis House in selecting and pricing out flooring when they are ready to do this! . . . since I am continuing my search for a suitable apartment (for a 61-year-old woman), with a landlord that will accept my 'HUDVASH' (Veteran Affairs) Section 8 Housing Voucher, and I will be able to leave the homeless shelter once I can obtain that housing. . . .

As I have never been in a homeless shelter prior to this, I didn't have any idea what to expect. I have been very grateful for the many positive aspects, and struggle some with the lack of privacy, and, times of sleep deprivation due to snorers, door closings, baby crying, etc. Being poor, I'd longed . . . to be able to go to the zoo ($20.00 - $40.00 for the Adult Admission, alone) and the Joslyn [Art Museum] to see the special traveling exhibit (that requires paid admission). I was so excited that they took us on outings to do both of these activities! They also gave me a pair of new tennis shoes, to walk the zoo pain free (my old pair had holes). I got some chocolate-dipped coconut macaroons the other day, donated in a bag of sweet treats from Panera Bread. . . . but several restaurants have sent us their specialties while I've been here. Also, a Veteran Event is hosted here & we had pizza and watched a movie. . . . They had BINGO here, too, and I won a pretty lipstick the [other] girls compliment the color of.

We have chore lists, daily. We sign up for our time in the laundry room. At some point, everyone here-- staff and us included-- get annoyed at others and annoy others. Yet, for a varied social environment like this, with different ethnicities, cultures, age groups, languages, backgrounds, & lifestyles, there is a very touching and tender atmosphere of support, cooperation, and love. There are many conversations about God and Faith; and, other, more 'colorful', comments, about life, as well, as we each grapple with this reality we face in our own way.

The people I have met-- and loved-- here I will never forget. Sharing this intense experience forges friendships that will endure. Tears come to my eyes picturing some of these in my mind, now, to try to describe them to you. I am humbled by what I've learned about them and from them. My heart has been opened, now, to types of people I'd never directly interacted with or personally experienced before, in some cases; some I likely feared, before. This place is filled with the deep waters of Humanity; adrift, afloat, & struggling. Sharp voices; soothing voices. Laughter & tears overheard. I am constantly amazed by how much positivity the women muster, and strength, in coming here (sometimes for physical safety but always) to seek improvement in their life situation.

In closing, I'd like to share a little of the joy & laughter I've had here: I slept for 5 weeks in the Mat room, on a thick foam mattress-of-sorts on the floor, that is surprisingly comfy. There can be 20 women on mats in that one large room, more or less, at any given time, depending on how many have come through the front secured gate seeking help in their situation. My first night or so, I was awakened by a 'symphony of snorers' and sat up with a tired sigh to survey the scene. I saw one other girl, also sitting up staring around the room for the same (problematic) reason. We exchanged frustrated glances & shrugs of 'nothing can change it'-- IT IS WHAT IT IS. Then, as she watched, I solemnly raised both arms as an orchestra conductor would & 'directed' these sleepers, bringing in the bass-like snorers, then the 'woodwind' snorers, and so on. She & I smiled then, at the scene, & lay back down again. Another night before bed in the mat room (I'm in a bunkbed room, now), I plopped down on my mat & looked around. Girls were on their mats before lights out, some writing, some Googling, some rolling their hair, some conversing, some watching a TV show. I smiled at the scene & said to Sheryl-- another older woman, with a similar sense of humor-- "This reminds me of summer camp", to which she replied, to the laughter of all in the room, "This ain't NO 'summer camp'!-- We is HOMELESS!" She's gone now, from Siena Francis House, and is enjoying her new apartment!-- God bless you, Deborah Robinson

I came across a note that I wrote to myself about my time living in the homeless shelter, in the summer of 2017. It has the name "Ashley" on the scrap of paper. I added "One of the several, women, I led to the Lord (by His Holy Spirit) while we lived in (the homeless shelter) Siena Francis. Others got saved, excited about my relationship w/Jesus & interested in their Bible study and growth."

I wrote a poem (free verse poetry that does not rhyme or have a regular meter), about a young Army veteran, named B.C., whom I met, the same summer that I was in the homeless shelter, when I was stuck in the VAMC for awhile, after that. He looked just like Jesus, with his long hair, and he occasionally exhibited benign behavior if you encountered him on a, rare, good day when he was medicated to the extent that he was safe around the other patients in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit. Many, if not most, of his days, he was frighteningly out of control, and one night he slipped into another male patient's room as he lay sleeping soundly, and beat the poor guy up while the staff was off the floor for their briefing during shift change. Just before he did that, I heard someone jiggling the door handle to my room but my back was to the door at the time. I didn't roll over to see who it was, because I assumed it was the nursing staff, doing the room checks, as they also peered through the small window in the door of each room to see if we were asleep. Had my door not been securely locked, I hate to think of what B.C. might have done to me. It, still, gives me chills. A couple of times, he seemed to regain his sanity enough to carry on a conversation with me for a few brief sentences of exchange between us before his eyes disengaged and took on the vacant zombie-like look that he had for most of every day. His outbursts were terrifying when he blew up at staff, trying to get him to, eat something, or shower. They would often have to sedate him to keep him from harming himself or others. He had served in the war in the Middle East where Americans were sent to fight, and I cannot even imagine, what he had seen, or gone through, there, that took a, fully functioning, young man, who had clearly been competent, at some point, to be sent there, at all, and pushed him, to a point, beyond, what he could cope with, causing B.C. to lose his mind. Some of the other veterans, I met there, who suffered enormously from PTSD (as do I, but, mine is due to different experiences, than theirs, while I was enlisted), were able to talk a little bit about things they had seen, over in the Middle East, and it was horrible to hear. When a bed became available on the side of the hospital floor that offered a dorm-like live-in setting, for stressed vets, like myself and others, to both learn and improve coping and life skills, I went to that side, but B.C. remained in the locked ward as, clearly, the most hopeless case, of any patient in that psych ward. Even though he was 'unreachable' my heart went out to him. I wish I knew what became of him and whether he is institutionalized.

(A young man, in a war zone. This, is not B.C., though)

[Reference the following post for alot more information on that chapter of my life: https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2022/06/romans-828-trusting-god-regardless.html]

I was in one of my classes at the VAMC, live-in, program, when we were asked to write about some experience that left a strong impression on us and then share it with the group. I had not been able to get B.C. out of my mind. He was locked up and heavily medicated, on the other side of the same floor as me, in the hospital. [I did not even have any medications, my entire time there, on either side of that floor, except for my over-the-counter Benadryl, for my allergies, and it was, 'only as needed' (PRN).] I still wonder, what ever became of B.C. He was in bad shape. I don't know if that young man ever regained his right mind. He was so young! It was so sad. So, in that class, that day, at the VAMC, I wrote about B.C. I cried as I read it to the other veterans there. He was now this, appealing, yet frightening, shell, of a young man. The whole thing, with him, haunted me. Here is my poem:

B.C.

8-6-17

Deb Robinson

Brandon stood before me, smiling,

eyes to eyes, all bright with openness,

we greeted one another with

exchanges, of notice, and names.

"You look like Jesus!", I observed audibly,

to which he replied, "Yes, I do",

and added, "You can call me 'B.C.'"

"Like, 'Before Christ'", I acknowledged.

This young man, a recent veteran,

after serving on active duty

until it finally broke him,

was in his PICU pajamas & socked feet,

scuffling up and down the halls (on his good days)--

walking & walking & walking.

He would be 'absent' from the locked ward activities,

more often than not, I would soon discover.

I always missed him, when he was not around;

staying in his room,

angry and aloof,

sleeping all day.

I also missed him when he was around,

but not really 'present', with us.

Most days, when I looked at his dulled, unfocused, eyes,

and said, "Hi, B.C.",

there was no apparent recognition,

or response, at all,

to my invitation to interaction.

B.C., after serving our country,

now stood there before me,

yet was Missing In Action.

I wondered, watching him,

walking & walking & walking,

away, again, down the hall,

back to his room, to bed,

what touch-- to his body, soul, & spirit--

the Lord Jesus,

whom he so resembled,

might impart to B.C.,

to heal all that had become broken

in him--

including his mind and heart.

This is a letter I wrote to a priest I'd been talking to about theological differences:

August 20, 2015

Fr. Carl,

Thank you for the visit with one another at the parish office this afternoon.

Whenever I say something in a conversation regarding any 'Christian' subject matter that the hearer indicates they are not familiar with, I conscientiously try to follow up to clarify that, because as a Called-to-ministry layperson representing my Lord as His disciple/ambassador to others, one of my responsibilities is to bring light/shed light. Leaving known questions or concerns with someone, therefore, isn't helpful to that mission. Even communication does not clear things up, in all cases, but providing the scriptural source that I am citing gives the person the opportunity to understand how seriously and respectfully I approach my efforts toward the Great Commission; and that my heart is never to patronize or disregard the immense value of each soul I interact with whether that be to God, or to me, including on God's behalf, by my leaving any confusion or doubt, about spiritual matters, 'in my wake', when departing the encounter.

I am supposing you would mandatorily have a Greek reference work, for your study of the Bible, in order to 'check out' the word I used with you, in describing the source of the energy exuded by me that fuels and fosters the Christian love (that I cannot do at all on my own!) which emanates through me to others by the Presence and power of God's Holy Spirit. It was part of my discussion that-- apart from Him-- there is no 'good' about 'me'. Indeed, Jesus said, ". . . there is none good but God." I used the Greek/biblical term "dunamis" (δύναμις). It speaks of the ability/power/strength/might to do a wonder work (for God; indeed-- by God through 'me'). I have heard it said our word "dynamite" comes from the root of this, and it comes out of the meaning "to be able or possible".

I was saying to you that all love, truth, forbearing with (the unsavoriness & annoyance, to my own flesh, of dealing with hurtful, difficult) people, etc., flowed from me by God's Holy Spirit/power within me, and that there is nothing truly 'good' in 'me' apart from that. Acts 1:8 ("power") is this word 'dunamis'! Many other verses, including Acts 4:33, 6:8, 10:38, Luke 9:1, Matthew 6:13, etc. I call 'dunamis' (II Timothy 1:7, 8, & 9) the animating, energizing unction that provides not only the (Grace-given) ability (Romans 7:15 - 25, especially verse 18) to love - pray - go - tell - etc., to fulfill the Great Commission, in Jesus' Name, but even the desire (Romans 7:18) to do so, because my flesh never wants anything beyond its own wants/needs met, and my own spirit can know I should, or think I can, "Go into all the world and preach the Gospel", yet fall short, because 'my' own efforts can't sustain it.

Weariness, rejection, inconvenience, distaste (at odds with 'my' own natural affinities), etc., beset 'me' and I become bogged down, losing all desire to continue the effort. Should I, nevertheless, try, even then, it becomes a 'flat', tedious, Pharisee-type 'religious' exercise done in the wrong 'spirit' for the wrong reasons, rather than the 'relational' interaction where (the reality of) Christ (& His Love, in us) is lifted up, so that He can & will draw men unto Himself, again, 'relationally'. 'Religion' lacks the intimacy that must come from 'relationship'. I'm not a fan of 'religion' for its own sake.

. . . . Peter-- my favorite disciple-- 'grew into' his Calling, by the Holy Spirit's help, & became very good at speaking up & speaking out, even in 'intimidating' circumstances. (Acts 4:13 & 29 & 31) Paul, never shy, covers this-- and also some of the subjects you & I spoke of today-- in the passage of Hebrews 4:12 - 16.

Also, here is the passage where Jesus is saying that, ultimately, it is the Father, not Himself, who is to become our "all in all" (Amplified Bible), which I quoted to you in our discussion today: 1 Corinthians 15:20 - 28. Many if not most Christians teach and preach that Jesus is to have that position in the Kingdom of God and in our worship of God, when He is telling us, Himself, that this is not to be the case.

Existing from, by, and in the Lord,

Deborah Robinson

(Gen 35:8, & Judges 4:4 - 5:15)

Coming full circle, in this post, I leave you with a poem that I wrote 21 March 91 titled 'Upward, Christian soldier!' I wrote it for our military serving in the Persian Gulf at the time. It describes the need to walk with God, through our pilgrimage, especially when that journey takes us to the battlefield and/or into the unknown:

Upward, Christian Soldier!

Christian soldier, take God's hand,

And through the endless miles of sand

Walk by faith and not by sight

Through each day and every night.

Read God's Word-- on it we feed--

It's the spirit's MRE*!

Wholesome food to nourish souls,

And strengthen us in all our roles.

Hold this knowledge ever fresh:

Our war is really not with flesh,

But with the sin inside us all

That weighs us down and makes us fall.

Our hope is in the Lord alone;

He'll redeem what we have blown,

If we repent, get on our face,

And come to Him to seek His grace.

When you return again to home,

Or wherever else you roam,

Know for certain God is there

To lift and carry every care.

Though we love you, more does He,

With love that lasts eternally!

Count on Him then; He won't fail.

His love for you will never pale.

by Deborah [Robinson]

Verses from Isaiah 35 (The Living Bible)

"Even the wilderness and desert will rejoice in those days. . . . for the Lord will display His glory there, the excellency of our God. With this news bring cheer to all discouraged ones. Encourage those who are afraid. Tell them, 'Be strong, fear not, for your God is coming to destroy your enemies. He is coming to save you.' And when He comes, He will open the eyes of the blind, and unstop the ears of the deaf. . . . God will walk there with you . . . . These, the ransomed of the Lord, will go home along that road to Zion, singing the songs of everlasting joy. For them all sorrow and sighing will be gone forever; only joy and gladness will be there."

*MRE - A Meal, Ready-to-Eat (MRE) is a self-contained, individual field ration. MRE's are basically pre-ready food for use on the battlefield during actual military operations when normal food service facilities are not available.

A NOTE to my readers regarding next month's blog post, which will focus on love:

I will share alot of things from and about men who have traveled into and through and out of my life during their own journey, in next month's post. With Valentine's Day being in February it seemed appropriate to save those for that post. Also, my birthday is in February, marking yet another year gone by without my ever having experienced, real, reciprocated, love, in my life. At this point, given things as they are, I don't think that it's something I will ever have. I have only been in love, like that, twice, in my entire life, despite meeting, many thousands of guys, including, in my dancer days, when I worked in the nightclubs, and it was part of my job, to talk with the customers, during every single shift. It was like eventually earning a PhD, in Men, only, if anything, it disgusted me, and drove me away, from wanting any man in my personal life. There just wasn't ONE that could UNLOCK MY HEART to LOVE. I compare it to those scenes I have seen in TV shows and movies where the guy is a safecracker, and is able to open the safe when he has not been given the key or the combination, to do so. He just slowly and carefully checks different numbers to see if they will line up so he can gain access to the safe and all of the valuables, inside. Only TWO men have EVER been able to UNLOCK MY HEART! No one else ever came close. Due to circumstances as they were it couldn't work out with either one. It is what it is. So, those things that I will share, next month, are mostly things that I was given by various men, over the years, who may have felt something for me, but I just didn't feel it for them. When I love someone it's very deep but it's also very rare. My heart is not an easy safe to crack at all! I'm picky, I am very sure of who I am, and I, absolutely, know, what I do, and don't, like, in other people, including men, in my life. My Valentine's post will basically be about my NOT finding ROMANTIC love, but honestly, I am far more content to spend the rest of my life all alone than to settle for poor choices, which I felt I had no choice but to do, when I was younger, and also did because of that BULLCRAP that, LOVE CONQUERS ALL. It, most definitely, does NOT. THAT is merely a myth; a fairy tale.

Tuesday, December 20, 2022

Memorabilia, From Assorted Aspects Of My Life, And My Favorite Story Of Faith

I have a variety of things to share in this post. More memorabilia from my own life but also a story written by someone else, that is my favorite story of 'the faith of a child'. The Bible says, having, pure, simple, trusting, child-like, faith in God is very important: "He (Jesus) called a little child to him and placed the child among them and He said: 'Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.Therefore whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.'" [Matthew 18:2-4 NIV] As it is the holiday season, children, are frequently the focal point, for the activities that are going on as part of the celebration. Christian children are in Nativity plays, and decorating Christmas trees. Jewish children, are helping to light the candles on the family's menorah and spinning the dreidel. Others are learning the seven principles of Kwanzaa, and lighting their kinara. I wrote a, Christian, devotional, for this blog, the first year of its creation (almost 4 years ago!), and have included the link to it. [https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/12/thank-you-its-perfect-gift-for-me.html] The story that I will share with you, this month, "The Faith Of A Child" by Diana Honaker, isn't a holiday story but has the true meaning of one. After all, what is the foundation of the Christmas message? It's John 3:16. "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." God, so LOVED, the world, that He GAVE. This story that I love, and want to share with you here, was published in DECISION magazine [Billy Graham Evangelistic Association], in March 1999.I have no personal affiliation with the ministry but the story warms my heart every time I read it. It is a real reminder of the trusting faith that moves the Lord. I will end this post with that sweet story, but first, I will share some, other, sweet, and not so sweet, things, about my own life story. I have not lived a charmed life.

While sorting through my memorabilia I came across an old photograph of me that was probably taken when I was around 7, or 8, years old, on Christmas morning. I am holding a doll that I just got from Santa Claus. Because I am looking back over my entire life, in hindsight, in this blog, including from the perspective of my being 66 years old now, I am struck by these moments from my past that the old photos portray. These memories, all helped shape the person that I am, for better, and for worse. The photo of me (below) hugging my baby doll displays my innocence. But, right around this time, there was a season of, extreme, marital stress between my parents, which was triggered by my father's lingering anger, hurt, and resentment from my mother's earlier infidelity, and her considering leaving him and taking the children with her then (3 of the 4 being his) that led not only to physical domestic abuse but truly terrifying incidents between them that I heard and sometimes saw while all 3 of my siblings seemed to, obliviously, sleep through those. Those things shattered my sense of safety, frightened me, to depths that, I could not have even articulated at that tender age, even if I had dared to (which I did not; stuffing it all deep down inside me, instead), and scarred me for life, leaving a legacy of anxiety and OCD, and other things that I still have to grapple with, every day of my life, to this day. When my mother got sick and then died, my sister got back in touch with me, during that time, primarily because as Executor for the Will she needed me, to sign off on things, to settle our mom's estate, but, I had been No Contact, with the family, for many years. She told me, then, that, prior to our father finally divorcing our mother late in life, she had also witnessed fights between the two of them that escalated into physical assaults, on one another, and she had to step in, to break it up. When I escaped the family dysfunction, and went No Contact with them, to try to save what was left of my mental health, I left all those, jarring, scarring, things, behind me, until I ended up being a domestic abuse victim myself, when I married.

I always found it surprising, that my father ever even cared enough to try to keep us with him, had their marriage broken up, decades, before, it finally did, because this man was not affectionate, or affirming, and was rarely emotionally expressive toward his children. At least the years that I was under his roof; and, beyond. Add to that, his towering stature, at 6'2" or so, and he was a formidable father to have to, physically, look up to, when I was a small child. He 'disciplined' us by spanking us, with flyswatters, thorny rosebush branches, or his huge hands, leaving marks, on our tender-skinned bodies, that lasted for days. The photo of him (below) is an accurate depiction of his usual demeanor, and ongoing mood, 99% of the time. In fact, he actually looks 'warmer' and more relaxed in this picture, than he normally did! Most often his expression was something between a sulk and a hostile glare if he even seemed to take notice of our presence in the room with him as he parked himself on the couch, in the den, almost all of the time that he was home, and sat staring at the TV, from the time he got home, until the time he went to bed, never wanting to converse with us, or get to know us as we grew up and into the people we became, with individual identities, of our own, apart, from, being his offspring.

That is why, the, one, letter, that he ever wrote to me, in my life, so outraged and offended me. Below, is the letter in its entirety, verbatim. I will explain, afterward, why, it made me so angry, at him, since the way I was treated, by him, my whole life, had, everything, to do with that. Here is one anecdotal account, of a different situation that came up between my father and I, though, before I share the letter with you, that will also shed some light on why it affected me, so negatively: One day my sister brought home her current boyfriend at the time and the young man built a fire in the livingroom fireplace (which is pictured above, with the photos on the mantle) but he forgot to open the damper. Smoke quickly filled the room, and ultimately my mother said that she had to have repainting done due to the smoke damage. As Dad was about to come home, any minute, and he was, always, quick to be critical, and irritable, about things going awry, usually before he ever sought out the facts first, if at all, I went outside to meet him, as he arrived, and told him what had just happened, hoping that, he would not say anything, mean, or angry, then, upon walking in and seeing and smelling all the smoke, to further embarrass the young man visiting. But, when I told him about it, my father just glared at me in a very disapproving way, mad at me for telling him because he seemed to think that I was just going behind others' backs to somehow make myself look good! He was always an impossible man to please it seemed, regardless of whatever efforts I made, to be caring, and helpful. I had thought that, giving him a 'heads up' with the situation would avoid any caustic comments by him, because he was so quick to strike out, physically or verbally, and assess the actual situation after he did so.

Now, just after he left our mother, to divorce her, he, suddenly, sends each one of us children a personal letter from himself when he almost never got personal with us about anything, and it seemed to be his attempt at trying to sound like he was being the big man* in this big mess, which was not at all accurate, whether in his relationship with our mother, or his relationship with each one of us. Adding insult to injury, with his letter to me, that tried to make him sound like the 'decent' one, in this divorce situation, he, also, explained away his absentee-father relationship with me, despite his being in the very same house with me the whole time I grew up under that roof. Despite, what he wanted that letter to me to accomplish, all it did was alienate me even further from him, if that was even possible to do by this point, because it spoke of things that, he NEVER EVEN ONCE, affirmed, about me, with me, BEFORE or SINCE that ONE LETTER TO ME, regarding developing talents and skills I had, that he'd NEVER ACKNOWLEDGED, as I grew up in his household. He had neglected EVERY opportunity, to encourage my gifts and abilities, as I was finding myself, as a child growing up in that home, and literally his only focus had been on his watching TV shows, nonstop, the entire time, I had lived in, and later, visited, that house. He was always very quick to criticize me harshly, but never to say anything about my accomplishments or achievements. When I sang solos in a church play, and other such moments and milestones, he never said ONE thing, to me. Children NEED that acceptance, attention, and affirmation from their parents! I was MIDDLE-AGED-- 45 years old!-- when my father sent me the letter in 2001.

Here is his letter to me (just exactly as he wrote it):

[It was typed up and printed out, but signed "Dad" in ink, with his phone number]

Hello To Each of You

I am not sure just where or how to begin this letter, but I feel like it's time I at least tried to explain a few things.

Each of you will receive the same letter except for the last paragraph and that will be for you only.

I have been told that I was never there for you children and I guess to a large degree that's true, I always had to work longer an harder that those around me just to stay even with them, but most of all I was a firm believer that what I was doing was right, I was so sure that if I could give you the things that I never had, like a nice house to live in, a nice car that could carry you where you wanted to go or parties for your Birthday and all those Christmas presents at Christmas, it wasn't until I saw you children spending so much time with your children that I then realized that I had missed out on some of the most important things of your lives, Those times cannot be relived and even if they could I often wonder if they would be different, I'm not sure if that what I am saying makes any sense to you but I don't know how to say it any other way, Except that I now know that I put too much emphasis on material thing and not enough on those around me.

I have also been told that I have shut you out of what I am planning or what I have already planed, for that I am truly sorry because I never meant to shut any of you out, it was just that I felt that I was going through something that was going to affect us all and I did not want to try to draw any one into it trying to get them to take sides, I did how ever have to have some one to help me and that one person and only that person was told what my plans were, but I did this only because I needed some one to watch after things while I wasn't there, things like picking up my mail and paying bills at a very small two bed room place that I purchased early this year, I also did not discuss this with any of you because whether you believe me or not I do care for your mother very much and I am not going into any of the reasons why I'm doing what I am doing because it make no different what I say where it true or not that will never change the fact that she is now an always be your mother.

I say to each of you that my home will always be there an open to and for you, I hope that each of you will be a part of my new life, I know that you will see a different person in some ways.

Deb I know that we have not been very close but I really want you to know that I have always told people about how much talent you have and how much I enjoyed those nights in the shop when you would come out and we would sit and talk and you would draw pictures for me to use as patterns, I feel like I did not give you enough encouragement or help in developing your true talents, it just made me angry to see all that talent going to waste.

Love

Dad

[He signed it and added his phone number, in handwritten ink, to the typed page. But then a second page followed that first page with some additional paragraphs.]

I want each of you to know that I to hurt much more than I can ever express in words, but I have many great wonderful memories and they will always be there for me to draw on, to me there are more good fun loving memories than there are bad.

The yesterdays are gone except for the memories, it is now today and tomorrow will be a new day for each of us, I hope I can use the tomorrow's wiser.

Remember that time waits for no one, Treasure every moment you have, and you will treasure it even moe when you can share it with someone special.

There is a cautionary tale, in this man's letter, to his, then, middle-aged children, including that, despite your many regrets, in hindsight, especially, after you were told many times, that you were CHOOSING not to develop the relationships, with your own children, you cannot go back and rewrite history or recast the past in a way that makes you feel better about it, by, now, seeing it as much better than it actually was, or as less hurtful, and harmful, to your offsprings' wellbeing, than it really was. Men, in particular, are all-too-often guilty of failing their kids this way. I'm a senior citizen, now, and I'm still dysfunctional, because of an acute absence of a loving, present, engaged, affirming father in my life. Mine was IN THE HOME!

Because of my not having a good family situation, growing up, for various reasons (not just to do with my father, as has been well covered in my previous blog posts now), I tried live-in nanny employment, a few times, partially because I longed to feel a sense of family in a home environment that would not be dysfunctional, and damaging, to me. I smile as I type this next statement: What I realized, was that, to some extent, every family has their sins, and shortcomings, although, not all of them are severe enough, for the survivors, of such a home life, and upbringing, to need therapy and such, like me and many others have needed, to help us with our woundedness. Even so, some of the situations were far better than my upbringing had been but I found that there are frustrating complications to, living, where you work, and for various reasons those jobs did not last for very long. >sigh!< I, still, long for a sense of what an, accepting, affirming, affectionate, family life would be like, but at this point I cannot imagine my ever having that. I have given up hope. When I moved to Bridgeport, Connecticut, for a live-in nanny job, after I had been a Certified Nursing Assistant in a hospital, a nurse who was a friend of mine wrote me a letter. The only page, I seem to still have, of that letter, is numbered "4", on the front, and ends with her signature at the bottom of what would be page 5, on the back of that. Here is some of what she wrote to me, exactly how she wrote it:

You seem to be healing, (starting to anyway). You left Omaha with a few open wounds. Just give it time, Deb. The [name withheld for privacy reasons] family seems fascinating to me. Lots of $ !! Their condo is gorgeous as are the kids. I felt good about your making plans to see New York. You've got more guts than I would have, even on buses, trains, & cabs. (God forbid I ever take a subway with my claustrophobia! sp?)

I enjoyed your story about the [name withheld] relatives & the lox- I was reading the letter at work by my telephone and laughed out loud. You have a delightful way of putting words on paper! Have you ever thought of working for a newspaper? I just eat up your letters.

About your future- and Omaha- & what tomorrow will bring- I really don't know, Deb. Just take one day at a time & try to make the best of each day. There are reasons for everything that happen to us. (When I see God face to face someday, I've got quite a list of things to discuss with him, as I question why I've been handed some of my "crosses".) I just hope things "fall into place" for you. You've entered into an adventure that has to add something positive into your life- if nothing else, to distract you and help pass the time until you can see your son again. You always sound so pessimistic (sp?) when you write about him. Don't! You will always be his biological mother & there will be a bond between you, even though you are not together. Linnea sounds like a very generous person who would never interfere with your relationship. Circumstances have separated you for now- but it won't be forever!!

I'm going to end this now- keep me in your prayers & I'll do the same for you- Life is so hard-

Love,

Judi

P.S. Sorry it took me so long to answer! I think of you often- write if you get a chance. Once again, I love your interesting letters!

It was, the height of irony, that, soon after, I transferred the custody, of my baby boy to his father and stepmother to raise, so he would have the best possible life that he could, given the situation, I began working as a live-in nanny in someone else's home, caring for and loving their kids. People really don't realize, how hard my life has been, in some ways, and all that I have had to overcome, while going though some extremely painful emotions. Because I choose to be compassionate and gentle with people, normally, unless, they give me reasons not to be, I think that I come across to others, often, as weak, or a pushover, when I am as strong as steel, in SO MANY WAYS, because of, all, that I have been through, in my life!

The landlord of my apartment building, when I was applying to be a live-in nanny, wrote me a letter of reference. I was very touched, by it. It is transcribed, below.

To Whom It May Concern,

Deborah [Last name] is a tenant of mine, . . .

I personally have two little girls. (Ages 2 & 4) Deborah has been to our apartment several times to visit and babysit on occasion. My little girls like her visits because she gives them alot of attention, hugging, holding, playing and coloring with them. Children respond well to people who are very open and honest with them. This is how I would describe Deborah, as a very open and honest person.

Being resident manager, I have had to enter her apartment on different times and have always found Deborah to be a very neat and clean person.

If you are looking for someone to take care of your children, I believe Deborah is well suited for the job.

Sincerely,

Melinda [Last name withheld]

I am a very serious person, but I also have a strong sense of humor! While I was still working in the nursing field on a medical/surgical patient floor at the hospital I wrote out some of my, corny, jokes, for Valentine's Day, and sent them down to the ER department via the pneumatic tube system, to the head ER doctor, Steve, who was my good friend, at the time, and knew me well. It shows, my silly sense of humor, that comes out around people that I feel safe to be myself around, and like. When, I try to be myself with people, and show them this side of me, if they seem judgmental, uptight or humorless I don't feel open to getting to know them better. After all, if people can't accept you, for, who you are, then, why bother, to befriend them? You were created to be, uniquely, yourself. That, is who, we have to be, in this world, to be, authentic; to keep it real, to be genuine, to be honest. Here are two photos, of me (below), from my days working in the nursing field. I was in my mid-20s. We were required to wear a white uniform (including shoes), back then, which was between the era when nurses had to also wear a white cap at all times, and now, when people working in nursing wear scrubs and sneakers. Back then, we had to take the patients' temperatures manually, by shaking down the thermometers to get a more accurate read, and hold their wrist, to take their pulse. It was hands on. The old photos, from 40 years or so ago, aren't real clear. I really enjoyed that career field, which ended for me when all the patient lifting I had to do began to throw my back out, more and more often. That led to dancing. I would not want to be in nursing, anymore, in the times, we live in, now, though. I really respect people who are still willing, to be in that line of work, at this point.

Here are my silly Valentine's Day Single's Ads, hospital style, from the mid-1980s:

LGH Valentine Positions to be filled.

Must make application for your specialty area by Feb. 14th to qualify.

A partial list of openings*:

A heart-throb for Cardiology (No heartbreakers apply, please)

Someone sweet for Dietary

Someone uninhibited for Public Relations

An amiable Escort

A Knockout for Anesthesia

Someone highly skilled as well as efficiently fast for ER

Someone insightful for X-Ray

A clean-cut individual for the Surgery Department, preferably sterile

* Valentine inquiries may be directed to any, available, staff. Happy Valentine's Day!

That is reminiscent of the type of things that 'Hawkeye Pierce', and his sidekicks, would do in the TV show M*A*S*H, which was all about medical personnel being silly at times as a stress reliever, because working in medical settings is stressful.

When I lived in Wilmington, North Carolina for awhile I worked in Medical Records at an Orthopedic clinic. It was a fast-paced, challenging and stressful job because it was a very large practice with multiple doctors. I took it as a temp job, to see if I wanted to settle long-term in the city. I had a very good church there with great people and it was a nice area but when the temp job ended I decided to move on. That was in 2006. The end of the temp assignment coincided with Christmas. The staff gave me a good-bye card. Here are some of the comments, they wrote in it:

Deborah, . . . We will miss your smile and cheery spirit. - Allison; Deborah, I will miss your smiling face! . . . Lauren; Deborah, It has been nice getting to know you. We will miss seeing you around the office! . . . Stacey; . . . It was fantastic getting to joke around & visit w/you . . . . I know there is a fun & interesting career that can't wait to grab you up! Kick it into high gear. - Jennifer; I will miss you, Deborah. . . . Elaine; . . . P.S. Thanks for the beautiful X-mas card in Remembrance of my father. . . . Deborah, I'll miss your positively friendly presence around here. . . . ~ Amanda; . . . I will sure miss all your compliments. You're so kind. - Kimberly

Those co-workers were from, medical records, the business office, surgery scheduling, the front desk, patient check-in/check-out, chart prep, and one was the telephone operator/appointment scheduler there.

A young woman, who was also working there, as a temp, in another department, gave me a Christmas card, that also deeply touched me. Her name was Tiffany. I kept it all these years, to remind me that, one person, including me, and Tiffany, can really make a positive difference in the lives of others. The card has a picture of a Christmas cherub on it, and says, "At Christmas time, kind deeds put the smiles on angels' faces." The print on the inside of the card says, "Hope the spirit of Christmas surrounds you like a warm hug." Then, she wrote, "-I know this is a little late. I wish you the best and take care. The 'take time' card you gave me was great. Take this and get yourself something special. Happy Holidays! Tiffany" I made a note on the outside of the envelope, to remind myself what brought the tears to my eyes, upon receiving this, from her, and I kept the card, for always. I wrote: "Tiffany is a temp in Transcription- a struggling single Mom driving a noisy beat up car with sadness in her eyes and pain deeply etched into her (relatively young woman's) face- yet she gave me a ride to the bank after work in rain in 12-22 traffic . . . She offered that- I didn't ask. Her face, prior to that, had looked struck with amazement, warmth, and a glimmer of some needed kind of hope when I'd simply given her one of boxed (Guidepost Christian) Christmas cards w/her name on it. Her card to me also had a $20.00 BELK gift card in it - a huge and loving sacrifice as I know she struggles hard financially, as I do, and perhaps more so." Looking at that card, from 16 years ago, still, brings tears to my eyes.

My cockatiel, CeeBee, loved the Hershey's Kiss Christmas bells commercial. It has been on TV all these years. I am so grateful that they still have it, for the Season, because, every time, I see and hear it, I speak to CeeBee's spirit, and say, "There is your pretty Christmas bell commercial, CeeBee! I love you always and forever!" My friend, Erik, brought tears to my eyes, several months ago, when I was telling him what that ad meant to CeeBee, and therefore, to me, and he Messaged me a link to it, on Facebook, so that I could, still, access it, if they ever stop showing it, on TV. My eyes often tear up when it comes on. [https://www.google.com/search?q=video+of+the+HErsheys+Kiss+Christmas+beell+commercial&oq=video+of+the+HErsheys+Kiss+Christmas+beell+commercial&aqs=chrome..69i57j33i10i160j33i299j33i22i29i30.10630j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:6ac721b7,vid:4HtSLF4vlrk] CeeBee flew Home to Heaven in July of 2011 just a few months short of his 20th birthday. I saved a newspaper that was on my coffee table when that heartbreak happened, because I scribbled what I was feeling on it at the time. Now, it is a yellowed piece of paper, from the passage of time. The following, is what I wrote, about the death of my bird baby:

"(written on here by me just after CeeBee Marie went to heaven . . . .) Having that sudden, jabbing, take-my-breath-away pain in my stomach, almost like somebody's punched me in the gut, actually leaving a lingering stomach ache, causing me to audibly groan softly and wince. that is PAIN. pain of a hugely impactful loss yet a deep, pure, abiding love. That combination we struggle so with, as humans, of losing yet still having something in our lives & hearts of great value & meaning to us. Then, suddenly, an 'ugly cry' overcomes us. This is Grief. If we didn't CARE , it wouldn't HURT."

CeeBee November 1991 - July 2011

CeeBee wearing as much of his popcorn as he ate!

CeeBee, trying to change the TV channel to something more to his liking?

CeeBee 'nesting' inside an empty cardboard box, with his 'Bead Baby' toy under him, and a snack nearby.

Now, for the holiday season, here is the transcript of the story by Diana Honaker:

Without food or money, she learned a lesson about trusting God.

The Faith Of A Child

"Billy prayed, 'Jesus, we need food because Mom doesn't have any money- and we don't like soup. Please give us some graham crackers too' "

The can of tomato soup stood before me on the nearly empty shelf. I reached for it reluctantly because my kids didn't like tomato soup- unless I fixed cheese sandwiches to go with it. "Lord," I prayed, "You have always taken care of us. We are out of nearly everything except this one can of soup. You know I don't get paid for another week- and the child support check is late. Please show me what to do. I need wisdom."

My children and I had moved to Prescott, Arizona, only two weeks earlier. Now I stood in our kitchen wondering what to do about food. The money that I had been counting on had not arrived. I knew that I could ask for help from our friends who lived in the area, but I sensed the Holy Spirit nudging me to trust God to meet our needs. I whispered a quick prayer for guidance, picked up the can of soup and headed for the living room.

I sat down on the floor next to a few of our moving boxes. My one-year-old son, Brandon, climbed onto my lap and took charge of the can. Billy, age six, made a face and said, "Yuck! Are we having that for dinner?" Avoiding his question, I asked my nine-year-old daughter, Tonya, to turn off the TV.

"Would you guys please come and sit with me for a minute?" I asked. They agreed.

"Well, it seems that this is what we will have for dinner tonight," I explained. "We are out of food. Because Mommy has just started a new job, she will not be paid until next week, and we don't have money to buy food. Why don't we pray and ask Jesus to help us- what do you think?"

"Can't you just go to the store and write a check, Mom?" Billy asked.

"Checks aren't any good unless you have money in the bank," Tonya corrected. Billy glanced with annoyance at his older sister.

I retrieved the soup can from Brandon and exchanged it for one of his favorite toys. Then I set the can down in front of us and said, "Why don't we all touch the soup can and ask Jesus to give us the food that we need, OK? Tonya, you pray first, then Billy can pray. Brandon and I will pray last."

Tonya's prayer was sweet. Then Billy prayed, "Jesus, we need food because Mom doesn't have any money- and we don't like soup. Please give us some graham crackers too." Brandon was tired of sitting still, so I quickly finished by saying, "Thank you, Jesus, for hearing our prayers. Amen." I was concerned about Billy's asking for graham crackers.

"Billy, God will give us what we need to eat, but we might have to wait on graham crackers because they are a treat."

"He will too give us graham crackers! They are important," Billy insisted.

While I was heating the soup, I remembered some packets of soda crackers in our car. I kept hoping that I would remember another food item tucked away somewhere. At least Brandon had a couple of jars of baby food to warm his tummy. After we ate the soup and crackers, the kids got ready for bed. The kids said their prayers, and I tucked them in. Quickly all three were asleep. It amazed me how peaceful they looked. They trusted me completely.

My night was filled with tossing and turning. The decision to trust God for our food seemed unrealistic. We had friends who would help us; was I just being too proud to ask? Did I really have enough faith to do this? Maybe our tomato-soup prayer was just a desperate act. My tired mind and body rested heavily on the bed. The only sound that I heard was the constant song of crickets. Their peaceful melody did not soothe my frightened spirit.

Morning came quickly. We functioned in our usual manner. I pushed and I prodded. The kids shuffled and groaned. "OK, guys, let's go! Tonya, don't forget your gym suit."

In his usual energetic way Billy raced to the door. When he swung open the door, his momentum came to a halt. Two bags filled with groceries were sitting in front of our door. We rushed forward to get a closer look. Eagerly we carried them inside, making enough noise to wake up the entire neighborhood.

Each item was greeted with enthusiasm. Tuna, macaroni and cheese, beans, rice, lemonade and apples were all part of our blessing. Even items like toilet paper were cherished because we had nearly run out of that too.

As we worked our way into the second bag, we discovered a large blue box. With shouts of delight Billy retrieved the treasure. "See, Mom, I knew that Jesus would give us graham crackers!"

I hugged Billy, and through tears I answered, "You are right. I'm sorry I didn't believe that He would give us those too." How small my faith seemed next to my son's faith.

What a lesson I learned that day. It was the faith of a little child that taught me not to limit God. I can bring my needs and my desires to Him. He cares about everything in my life.

"It was the faith of a little child that taught me not to limit God. I can bring my needs and my desires to Him. He cares about everything in my life"

Merry Christmas, and Happy Holidays, to each and every one of you readers! -Deb

* the big man: A male human being who does or has done something that makes them feel superior to others, or very good about themselves, although, they know that, their accomplishment, or action, in this regard, doesn't truly mean anything.