I believe that for the most part my life has been extraordinarily blessed.

Although, if you looked at each moment, each memory, each particular period of time, you might say something different. For example, you might wonder what it was that got me up and moving the days I laid curled in a ball on the bathroom floor as I child. You might ask how I dealt with the deaths. Or, you might ask how I kept going to school day after day, hiding my secret about what happened in the car. You might ask about the boyfriend who dealt drugs out of my apartment or the boyfriend who placed his silver pistol against my sweating head. You might ask about the diagnosis, the surgeries, or the car accidents. You might ask about the betrayals, the cheating, and the lying. You might ask about my mother's cancer or about my father's encephalitis. You would look at me and earnestly inquire how I get out of bed every day.

I would look at you and smile, ignoring your transitory interest.

{i thank You God for this most amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth.)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any - lifted from the no
of all nothing - human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened.)

e.e. Cummings}

You would press on, quizzing and pestering, demanding to know how I survived and how I thrived in spite of my unusual experiences. Very carefully, I would explain that I did not become the person I am in spite of my circumstances. I became the person that I am because of them.

In recent years, I have driven through the neighborhood with my own children in an effort to avoid the highway when going downtown. It never matters what season it is. Each time we pass through, I have felt the rough wool prickling the skin on the back of my neck. I have inhaled the crisp scent of fall mingled with the diesel of the engines and the lingering tobacco of my father's cigarettes. Although in reality my hands are carefully curled around the steering wheel at 'ten' and 'two' and my mother has been gone for nearly ten years, I can feel the warmth of her hands carefully folded over my own, cold air threatening to bite if I allow her to let go.

I pay careful attention while I drive and am appalled when we pass the 'Girls, Girls, Girls' club that sits where the old drug store used to be. Back then, I hardly noticed the traffic. Instead, my eyes traveled past the plaid, all the way up to her shining blue eyes. Her dark hair shadowed her smile as it curled out from under the edges of her knit cap and bounced lightly to the rhythm of her steps. She held my hand the whole way as we crossed first the street and then the railroad tracks as we walked back to our apartment.

Coca Cola in a glass glass with lots of ice and a slice of lemon is still my beverage of choice because whenever we went on one of these drug store lunch counter excursions, that is exactly what my mother would order. She would smile at the greasy waitress with the half-apron and ask for a Coke on ice with two straws and a slice of lemon. This was an extravagant splurge for us and we would sip from the glass carefully, taking turns to avoid smashing our noses together.

I also remember the first day I prayed, asking God to render me invisible as my pretty mother who normally talked to me with gentle words while she smiled and laughed, sobbed and screamed at my stunned father, "If you hadn't come home who knows what would have happened?!? It isn't safe, Arthur! It isn't safe!" I leaned against the stack of laundry baskets trying to figure out what that man was doing inside our apartment when we came back from the laundry room. I watched as my father tried and failed to comfort her again and again and again.

We moved out of our apartment and into a house in the suburbs a few months later, just after Christmas. My brother was born at the end of January and in April, I turned three.

Mom and Dad bought their house in the suburbs - a nice, safe, respectable white rambler patriotically flanked by a red house to the north and a blue house to the south. There was no proverbial white picket fence. However, there was a dainty row of pristine Lilies of the Valley keeping guard under our front windows. To complete this veritable picture of the American dream, my parents considered, argued over and eventually purchased a dog. My mother was insistent the dog be a purebred so its size and behavior could be predicted with more than a modicum of accuracy. My father was insistent the dog be obedient, loyal and NOT yappy. After discarding breed after breed for a variety of reasons, my parents brought home Samson - a purebred Saint Bernard.

I remember coming home from visiting my father's parents during Sam's early days with us. We walked in the front door to find Sam had exceeded the space allotted by the newspapers carefully spread on the linoleum kitchen floor. He had not only exceeded his allotted space but had flooded the entire kitchen. My father hauled him outside as my mother frantically pressed towels into the doorway, trying to stem the seepage leaking onto our brand new wood floors in the living room. I stood still, amused by the activity as I stood guard over my still new baby brother sleeping in a basket.

I absolutely adored Sam. I used him for a pillow as I read my books. I helped my dad pound nails into the doghouse we built for him. I rode on his back, circling the yard trying to convince the neighbor kids that I had, not a dog but rather, a pony. Once, Sam lay on the floor patiently waiting for us to finish eating. After we finished, my parents began cleaning up the table and as Sam, unnoticed, scooted across the floor to get at the scraps under the table. I laughed and my parents yelled as Sam, finished with the scraps and oblivious to his own size, stood up and walked away with the kitchen table on his back.

During the summer, we went camping - Dad, Mom, my brother, Sam and I. One afternoon, my mom lay my brother down in the tent for a nap, set me on a blanket to play and began cleaning up the remains of our picnic lunch as my dad took the boat out to go fishing. Suddenly, Mom heard Sam barking madly and out of control. Terrified a snake or other animal was around, she ran to scoop me up and check on my brother. The only problem was, I was no longer playing on the blanket and she suddenly realized the dog was not close by either. She followed the dog's barking to the edge of the water where she was just in time to see me, ten to fifteen feet from shore, go under the surface of the water.

I remember being bored on the blanket and I remember wanting to find my dad. I don't remember how far I had to go or how close the campsite was to the water. I do remember seeing my dad in the boat rather far from shore and getting farther. I remember stepping out into the smooth, glassy surface of the water and feeling like I was walking through it even though I was not touching the bottom. I also remember the instant I sank, the moment my breath was taken away and my vision became blurry. I remember the plants waving at me under the water until the brilliance of the sun through the cloudy water completely blinded me and I no longer knew which way I was going. The pressure of the water was pushing me down, my lungs were burning and I just wanted my dad. I do not recall feeling any sense of panic - only wonder and frustration. Suddenly, my flailing fingers grabbed ahold of dog fur and, at that moment, I recognized fear. The instant I began to panic, the giant hands of my mother pulled me up and out. My eyes were filled with lake water and I couldn't separate her tears from mine.

Early in the fall, Dad put Sam in the car and took him for a drive. I didn't understand why I was not allowed to go with and I didn't understand why Dad came home without Sam. Unconsolable and angry, my parents explained that my brother's ear infections and constant wheezing were from an allergy to dogs. They explained that Dad had driven Sam to a nice couple in the country who lived on a farm that was a lot like my 'Gramma-and-Grampa-on-the-farm's" place. Sam had lots of space to run and lots of things to play with. They promised me that Sam would be happy. Terribly sad and hurt that I did not get to say goodbye to my furry friend, this was the first time I remember being angry with my parents. Did they think I wouldn't notice that my dog was gone? Did they think I would want them to get rid of my brother instead of the dog? I was, however, relieved he was in a good place where he would be happy and I added him to my bedtime prayers.

"Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Bless mommy and daddy, my brother and Sam
Gramma-on-the-farm and Gramma Melinsky
Bless Grampa-on-the-farm and Grampa Melinsky....etc"

I prayed this prayer every night until I began to go to school. I prayed this prayer every night in Kindergarten and through most of elementary school. I stopped praying this prayer only after realizing in fourth grade that 'Now I lay me...' was a baby prayer. It wasn't until I was an adult I learned that not only had my brother been allergic to dogs but Sam had been diagnosed with a congenital hip defect utterly impossible for my parents to manage. I was an adult when I learned that the day my dog, my pony, my childhood friend disappeared, my father had not brought him to a nice couple in the country. Instead, my father had brought Sam to the vet where he did not get to chase frogs in the farm fields.

Every other month my family would travel west for an hour or so to visit my dad's parents, "Gramma-and-Grampa-on-the-farm." Upon arrival, we kids were shoo'd outside and left to explore the vast gardens, chase barn cats and play in the pine trees and empty corn crib. The adults would gather around the well worn kitchen table to exchange gossip, discuss religion and argue politics while gulping strong coffee from incongruously dainty teacups and eating German coffee cake crusted with sugar. None of them ever seemed to notice the yellow strip of paper that dangled over their heads. It was stuck with sometimes still wriggling nasty black dots that simultaneously fascinated and repelled us.

Outside, we pretended the trees and gardens were magical kingdoms. They were the domain of fairies and elves, the Bionic Man, Wonder Woman, the Green Lantern, Batman and every teen detective we'd read about in books. The free-roaming cats, chicken and geese were not cute, interesting farm animals. They were monsters to be feared, fought and banished. To avoid them, we had to get to climb to the top of the clothesline pole or at least halfway up the spruce tree next to the boot scraping ladder.

If you couldn't climb as high as your cousins or if you got tired of the game and went inside, and if you lingered at the edge of the grownups looking especially lonely and pathetic, Grampa would notice you. He wouldn't say anything. He would just kind of smile and nod his head towards the door. You would smile back, head outside and wait. Grampa, in his uniform of blue and white pinstriped overalls and a dirty John Deere or seed cap, would join you after a bit.

With a quiet, "Come on. I have to show you," he would lead you to his secret pansy garden or show you a colony of interesting bugs digging in an old stump. He'd show you the pink, lacy flowers growing on the trellis behind the house, lift you onto his knee to peak inside the poultry barn to see the newly hatched chicks, or walk with you behind the barn and smile as you tried to catch any one of the seemingly hundreds of tiny frogs that lived there. Sometimes, he would walk with you all the way to the big vegetable garden. He would let you sniff the new dill, tell you about what else was hiding in the soil and work the handle of the big red pump allowing you to fill his tin dipper in the cool stream again and again and again.

When it was time to leave and the coats were brought out of the back bedroom, Gramma would bustle about, refusing to let you leave until she had served a 'little lunch' - usually a sandwich, some cake, a slice of pie, more coffee cake, and one more cup of coffee (or orange Kool-Aide if you were one of the kids.) As soon as we were finished eating and cleaning up, we'd put on our coats and pick up our bags. Inevitably, someone would then begin, "Oh! Did I tell you...?"

Wood would be added to the already steaming fire and discussion would begin again as sweat rolled down our backs and our toes turned to ice. Our cheeks would become flushed and an aunt, or Gramma or Mom would look at one of us and exclaim, "My goodness! Are you running a fever? You need to go right home and get right to bed. What are you doing just standing here? Get in the car. Get in the car!" Gramma would open the door and press a napkin wrapped treat into each of our hands. Grampa would stand there and just smile.

Coming Soon
Vacationing at the rented cabin with Gramma and Grampa B.
Finding the leech under the rock
Dancing at the Pow Wow

Coming Soon
Overnights with Gramma B
Her Candy Bowl
Finding old books in the crawl space
Reading until 3am
Chocolate Toast and coke for breakfast

Coming Soon
The kids in the yard
The girl on the swing who peed her pants
Popsicles in the summer
Making perfume
Getting married and stealing lilacs
I am sorry I'm a thief

Coming Soon
Visiting Grampa in the hospital
Coffee burns
Carved neckerchief slides
John Wayne
Steak and Salad
Steak and Ale with Grampa B
Getting pinched
Cottage Cheese and Peaches
The Zoo promise
The midnight call
A babysitter for the funeral

Coming Soon
Burger King with Vicki and Dale
Art classes with Patt
Drawing socks as a little genius
Hiding in the candy store
Overnight with the aunts

Coming Soon
Pride at being asked
Appalled at not being the best
Reading the dictionary and encyclopedias
Three Billy Goats Gruff
Being ignored and not complimented - being passed over for the goat that talked too loud and danced around

Coming Soon
Summer school
Walking there and getting followed
Lie or....shy
Spanking into the side of the tub with handprints
Being grounded
The Field Trip
Watching the bees
Being forgotten

Coming Soon
Desire to be pretty
JEssica M's haircut
Photos in magazines
No money for a salon
The butch job
Company
Tears

Coming Soon
The quilted dress
The gap toothed smile
Mother daughter banquet at Middleville
The Chinese Missionary
The Chinese Doll
Feeling adored

Coming Soon
The teenage neighbors
Drinking beer
Let's see whether or not he's a little girl
Going for a walk
Being hit with a beer bottle
Backsides in a truck
Getting laughed at

Coming Soon
Playing in the sandbox
Talking abuot KISS
getting kissed for the first time
Being told Elvis died

Coming Soon
Playing baseball
Getting hit in the nose
Weeding for a quarter
Garbage cans for a dollar
Richard P

Coming Soon
Scott G crush
Valentine to Jessica and Melissa
Valentine to me
Sunday School lesson
TUrned down at church

Coming Soon
The boy from public school
reading a book a day in class
THe warm fuzzy jar
Black eye for a teacher
first love note

Coming Soon
Libby B at recess
Frenemies
hallway pushing
fight in the classroom
bittersweet victory
Discovering Emily D

Coming Soon
Press conference at Kris C's b-day party
H Humphrey's death
Playing BINGO
Stealing gum

Coming Soon
Kids on the bus
Kirk B

Coming Soon
The rheyes syndrom boy
Singing at the funeral of my friend
Liz and her family - carbon monoxide
Be happy

Coming Soon
5th grade - not letting girls go to the bathroom
The start of the stomach aches
writing and music
public mortification
Mrs. M's nervous breakdown
Getting the clown
chalkboards on the floor
shame at liking school
Mr. Aho
Phy Ed and Thighs

Public School
Wanting desperately to look like Bernadette Peters or Lady Dianna
Discecting pigs
Tacks on a chair

Desperate for piano lessons at 3
Learn music theory before you can play
Check
Lessons with mom on request
Flute in 5th grade
7th grade - hooked on Music