Angele Dulin

My grandmother. Brought from Paris. (Suresnes, Hauts de Seine, Lee – de – France)

I want to know the story. More. I have scoured ancestry.com and discovered more than I wanted to know, at the time. She was sixteen years old and lied to, by my grandfather. She was a WWII war bride. She went from Paris to Bainbridge Ga. Her name is on the walls of Ellis Island.

I wish I had inherited those lips.

What a history my family has.

My father was born into poverty. Deep poverty. He was born into violence, as his father was. That was the excuse for his insanities. He wanted out and he got out. He fought his way out.

We are all still surviving.

My grandmother committed suicide in March 1957. The most popular song of that year was The People of Paris.

How to Create a Character *

You have one man, with volcanic rage, simmering below the surface of his skin. You have one woman who is iron clad and formidable, prepared to protect the family at all cost. Each has their own story, steeped in alcohol, violence and money. Smiles would turn to grimaces – smile, frown – smile, frown – it was a dodge ball game. You would eventually get slammed.

Then take the kid. Twelve years old, eager to please; anxious to get every detail correct.

The man had given orders, “Go saddle up my horse”. Continue reading How to Create a Character *

Forgotten/Not Forgotten

I keep journals. Note books I use to help me find peace and sort my life out. Thoughts on friends and finances.

I make changes in my life. However, I have the tendency to repeat. When writing things down, it becomes obvious.

The photo on the left is of my friend Connie. She was loved by many people. I had written about being with her when she passed, 2015. In the photo, we were at the funeral of Rachael Sutton. (She initiated Starting Point – you know it or you don’t.)

Connie passed with lung cancer.

As she was dying, she told me stories of her life. They were great stories. She didn’t want anyone to know. They were antics of her mother, Hazel. Poor Hazel.

I never knew Hazel, but I admired her in a way that Connie couldn’t. She wasn’t my mother.

Complicated/Simple

They say keep it simple, stupid. Which I think is stupid.

If you can live your life successfully and make it look simple, you are a hero. Life is tough as hell. First your born and maybe you have the good fortune of having doting parents. But most of us don’t. You get kicked around. Filled with anxiety.

Bukowski has a repeated line in one of his poems’ – people are not good to people – people are not good to people – people are not good to people. Reading this, I felt I knew exactly what he meant. People were not good to me. I was a little fat. I could not speak up for myself. I became prey.

Continue reading Complicated/Simple

Life in General

To be beat unmercifully, is tragic. To be unprotected is sad. To not be acknowledged is a sin.

Trauma – PTSD – Obsessive Compulsive Disorder – Gaslighting – Narcicissm – Humiliation – Threats

It’s all common every day experience.

It’s all good….enjoy your day.

It’s all good.

Have you ever had someone next to you shove paper up their nose. Then be grabbed and beat half to death. It’s good. It really is. I swear it happened to me and it was good.

My Two Dannys

I was 16 years old when I met Danny Bass. Kenny, a friend of mine, and I were sitting by the Jax Bch Pier, when Danny passed in front of us. Kenny called out, and Danny came over and talked with us. I immediately liked him. He had stellar mannerisms. He smiled, chatted with ease, and had an award, winning smile.

Kenny and I were the odd couple. He had muscular dystrophy and I had a car. That day, those moments, were the beginning of the end.

I had spent the last 5 months, picking Kenny up; driving to the beach, where his sister lived. We smoked copious amounts of pot. I’m sure we were in blue jeans, t-shirts and tennis shoes, when that chance meeting occurred. Soon after, I saw Danny at school, and we became fast friends. He introduced me to my new, and peculiar, Westside group, which was to become known as The Funk Crew, Kenny included, as well as Rooster, Mark, Friz Whiz, Chuck, Deena, David, Lil Deb, Danny, the Session brothers, and more. We all stayed “friends”, for years, until we weren’t anymore.

Danny was the hub.

When Danny graduated, he wanted to go to college. He had his own apartment, in high school. I can remember seeing him at his kitchen table. He had tried to get into FCCJ, and couldn’t. He had a job, throughout the twelfth grade, supporting himself. He was a dock loader at UPS. He didn’t know what he was going to do. I told him I could get him a job, no problem. He went to work for my Father’s company, and he became, one of us. All of my family took him in; my Dad, my brother-in-law, my sister, everyone liked him. It would be hard, to not like Danny.

Continue reading My Two Dannys

Disavow Disgrace

I commented on a facebook post, confessing to a criminal act, that occurred around 45 years ago.

The post was about the struggles, of a single parent, working and living on a wage that barely made ends meet, and when the car breaks down, or the electric bill rises, the person can no longer keep up. They are in trouble. They slide down hill.

I had years like that, that were back breaking. Events in life, that were simple for others, were insurmountable hurdles, for me.

Continue reading Disavow Disgrace

Tribal Tune

It’s all in my head, as I watch Hannibal kill and eat, study, chase, travel, elude; my Netflix is unending, as is this sentence, that goes on and on, like life, that doesn’t, while cancer prevails, fought and incubated, as I eat my cereal, plain as can be, the duration is filled with people, sun and sand, surfing, working, laughing, praying, not leaving any time for tears, as I play music, the thunder and lightning sounds, the large pellets of rain pummel my scorched plants, all in the key of E. Born in the key of G, I sustain an E.

And then I cried.