It seems so strange now as I sit in my solitude remembering my life unfold before my eyes. It was as though I was thinking about someone else's life and not my own. Who was that little girl, that teenager, that woman, this person that I came to be. Where do I begin, how do I tell my story, my heart fills with fear just thinking about going back in time and reliving the horrors of my past. I'm happy now at peace with myself. I am free at last from guilt, and shame, and fear.

The room is dark except for the flicker of the fireplace and a candle burning on the table. Christy is tucked safely in bed, and I'm alone with my thoughts and memories. I feel compelled to write a book about my life. I know we're not alone, that we all have our trials and tribulations, our cross we have to bear. It just seems to me that my cross got to be a little heavy at times. My poor babies, what a load it must have been to them. I know how I felt during that period of time, but I can't imagine now what they were feeling. At that particular moment in my life, I didn't think much about how they felt.

I was too busy just trying to stay alive. Being raised by very backward parents, us kids were taught not to be heard or seen just to stay out of sight as much as possible and not make a fuss about anything. Daddy could jerk off his belt, and one of us had been whipped before we knew what hit us. Dad wasn't very big in stature, but he had a huge spirit. He didn't have any patients with us kids at all or anyone else as that goes. Daddy had a very loud high pitched voice that got louder the more excited he got. His hair was almost black and wore it slicked back with lots of hair oil. His eyes were blue and very fair skinned, so burned easily in the sun. Momma was a tiny little blond woman with bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile. She seemed like one of us kids, she was very quiet and was afraid of daddy as much as we all were. I don't remember her ever trying to lay a hand on us. I think she felt sorry for us because dad was so mean to everyone. It seemed like he just loved to jerk off that belt of his and lay in on one of us kids.

Momma was an orphan raised by her brother who also raised all the rest of their brothers and sisters. He died of TB not long after mom and dad got married. Grandpa lived with us at that time. He had what they called the old timers affliction and couldn't remember a thing past the time dad was only ten years old. Grandpa could sure swing his ole walking cane at us kids. We got pretty good at keeping out of his way. Grandpa was short like dad and had blue eyes and was bald on top of his head. He suffered from severely swollen rheumatoid arthritic knees and could barely walk and was always moaning in pain. He would sit for hours rubbing his knees with rubbing alcohol and saying his 'Hail Marys.' Grandpa was a Catholic, and Grandma was a Protestant. Grandma died when I was just a baby, so I never got to know her.

The ole saying was that grandma was a witch and grandpa left her when my dad was just a boy of about ten years old. Grandpa on my dad's side came from the old country, Poland. He brought his sawmill business over and was making a lot of money, or so they said he did. When the depression hit his bank, grandpa became bankrupt and lost all his money. We were told that was when he lost his mind. Some say he just had old timers affliction, and some say grandma put a spell on him. I thought he was just a mean ole man that went around hitting us kids over the head with his walking cane. I remember seeing my great grandma, and grandpa one time that we stopped by on the way out to California when I was just barely three years old. They spoke in German so we couldn't understand anything that they had said. I remember my great aunt was standing beside the big ole wood stove in the living room. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, my aunt was so beautiful. She had a long white dress on, and her hair was done up on top of her head in a bun like do. I remember her holding out her arms to me and giving me a gentle, loving hug. We didn't stay very long, my dad was in a hurry to get to California and grandpa wasn't feeling very good. So we said our goodbyes, and we all piled into the old car and left, and we never saw them again.

I don't remember too much about that trip, but I do remember when the twins were born. Me, my big brother Joe who was three years older than me, mom and dad, and grandpa all lived in a little tiny trailer on a ranch. I remember the trip to the hospital after the twins were born, and dad stopping on the way and buying a fifty-pound bag of oranges. He told us that we each got our own baby, momma had a boy and a girl. They named them Donald and Donna. That's all I remember about that trip to California I don't even remember the trip back to Arkansas.

My next clearest memories are of the place where we lived when baby Gena was born. It was called Harold's Corner, way back in the sticks of Arkansas. We lived about two miles off the main highway down a little dirt road that had ruts so deep you couldn't get a car through it at winter time. There was a creek on one side and honeysuckle on the other. All the houses looked alike, just old planks you could see through. We used old newspaper to cover the walls to keep out the wind and cold. They were all built on stilts high enough to keep out the snow and flood waters, and were all the same color, a kind of weather-worn gray. Once in awhile you'd see one white-washed, I thought it looked a little out of place.

The house had two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen, there was no running water or toilet. Out in the back yard, there was a hand pump where we would get our water for everything. In the field behind the house, there was an old out-house. It looked as if it would fall over in a big wind and the barn stood tall with just a slight lean to the south. We inherited two old mules named Blue and Kate. I can still hear daddy now yelling out in the cotton fields whoa Blue, whoa Kate. I'd stand and watch him while holding on for dear life to the plows that were hooked up to the two old mules. Daddy was a sharecropper I think everyone was, back in the day. Sharecroppers worked another person's land, and at the end of the harvest whatever profit was made had to be split with the owner.

It all depended on the weather if you did well or went bust. In a good year, I remember my dad making over three hundred dollars and boy we thought we were rich, everyone got new shoes.

The house was furnished with two cast iron stoves one for warming in the living room and one for cooking in the kitchen. That's where I learned to cook, today it is my passion. Why, when I was just six years old I could throw some wood in the old wood stove and cook a meal for seven people. I never will forget first try at chocolate fudge, it was so runny you could drink it, and my dad ate the whole mess. He said that it was the best fudge he'd ever had. There was a bed in each room and boxes for sitting and storing our clothes. We had an old wooden rocker in the living room that was saved for grandpa.

Life was hard for everyone back then, they all had just enough to get by. If they didn't, they would just move in with a relative. We all helped each other, and every Sunday we would all get together and have a big dinner. My aunts would bring their dishes, and we'd always have either a big fish fry or fried chicken, not no store bought chicken either. The men would go out in the yard, and see who was the best at chasing down a chicken and ringing its head off. I never will forget watching how those chickens flopped around the yard with no heads. While the women cooked and the kids played, the men would sit around the fire telling their big tales and seeing who could spit the farthest hitting the old wood stove. Everybody back then either dipped or chewed, even the kids. I'll never forget the first time I took a dip of snuff. It wasn't to bad at first, but after a few minutes, I started feeling a little funny. I spent the next few days just running outside and upchucking. Well, I don't ever remember being so sick I never took a dip of snuff again. Us kids never got bored there was always something to do. Summertime was the best, we played down at the creek most of the time and swinging on the grape vines that grew in all the trees along the banks. We could swing clear across the creek on the grape vines, and we also smoked'em, it felt like our lungs were on fire. We also played jump the board, hide-in-seek and liked sliding down the hills in a cardboard box on the dry grass. We always lived in the hill country, so there were lots of things to see and do. We ate wild berries and plums and drank water from the many natural springs. I remember one time a big snow storm came, and the snow was right up to our porch. Getting to the outhouse was a real chore. It wasn't to bad till it rained on the snow, and then it formed a sheet of ice, and by the time you got there, you didn't have to go anymore. I didn't like winter time because I was always cold. We were so poor we didn't have enough bedding or the right clothes for that kind of weather. I remember walking down that little dirt road in the wintertime with nothing on but a cotton dress made out of flour sacks and an old thin coat that never fit, and shoes with holes in the bottom of the soles. My feet and hands were so numb by the time we got to school, I couldn't feel a thing. All the kids fought to see who could get the closest to a big old pot belly stove that stood in the middle of the room. The only thing I liked about the winters was the icecream made out of snow. We'd look for the cleanest snow we could find, and momma would put some milk, sugar, and vanilla in it, and then we could drink it down like a milkshake, boy was it good. Winter was hard that year, I never was so glad to see spring come, by that time baby Gena was walking. It seems strange I can remember her first steps, and I can't remember my own kid's first steps. We were all in the kitchen and Momma was on one side of the room and daddy on the other. Momma let go of Gena while the rest of us cheered her on as she wobbled over to dad. Gena was so beautiful her hair was snow white and so curly you couldn't tell which end was the top or bottom. I remember the house parties and family get-together we used to have every weekend. We all gather around, while the women would cook, and the men would tell stories. Sometimes they would get the old fiddles and guitars out and play some of the best music I'd ever heard. That's where I learned to dance, boy we'd really get the house to jumping. There were also times they would throw a night party and put us kids to bed then they would all dance with each other, boy did we see some goings-on. Every once in awhile someone would sneak a kiss from someone else's wife. They all tried to sneak a kiss from mom. She was the cutest of all the sister-in-laws. Mom was a little tiny blond with the pretest blue eyes you've ever seen, and boy, she could dance. There was always something for us kids to do living in the country. I don't ever remember being bored, why, I hadn't even heard of the word board. We didn't have all the things that kids have today TV's, computers, a Nintendo, a PlayStation, etc., all we had was an old radio that we'd all sit around every night and listen to our favorite programs. They were like the soaps we have on TV today. Nighttime was pretty bad the bugs were so awful we had to sleep under a net if we were lucky enough to have one. I remember one night we all stayed all night at Uncle Floyd and Aunt Edith's. Gena was just a baby and woke up during the night crying, momma didn't get up and check on her and then she finally went back to sleep. Back in them days you just let the baby cry it out. If you started getting up during the night with them and picking them up every time they cried, you'd spoil em. When we all got up that morning, we heard Momma let out a blood-curdling scream. We all ran in to see what was wrong she was holding the baby, and it looked as if something had been eating the skin on top of her head. Daddy said it must have been a big ole rat he'd never heard of a mouse doing something like that. From then on, when the baby cried momma got up to see about her. Well, when springtime came that year, dad started talking about going back to California. He had made the trip when we were just babies and had always wanted to go back. Back to where the milk and honey flowed. Why it never rained in California, the sun was always shin'n, and there was always lots of work. We had an old truck just like the one they had in the movie THE GRAPES OF WRATH. Daddy started working on the truck getting it ready for our trip to California. We had an old iron bed in the back with just enough room for all of us kids to sit on the floor around it. Dad also put a canvass on top of the back of the truck. My mom's niece and her husband wanted to go with us, so we made room for them in the back too. It took us 3 days and nights to make the 2000 mile trip. We stopped on the side of the road so that mom could cook for us on an old butane stove. She could create a beautiful meal out of anything, even along the side of the road.

I remember the smell of each state, they each had their own smell. I think the desert in Arizona was my favorite, it also was the most beautiful. The wildflowers on the cactus smelled like a fine perfume.

The old truck stopped with a lurch that sent us kids flying across the floor. I heard my daddy yelling all excited like I'd never heard him before. We all jumped out the back and stood on the top of the mountain looking down to the valley. I couldn't believe my eyes, there they were, groves, and groves of the most beautiful trees I'd ever laid eyes on. Dark green emeralds growing in perfect rows laden with the most beautiful oranges I'd ever seen in my life. We're here he bellowed from the top of his lungs. California isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? I took in a deep breath of fresh air it even smelled good. Seems like I could just smell them oranges all the way up on this mountain. Life was going to be good now I just knew it.

Well, we went on down to the valley and settled in on the bank of a little creek just between two little towns called Pixley and Tipton. Daddy took the old tarp off the back of the truck and made us a home in the shape of a tent.

We'd traveled right out of the Orange Groves and settled in the Cotton Country. Just down the way about a mile or so, there was a little grocery store and a few old houses, and then a labor camp which would later become our home. Momma and Daddy went down right away to the welfare department and got us on assistance. When they returned home, they had with them all kinds of stuff, fresh fruit, powdered eggs, canned meat and powdered milk. Boy, were we in heaven we never had it so good back in Arkansas, they didn't have welfare. Us kids thought we were rich now. We even had running water and didn't have to go out to pump any more water. There was a house just up the hill from the creek with a pipe in the ground that had a knob on it that you could turn, and water would just come pouring out, that was the darnedest thing I ever saw. I loved living on the little creek it kind of reminded me of Harold's corner. At one side it had a real tall bank with dried grass. Us kids would get some boxes and slide down those banks going lickety-split, no wonder we didn't get hurt real bad. Momma and Daddy just turned us loose. We were free to go and do anything we wanted to, what a time we had exploring the countryside.

Well, Tootie and Christine didn't like California as much as they thought they would of. So not long after we got there they bought them an old beat-up car and headed back to Arkansas.

We didn't live on the creek too long. In fact, I don't remember living in one place a whole year until I was 12 years old. We moved into the farm labor camp when I was 8 years old. We had a real nice house with running water and a gas stove to cook on and a real table and chairs. We had to share the restrooms with the other people who lived in the camp, but I didn't mind. We had real toilets that you could pull on a handle, and everything would just go right down into the ground. It even had showers. I'd never had a shower before, and the first time I took one it nearly scared me to death. I turned on the hot water first, and the steam started to build up. The water was too hot, and I could not reach the cold water. I tried to get out of the restroom, but couldn't open the door, I was too short and couldn't reach the handle. That was my first full blown panic attack. The steam was getting so thick I was barely able to breathe. I pounded on the door and screamed at the top of my lungs I just knew I was going to die. Then the door opened, and a little old Mexican lady was standing there, she pulled me out of there into the air, so I was able to breathe again. I've never been so scared in my life.