Dear Roger:For What It Was Worth, I Was Here

https://www.createspace.com/3859423    My book.
I'm not a very outgoing person. I tend to stand back and watch things happen, observe goings on, pay attention to what is said, listen to the subtext and just try to be prepared to duck and dodge when things go wrong. I never sought fame or even fortune, never wanted to be the top dog in anything. I just wanted to do my thing and be happy. It would have been nice to have been loved the way my grandparents loved each other, but I am not a very lovable person. I am stand-offish and cold and I live a lot in my own head. Its a big part of the reason that when my sisters best friend killed herself, that my sis called me for an explanation, she knew of all the people around, I would have an understanding of why she did it, because I have lived with the reasons to do it for years, but I have the reasons not to nagging me for cookies or Koolaid and reminding me I am needed, so I keep plugging along.
My writing is my solace, my only outlet and my driving force. I write every damn day and it burns out of me like a fire from a volcano some days. Its not earth-shattering, life changing, great, philosophical literature, but its whats in my head and it has got to come out or it makes me crazy(er). I didn't write for years and years when I was living in darkness, mainly because I was so busy surviving and ducking and dodging, I just didn't have the time or the energy. I had lost my muse and my will.
It came back a couple of years ago, in fits and starts, at first with a blog where I started railing against the misery I had allowed myself to fall into, and then low and behold my true muse found me again and he was a bit pissed to have been neglected for so long.
My muse is a visual creature and he has a pretty consistent appearance and persona that drives me and inspires me to write.I have pictures that help remind me of the face of my muse when he wanders off and the inspiration leaves for a bit, and those help, but I have found that I understand why most people find writers to be a bit insane, because I know I am.
I wander around with bits of scrap paper stuffed in my pockets with odd notes on them, my computer desktop is a disaster area of pictures of random people and things that have inspired stories as well as bits and pieces of starts of new story ideas. My son has fits when he looks at it because it looks like I imagine my desk would look if I were sitting with pen and paper again.
My son knows that I write a wide variety of things, from short stories that have people writing me to tell me that I," Ripped their hearts out and left them sobbing," to rollicking, awkward sex filled humorous, tales that my son wont even hazard to try and read, to flat out gay erotica that has prompted more than a couple gay men to write me and offer praise at a," Job well done"(pun fully intended), I kill people in my stories, beat them up, give them hardship, leave them hurting, make them poor and flawed and give them packs of kids that wreck havoc on their lives, in other words, I write what I know, (except for the gay erotica, I have no idea where the hell that comes from, my muse is a bit of a odd ball), I don't write graphic sex, but I get the point across without smacking you in the face with it, and I write like I talk, Texan/Southern. 
People have commented on my writing style, calling it,"Reality writing for Southern speak", but I don't know if I would go that far. I use colloquialisms and I use slang, and I chop the ends off words. Like my characters economic status, their way of speaking reflects where they are and where they come from;me.
I self-published a short story of mine that has never seen the light of day anywhere else. It was written over a few days and I sat on it for quite a while because it was so damn dark, and until my muse would cooperate and lighten it up, I just wasn't happy with it.
I don't know if it will do any good or if many people will buy or read it, Its sold 7 copies as of the writing of this blog, but its something tangible of what I was and what I did. My next novel is almost done with editing and its my pride and joy because its months and months of work that took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to come to life. I don't have an editor or an agent or anyone other than a long-suffering friend who pre-reads and looks for glaring mistakes and then reassures me I am not out of my mind to trying.
My dedication page is about the only thing I am sure of so far, and its to the men who gave me my light so my muse found his way home ,so that when I am gone there will be something that even if its half-assed with grammar to have my English teacher spinning in her grave, that says:I was here, I lived my dream even if it was small, it meant the world to me.

Stevie Rae's Commentary On The 100 Monkeys

 This is my 8 year old daughters feelings about the 100 Monkeys and her experiences at the concert that she attended at the Wonder ballroom this last year. She wanted to apologize for her handwriting, this was for a school assignment she rushed through so she could get her monkey out of jail,(long story, but her Jackson spends a lot of time in jail on school days), so in her words, you have how she feels about things:

Dear Roger: A Low High

What a month! Im not going to say a word about wondering if anything else is looming, after all, we all know that just incites the greater being to wind up on me again, or actually never on ME directly for some reason, that I would be fine with, he delights in picking on those I hold near and dear.
Right now he seems to be focusing on my sister. Tomorrow she is headed into Dallas Presbyterian hospital to meet with her team of doctors to fight the battle yet again. (To my anonymous commentator, Thank you for your kind comments last night, it was like a pat on the shoulder that was really needed), they are going to be doing a bunch of tests to find out how big and bad the mass is, and if it is all wound up into her gut and intestine. I wish it was me instead of her. I was supposed to have a biopsy of a mass two years ago and I chose to ignore it because I believe that no news is good news. I'm still walking around. I pretty much spit in his eye and dare him to take me out and I'm still walking around. I'm skinny as a crackhead and pale as a ghost, but I get by. She takes care of herself, she does what she is supposed to do and this is what she gets in return? She is a good person and I'm obstinate and misanthropic, prone to fits of pique and temperamental, devoted to my kids and a very limited amount of people that pretty much are found on the confines of my Facebook page or twitter feed. My sis has friends, shes got a business and all kinds of reasons to be the lucky one, but she cant seem to catch a damn break.
Yesterday should have been so happy for me because I finally took the step and published my first book. Its not one of my major stories, its actually a short story I wrote after hearing an interview and getting a case of the what if the greater being was asleep at the switch and not watching over drunks and fools for a moment? I have a very dark imagination at times.  I sat down and wrote the story out and then let it sit in a file on my desk top for a few months. I played with it from time to time, adding to it and changing things to suit what I thought would work best and then I made myself stop tinkering with it. I let a friend pre-read it to see what she thought and to my shock, she loved it best of all my stories and encouraged me to publish it so I decided to make it may sacrificial lamb of sorts. I threw it out into the water to let the sharks taste it, and if they eat it, then I will throw my pride and joy in next.
I am editing one of my major stories for publication. Its one that is near and dear to my heart and I wrote my heart and soul into it, so I have been really reticent about putting into the common market, but now, I think its time because I have hope that maybe if the folks who gave me the nerve to finally write it, see what they inspired.I am even putting a special dedication page dedicating my most prized work to the 100 Monkeys, Jackson, Jerad, Ben G. Ben J. Larry and especially Spencer Bell for providing the light and hope in the darkness.
 Working on it and trying to get all my grammar fubars has been a trial and a bit frustrating, but its also good for keeping me distracted from all the stress of what is going on around me that I cant fix.
That is the entire crux of my problem, I am a fixer. I was an Emt because I wanted to save people when they needed help and were hurt. I was a firefighter because I wanted to save peoples homes and lives. I became a cop because I wanted to save people and make the world a better place. I studied law and mediation so I could help people, but now? Now I just have to sit here, sit on my hands and watch and the world blows up around me and things fall apart and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Its probably the most frustrating place to be in the entire world.
As my book gets promoted tomorrow on Facebook and Amazon, I will be celebrating finally living my dream, and hoping that as my dream comes to life, I am not going to have to watch everyone else's die, because I would gladly trade places.

Dear Roger: Shock the Monkey

This past week was the week from fucking hell. Pardon the crass language, but let me tell you what, they say that swearing supposedly reduces stress and if that is the case, then I should throw in an expletive about every other word to keep things almost level.
Where do I start? Should I begin with where I turned 43? Missed my 25th high school reunion that I really wanted to attend because my ex cost us soo damn much money I really just could not pull together that amount of cash for that level of plane ticket.
Or perhaps I should mention the fact it rained for almost 2 weeks straight up until yesterday, and then, when it finally clears up, I have a rotten cold from hell, complete with fever and headache and sick stomach and the works? Yeah...that was great, laying inside on the couch feeling like my head was going to explode every time the sun shone through the blinds while the kids looked sad that it was yet another day they missed being out in a park somewhere.
Maybe its because yet another boss has been fired and I am going to have to deal with yet another management change where I not only work, but where I live. I had grown to like my last boss, so I not only lost a decent boss, I lost another friend with no rhyme or reason to it and now I have to try and figure out what the hell the new person is going to be like and what their motivations are. Yeah...good times.
Or shall we consider the fact that some scrote keeps raping my bank account? Thats a real fun one. They managed to get the account and routing information and they hit it pretty good, not that there is ever a lot of money in there, but its all we have, so to have some scumbag taking it and forcing me to have to spend time on the phone with the bank sorting it all out and changing bank account information is not a lot of fun for me. Speaking of scumbags and money, the ex still just cannot seem to come up with a dime for the kids or any of the money he owes me, so of course that makes life even more fun and he has the audacity to complain that I turned his daughter against him. I told him that he did that himself, and when I asked her what she felt about the matter, she said,"Hes never been around. He doesn't call me, he didn't get me anything for my birthday and he always lies to us. Hes mean. I don't like Ed every much." Harsh, but shes 8 and she tends to speak her true mind and say what she is thinking.
More kid related fun is trying to get the eldest to understand that his nerd game is not the most important thing in the world and he needs to be doing his schoolwork. The constant having to remind him to get off the damn game and do his work was over the top this past week and the bickering was fierce so I just put parental controls in place that let me shut the damn thing down completely and that is what I do. I need a nearly 6ft tall nerdraging walking hormone pissed off at me to add to the fun.
Lets then add in the fact that the little band I love so much lost the rest of their damn minds. They seem to be operating under the "Lets totally self-destruct and go out in the most memorable way possible" method of rock star excess, so they changed the name of the band to "Pink Fuzzy Animals" which immediately brought to the mind of most fans over the age of 15, "Furries" and no one I know wants to be anywhere near associated with that little bit of strangeness, but most of us just think that they are trying to see how far they can push the fans before we say,"Yeah, nooo....im out" I reached that point. I refused and dug in my heels and called "Bullshit Shenanigans" and while I love the music and the kids and I will support the hell out of their other band, I wont go within a mile of that mess, and my new background is evidence of that protest.
Of course when you dare to protest something that involves youngsters though, you get controversy because they expect everyone to be good little sheeple and fall into lockstep and just lap it up, and like chickens when there is one with an odd spot on it, the rest of the flock will try to attack and peck you to death for being different. I caught some crap for taking a stand and saying ,"Nope, not gonna take it." But I have found a growing group of folk who are starting to say the same. We love the music, love the kids, we love our memories and we will live in them until the boys find the minds they lost somewhere along the way.
But you know, none of this shit matters one iota compared to the biggest news that has had me stressed out and worried and full of dread. I am one of those frustrating people that will tell you that there is nothing you have that I want or need, nothing you can take from me because I have nothing. Im poor and I make no bones about it. I am buried in student loan debt, I have a dead beat ex and 4 kids I support on a shoestring, and I walked away from everything to escape my ex so I dont even have a car or retirement of anything. If someone sues me, they just would end up frustrated and in debt themselves. I dont care about anything except...my people, my little flock of family, friends and others that I live and die for. My children are first among them, my sister is next. My sis has been through a hell of a lot, including facing breast cancer 3 times. She wants to live. She has a great life with a husband who loves her and kids who love her and the storybook family. She is my partner in crime and when we get to see each other, its like my best friend in the whole world is by my side.
My sis called me the day before my birthday to tell me that she has a mass in her uterus, its looking like its infiltrated into her gut. Shes going to have surgery around the first of the month. For the first time since she started dealing with all the cancer bullshit, my sis sounded rattled.
I dont think there are enough cuss words to take away this kind of stress.

Dear Roger:Plausible Deniability

Today I turned 29 for the 14th time. Or in common folk speak, 43. All in all it was a pretty damn good day. It rained on me and I spent the day roaming all over the downtown area with my friend Chelsea. I got a replacement copy of my favorite book to go along with a few others, I got a vintage leather jacket that looks pretty damn good and that actually has pockets I can stick my frozen hands in, and I roamed through a sex shop and had a fit of the giggles when I saw plasti-peckers that made me step back and consider the fact that there can be too much of a good thing.
We ate lunch at a really nice place and for once I didn't get sick! Watched some doofy guy in flip flops fall on his ass and laughed like a mean heifer that I am, and then i stared inappropriately long at the butts of all the cute guys wandering around. I got recognized by some random chick for my brief acting stint on Portlandia and that actually made my damn day!
My phone was going crazy all day long with the birthday wishes from my kith and kin and friends from back home and it made me smile more than I have smiled in a long time. My kids behaved themselves and I came home to a clean house and no fighting for once.
I didn't come home to a cute lil fella duct taped and waiting for me on my bed, but I did come home to a clean, freshly made bed in a clean house that I didn't have to clean, so I guess its a halfway win.
I heard from the buzzsaw, and of course he had forgotten, but it wasn't a shock. The ex texted to tell me I" looked old as shit" and that's fine, I expected as much from him, but its all good.
The thing is, I may be lonely. I may not have gotten a birthday hug or kiss from a guy, and I may have bought my own birthday presents, but I am here. I am alive . I have slide into 43 like a dinged up and rattling old hot rod that has a couple of gears slipping, but I damn sure made it and I still am more than capable of spinning the tires and outrunning most of the new crap on the streets.
I will reread my favorite book and geek out to it, happy and content, feeling loved from all my friends that  took a minute or two from their day to make mine brighter and make me feel like someone knows I am here and alive, it really means a lot to me. Thank you all. Hope to see you for the 15th time.
I also hope to be a published author this time next year. I have finally, definitively, begun the steps to get there as of today. Its a scary and bumpy ride and I am sure to be freaking out most of the way, but knowing I am not really alone has really helped to encourage me to finally step out there.

Dear Roger:Owning My Nerdiness

My son scoffs at me, he considers me hopelessly socially inept, introverted to the point of misanthropy,(true), lacking in a fashion sense,(debatable), and overly passionate and devoted to the most unlikely and odd of pursuits. I embarrass him, and frankly there are times I am a bit embarrassing to myself, but I am a recluse so its not like I am in public often enough to endure the stares and questions very often.
Thirty years ago I was given a book that changed my life. Its a book that I can quote the beginning line of from memory. I've had the faces of the characters in my mind for years and I have read every single book of the author, looking for clues and tie ins to the story. In one week, he will be publishing another part of the series and that has made an otherwise crappy week about a million times better for me. My only regret is that I really wish I had someone to sit in a coffee shop with and rant about the book for hours on end, but I don't. I will buy it alone, read it alone, and then sit and contemplate its ramifications for the characters on my own.
Finding someone to "geek out" with would be so nice, but I'm used to just reveling in my little pleasures on my own at this point. Ill try talking to my son about it, but like he does with most of my passions, he will listen politely for a few minutes and then he will fidget, roll his eyes and then find some reason to be elsewhere. He doesn't understand the excitement over a book.
My youngest son sort of gets it, but hes too young to really discuss the nuances of all the plot twists and tie ins with. I am going to buy him the first book and let him start the series, but I don't know if hes even old enough to grasp the whole journey. I hope someday he will and then much like me, he will look back with fondness and remember the person who gave him that first book and think about how wonderful of a journey they were set upon.
My daughter fuels my passion and devotion to the music I follow, and its her love and devotion to that little band that drives me. We mourned the break up and remained stalwart in our belief that there was something,"Not right" in what we were being fed and we refused to believe that the smiling little fella was the bad guy. We were right and we have joyfully watched him slowly re-emerge along with his partner in crime over the past few days and there is hope on the horizon that music might live again. My daughter even heard from Jerad, and her shrieks of happiness brought me running, thinking that something bad had happened. She was ecstatic, and quickly responded and watches each day to see if her Jackson will ever talk to her again, but that fact that he is talking again, to her is reason to celebrate and geek out.
We wear the t-shirts, the hoodies, the bracelets, we speak the language, we unabashedly proclaim our love of them and the side bands and we promote them, even when our hearts are aching from the break up. When people look at us with a blank stare when we try to explain to them who they were or where they might have heard of them, we out ourselves as views of a movie that gets us teased and categorized with overly hormonal tweens or mid-life crisis, sexually deprived housewives in need of a hobby,(im no housewife), but when that tie in works and we see the lights of recognition flicker on in the eyes of the person we are talking to, we then break out the music on the Iphone.
Enthusiasm...daughter has it in spades. I do to in the right setting. I can talk about the books I love with a passion that leaves my voice shaking and that brings tears to my eyes. Maybe its because Stephen King inspired me to write. Hes someone who, in spite of whatever political leanings he may have,(don't know, don't care, know he tends to piss people off), all those years ago, he created a world that pulled me in and inspired me. He has always inspired me because he has struggled and come from nothing and he made it. He also lets the dark side roam and it serves him well. I wish I had his nerve because I look at the things I write and I long to set them free in better places than they languish, and my eldest son harangues me daily about,"Doing something" with them, but I lack his nerve, but his nerve is what fired me years and years ago. I didn't write for such a very long time and then two years ago that odd little band lit the fire in me again and almost 480thousand words later, I have over 10 novel length stories that have been set free.
Things have been changing very rapidly this past week, and in a couple of days I turn 43, and shortly after that, "The Wind Through The Keyhole" comes out. Maybe its time I start trying to get serious about turning my hobby into something.

Challenge Accepted- For One Brief Shining Moment, Lives Were Saved

Her hero's headband at her last show

Her first show 

There are many of you who know my story, and there are many of you who dont. I dont talk about it as much as I used to because for almost 2 years now, we have been moving forward, but there was a time I expected to die in a pretty brutal way or I expected to have to kill someone to keep my children safe and happy. Its a horrible place to be. I lived in darkness and misery for a long time and it changed who I am as a person, and my struggles still go on, but my life and the lives of my children were changed soo vastly a couple of years ago by the strangest of things, in fact, if you really know me, it would have left you scratching your head wondering just what the hell had happened to finally make me find the strength to get up and say,"Im not going to wait to die, or to keep taking it, we are going! I am re-posting my contribution to a charitable fundraiser that explains some of the situation, but the rest of the story... well, that involves 100 Monkeys and an odd little sorta Texan named Jackson Rathbone that has somehow convinced my daughter that he hung the moon and lit the stars.
Almost Two Years Ago...

Three mismatched duffels, one red, one camouflage that used to carry my parents camping equipment, and one blue that was actually supposed to be a laundry bag. My carry on is a Makita tool bag that I rescued from the back of the closet because it was sturdy and fairly clean and would hopefully keep my meager electronics safe and useable. They were nothing remarkable, much like what they contained, the sum contents of my 41 years of life on this earth, my clothes, my boots, some documents proving achievement of a college degree at a second rate college, pictures of my children and family, memorabilia of my glory days, and a few books and my electronic lifeline and leashes. The rest of what most people consider their identity, had been signed over to my ex-husband just a few hours earlier as part of a deal we had hashed out that was to allow me and my eldest son and youngest daughter to escape the hell that had been life in Flagstaff over the last 10 years.
The arguments had been epic, loud and close to bloody and ashamedly, I tried to incite him to violence because I needed to prove to myself that the monster I knew lurked in him was either dead or hiding in fear of going back to prison. Much to my surprise he hadn’t risen to the bait, though I had seen the familiar signs of his desire to inflict on me the lessons in pain that he had previously taught me for such disobediences. Prison and time had worn him down, and my jibes and challenges to his abilities to manage the demands of running a household, went unanswered. He claims he could do it, and hopefully he can, but doubts remain, he has never, “manned up” in the past and the thought of my younger sons being left to their own devices while he either naps of stares at personal ads on Craigslist, leaves me sick with fear, but I have to go, and he has, “Rights”.
My oldest son is weary of the entire situation. He has been shuffled between grandparents, aunt, home and now we are moving to Portland in the hope of establishing a foothold in a new land and building a new life while he is still young enough to enjoy it, but all he wants is some stability, a room to himself, some good acne medication, reliable internet and driving lessons, for me to finally get over the anger and the rage. He is a very easy going kid for a former punching bag. He has forgiven him, and hell, he even jokes with him and shares music and jokes with him about girls, but that’s something I cannot do. That day is forever imprinted in my mind and when I look at him, I see that day when he was being beaten and punched in front of me and I did nothing. Though no, “Long Term” physical damage was done, and my ex was arrested and supposedly, “did his time”, there is time still being served, right here, in my mind, and until my sentence is up, and my son has the life he deserves, the sentence will continue to run.
The decision to leave was made a long time ago, but the ability to enact the plan always met one snag or another; lack of funds, no place to go, lack of understanding of the rights that were afforded by the child custody decree, fear of inciting him to violence beyond what he had been capable of before when he realized that it was being considered. As a former law enforcement officer and with a degree in Criminal Justice, I knew the stats and the risks that came with making the final break, so when the time came, it had to be decisive and sudden, so that he would not have time to contemplate all the implications, there would be no going back, no changing of the mind, no hesitation, it had to be something that was done with finality and with no room for negotiation, but as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and men.
I should have never been one of the statistics. I was never seen as the stereotypical ‘battered woman”. My father may have been a Veteran with a case of PTSD so bad that it made the stuff seen on tv look like Saturday morning cartoon fare, but he was mostly just a drunk that thrived on emotionally abusing me, he never laid a hand on me or my mom. My mom was a manic depressive that seemed stuck forever in the “Depressive” end of things, so we lived in squalor and it was a relief to finally escape when I turned 18 and left for college.
My life was always an adventure with bad men, and I seemed to gravitate towards the ones that thrived on inflicting pain, perhaps it was that was the masochist in me or some deeply repressed death wish, but who the hell knew, but by the time I met my final ex, I had scars of many sorts and I should have known my now ex-husband was trouble walking. He was everything that women are warned about, a biker, never been in a long relationship, no stability, and he had a record. But I was a cop and I guess I thought I could “fix him”? I was cocky, arrogant and figured that I had achieved everything else I had set out to do with my career and education, fixing a problem man should be no big deal.
He started off by throwing a plate against a wall one night when dinner wasn’t to his liking. Then it escalated to shoves, punching walls, insults, and emotional blackmail. I should add that by this time we had a child in common, a little boy that was born with a genetic disability that created a huge amount of stress upon me and that had also impacted my health a significant amount. I almost died having him, and it took months to recover, months that I didn’t have because I was expected to be providing for the family as well as keeping house. He became angrier and more stressed and the amount of tension in the house grew. The son I had from a previous relationship learned how to live like he was a shadow, trying to never make noise or get in his way. My ex lived in his recliner in the living room, watching tv and yelling at anyone who disturbed him. He was forceful and cruel and in spite of everything we ended up pregnant again. I told him I wanted to leave and he took a .357 magnum pistol and first put it to his head and said, “I am just going to shoot myself if you leave me! Will you do that to our kids?” I was so terrified because my sons were right there, and then he pointed the gun at us and he said, “Maybe I should just shoot all of us?” I begged him to stop and he slammed the butt of the pistol into the wall and walked down the hall and left. I didn’t call the cops I didn’t call until the time he took a straight razor to me. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me into a dresser and held me with my toes barely touching the floor as he told me how he wanted to slit my throat, and take a picture of it and send it to all my friends after he dumped my body down a well on the Rez. When my kids started crying he let me go and I escaped. I called the police and he was arrested. He was given probation, but while he was in jail I divorced him even though we had 3 kids in common by this point as well as my son by a previous relationship.
When he was released he came back. We lived 10 miles from town in the country where it took the sheriff’s department 19 minutes to respond when I called. I endured the next few years, living in the hell thinking that I had no hope. His drug habit had increased to the point that we were always broke financially and I began baiting him in the hope he would leave to just chase his drug habit. It backfired on me and He just got more mean and angry at me, and my eldest son decided to step in and try to divert some of the abuse and my ex, who was a 6ft tall, 290lb biker beat my then 12 year old son, who barely stood 5ft tall and weighed maybe 130, in the front yard like he was a dog. It was then that I decided I was going to kill my exhusband.
I knew I could. I am an ex cop and criminalist and I knew I could probably even get away with it, but after being let down by the legal system in Arizona so many times, I just didn’t give a damn anymore. He was hurting my kids and I was done. I made my plans, wrote up a will and contacted a friend in Portland telling her that I was going to be giving her guardianship of my kids, so she was going to be getting a packet of papers with all their info as well as my financial records and such, but she should expect to have to come and get them pretty soon. Lucky for me, my friend is a pretty damn nosy and persistent person. She asked what was going on. She called me, emailed me and harassed me until I told her. The she gathered up everything and spent a few hours tracking down my exhusbands probation officer and she told him, “Unless you want to be short a probationer, you better get him quick, I know her and she is not messing around.” By 0900 on October 1st of 2007 my exhusband was back in jail and I was talking to investigators.
It was terrifying. I thought I was going to jail or that I was going to lose my kids, but for once the system sort of worked and he actually had to sort of answer for what he did. He got 20months in prison. I used that time to get my act together and to try and figure out what to hell to do with our lives. We couldn’t stay where we were, I wasn’t going to end up back in the same situation because I knew this time someone would die. I was worn out physically and mentally and I just didn’t know where to turn.. A black depression ate me up for quite a while and my kids and I struggled to even have enough to eat, and to get though my bout of H1N1 and a winter with 12 feet of snow. As time approached for him to get out, we realized we had to make a decision, and it was my small daughter’s love of a funky little rock band that finally gave us the strength to go.
I tell folks that we were drug to Portland by a pack of ragtag monkeys, but the truth of the matter is, I had promised my daughter we would see the 100 Monkeys in concert some day because they had been our sunshine in the dark times. Our happy when all was sad and they meant a lot to us. So we saved up our nickels and dimes, sold anything we had of value, and raised enough money to buy tickets to a show they were putting on in Portland, OR and then Amtrak tickets. We knew it was going to be a rough departure for us, the judge in our case had said that even though he had been in prison for,’Aggravated Assault with a Deadly Weapon per Domestic x’2 and Aggravated Battery on a child as well as Unlawful Imprisonment with intent to injure”, and a wide variety of other things, he still had “Rights” to his children.
I had to make a deal with the devil to be able to leave to save our lives. I signed away my rights to the house, my van, all possessions in the house and I gave him temporary custody of our two sons because the judge said if I took them out of state without his permission he would, “Throw my ass in jail”. I was hoping that once we got settled in out of state and got established, I would be able to seek full custody of the boys and get them out of there, but I was able to get him to agree to let me take my daughter without any problems because she was so young.
He was released the end of June, we left the state July 5th, and though it’s always a delicate dance to appease him long distance, I have managed to at least be able to speak to my sons from time to time and they tell me how they are doing. It breaks my heart daily, to be away from them, and I often consider caving in and going back, but then my ex will get on the phone and I am given a reminder of just what a deadly decision that would be to make. My sons are well, I have friends who see them who also work in the schools with them so I know that at least he has not transferred his hate of me onto them, and once I can afford to fight him, he never will.
Life is not easy. We never have enough money, we have no car or many of the other things that people take for granted, and this was the saddest Christmas we have ever known, because we were apart from my two boys, but we are hopeful that the New Year will bring better things for us, we are healing and the weird little band that brought us sunshine in the darkness, still is lighting up our days and making us smile when the pain wants to pull us under.
 Almost Present day...
We got to see that concert in Portland. In fact, we got to see them twice that day and the first show was in a Parking lot at VooDoo Donuts. It was blistering hot, we had walked over 5 miles with less that $2.38 cents to our names and the little bit of money we had we spent to buy Stevie a can of Dr. Pepper and a bottle of water that we split 3 ways, but you know what? It was glorious! When those boys pulled up in that parking lot, I thought it was a bunch of lost college kids. They were kinda scroungy looking and they were friendly and the cars all looked like something wouldn't look twice at on the city streets. Stevie spotted Jackson right away and it was like she had been struck by lightening. This is a child who was quiet, withdrawn and pretty scared of most men. I had keep a hold of her hand to keep her from running over!
We sat on a curb with a bunch of other girls and watched them set up and joke around with everyone. I was just gobsmacked, this was not the "Rockstar" kind of behavior I was expecting at all. They played their songs and my daughter just beamed with joy. It was as if the sun came out all over the place and I felt a load of pain lift off of us. As we were getting ready to walk over to the Doug Fir to watch the regularly scheduled concert, my little girl looked at him with such longing that I knew I had to find my nerve for once and do something I never thought i would be able to do, I walked up to a strange man,with my child and I asked ,(stuttering and shaking and in a whisper almost), if he would take a picture with her. His attention was all on her and his face lit up and he just beamed at her. He knelt down and hugged her and I had never seen such pure and utter love and joy on my child's face as I did in that moment. He spent time being kind to her, talking to her and then when he stood back up, he smiled at me and patted my shoulder. My son gasped in shock because he knew I was already on overload for the day, but it was a good thing. He saw me smile. It was like a high hit us all and pulled us out of all the stress and fear and pain.
The next year was just as good, and when she saw him at the Best Buy table, it was like she was seeing her old friend and when he handed her his sweaty headband at the Wonder ballroom show she was delighted until she realized it was dripping with sweat, and then she had the typical 7 y/o reaction and went,"EWWW!"
 No doubts, never has had any. She loves all the guys and the band and as  survivor of situation where there was fighting and pain, she hates to see it spread to those she loves and she has the pure heart and innocence of a child when it comes to all things like that and I love her attitude about the whole situation which is ,"Its none of my business who is mad at who, I didn't see it or hear it and I don't know the whole story. I know I love them all and they have been good to me. Jackson has always been nice to me, Jerad has always been nice to me. People should be nice to each other, because there aren't enough nice people in the world sometimes."
Shes 8 and she gets it.
Our lives were changed by that little band, maybe its a crazy reason to finally leave your abuser because your kid wants to see a rock concert, but for 10 years I had just taken it when nothing else had done it. I now have all my kids and we are slowly but surely making progress even though its a struggle to support 4 kids on my own, but thanks to some monkey fans, I was able to rescue my boys when the ex lost the house I had to sign over to him, and at least we are together and safe for once.
A band of 100 Monkeys made  differences in a lot of lives, and I, for one, will never forget that.