Growing up in H-ville

That small village, tucked away in the foothills of the Catskills, is where my clan lives. I say clan, because there are a lot of them and they interact a lot. There are alway birthday parties, anniversaries, lots of reasons to get together. Seeing each other so often keeps the bonds pretty strong. It was like growing up in a cocoon. I was nurtured, protected, loved. If you have never spent much time in a place like that, I guess you should imagine one of the old television shows from the 60s where the family is the strong unit. When I say family, I mean children, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, all intertwined and woven together. It seemed like everyone I met was either related or a friend of the family. Family, church, fire department, school, local businesses, friends and relatives were my whole world.

One of the reasons I have to take you back this far, besides making it clear that I'm a country girl at heart, is to explain about motherhood, careers and my future plans - the plans I had back then, I mean. I was taught, directly and indirectly, that the best job you could ever have was to be a mother. The person doing the teaching was my mother. She loved being a mother and appreciated the importance of making it your first priority, because her mother hadn't done such a great job. I didn't understand all of the motivations and reasons at the time, I just new that when I grew up I would be a Mom.

I was a good student and was also taught, by Mom, that I should go to college. Why should you go to college if you're not training for a career, you might ask? You should go for the experience, to see the outside world and learn. There was never much of a discussion about that topic, because I was happy to go. I loved school. I loved learning.

By the time I was old enough to go to college, I was more than ready to leave H-ville. I had been a very good daughter. I hadn't gotten into any trouble. I had obeyed the rules, not like a nun, but like a pretty well-behaved teenager. I was involved in lots of activities: Girl Scouts, band, chorus, the school plays. I remember that I was dating a boy when I was in 9th grade and it was play practice time. His cousin was one of my best friends, and she was dating my boyfriend's best friend, so the four of us used to hang around together. We were all in the play and after play practice, we would go out parking for 30 or 40 minutes. I think this was the first time I deceived my parents.

I don't think I've let on yet, but I'm overly analytical. During those necking sessions, my brain was very busy. I was thinking about how his lips felt, whether I wanted his tongue in my mouth or not and a long list of other things. Why did he want to touch me? Didn't I feel like any other girl? What was the big deal? It was all very educational.

When I was seventeen, I was allowed to go out to the local bars with certain boys that my parents trusted. The drinking age was eighteen in New York and they figured I should learn to handle alcohol while I was still under their wing. One of the trusted boys was David. David always said that the best thing about going to Catholic school was that the moms trusted him! We'd go out to the various taverns around the area. They were few and far between, so it meant a bit of driving, and that was before the "designated driver" idea really caught on. We're all lucky to still be alive.

I remember one night we had driven over to the next town "over the hill". It might have been New Years Eve and I might have already been in college. I forget the exact timing. We had a great time and decided to head home around 2 am or so. When we got outside, we discovered that it was snowing. The roads were covered, so we knew it would be a bit of a tough drive home. We had driven separately, because it wasn't really a date. I followed Dave out of the parking lot and was driving along, doing fine. The road out of town followed the brook and was nice and flat. Then, sort of on autopilot, I turned right to take the road over the hill. Dave went straight ahead. As soon as I started up the hill, my brain kicked in.

"Uh oh. It's pretty slippery," said my brain.

"Oh my gosh. What an idiot I am," I replied. "I never should have gone over the hill."

It was a steep hill. I slipped and slid and fish-tailed for a while and over-compensated right into a ditch. My first thought was "My parents are gonna kill me." I sat in the car, wondering what I should do. It was late and I was pretty tipsy.

I finally got out of the car. I had to do something. Everything was covered in snow. It was dark and peaceful. Lucky for me, I had gotten stuck right in front of somebody's house. It was embarrassing, but at least I wasn't stranded miles from everything.

I walked over to the front door and knocked. A man came to the door in his bathrobe. "I'm sorry to bother you," I said. "Could I use your phone? I'm stuck."

He looked around me and said "You sure are. What are you doing out at this time of night by yourself?" Then, he paused and squinted at me. "Aren't you Dave Buddenhagen's daughter?" he asked.

"Yeah, I am. You know my dad?"

"Of course I do. Come on in. We'll call and see if we can wake him up."

So, we called. We woke him up. He drove over in his big pickup truck. He rescued me.

"Why on earth would you take the road over the hill in this weather?" he asked. "And where's David?"

"I guess I just wasn't thinkin" I said. "Dave went around by the brook."

"Why didn't you go the same way? I can't believe he just let you drive off. I'll have to have a talk with him."

"I was behind him. I should've followed him. I guess I had a little too much to drink. I'm sorry Dad."

"Well, yes, I guess so." he said.

He drove me home. I don't remember anything else. I was embarrassed and relieved. That's how it was in H-ville. I always knew I was safe, protected, and known. Everybody knew me. Everybody knew my parents. I never felt anonymous. It was a great place to grow up, but I couldn't wait to leave.

Think Too Much - While You Still Can!

I know that it is probably unwise by most standards to publish something online that you wish you could someday really publish, but I think I write better with an audience. I'm an extrovert after all! So, here's the first draft of my next (suppressed laughter) book!

This is a story about a woman, well a girl at first, who tried very hard to follow the rules for a long time, got sick and tired of following the rules, broke quite a few, and then ended up pretty much the way her mother hoped she would. If you think that you might like to read a story like that, read on. It’s really about me. I thought about trying to pretend that it was about someone else who I “know really well” or somebody I invented, but the person I know really well is me/myself. So, I’ll tell you my story. I hope you like it. I like telling stories and spend a lot more time by myself these days, so this sort of allows me to talk and tell stories. (It beats talking out loud to myself, don’t you think?) If it gets kind of boring, I'll throw in something racy and rebellious to keep your interest. (That's just me covering myself, so you won't know what's truth and what's fiction.) You should also remember, especially if you know me really well, that I realize that this is just my version of the truth. My husband always says, "There's three sides to every story: my side, your side and the truth." So, this is my side.

Where should I start? Well, every story has to be formed within a context. The context within which my story unfolds is a small town, a village, in New York State. It's a beautiful place. I think it was a wonderful place to grow up. I grew up in H-ville in the 60s and 70s. It has hardly changed since then.

I hope you don’t mind, but I have to start way back at the beginning.

The Enchanted Wood

There was once an enchanted wood in a far away place. It was surrounded by rolling hills and clear streams. Soon, people came, as they always do. They settled the nearby land and started building houses. As the village grew, it spread and approached the enchanted wood. The magical creatures in the forest became very worried.

“They will come and cut down the trees if we don’t do something,” said a Griffin. His fierce eagle’s face and muscular lion’s body were tense and ready to fight.
“We must scare them away!” bellowed a minotaur.
“They will not scare easily,” replied a timid satyr. “If we show ourselves, they might kill us.”
“If we fight, they will fight back,” agreed a wood nymph.
Their voices rose into a loud clamor and rolled through the wood long into the night.

As exhaustion and despair crept over them, a brown elf spoke. “We must go into the wood,” he said.
“We have already talked about that,” they grumbled. “They will just keep coming and drive us further, until there is no forest left.”
“No, you misunderstand. We must go into the wood, inside the trees,” the brownie explained.
“What? Are you crazy? Easy for you to say! You can fit in a burrow in a tree. We are much larger.” They were all arguing and talking at once.
“Are we magical creatures or not?” he calmly asked.
“Yes. Of course we are,” they mumbled, nodding their heads and looking around at one another.
“Then, we must become one with the trees. We can join with the trees and go wherever the trees go,” said the brownie.
There was silence.
“But what will we do, once they take the trees?” a small mouse asked.
They continued to talk and plan until all was settled. Then, they waited.

Before long, all of the enchanted trees were cut down. The wood was so beautiful, with such a fine grain and glorious smell that the King claimed it for his castle. It was used for the vast banquet table, for the floors and ceilings, for all manner of practical and decorative objects until there was not a stick left. The castle was rich with the golden luster and earthy aroma of the wood.

During the day, the courtiers, servants and visiting dignitaries admired the wood and its interesting whorls and varying shades of brown and gold. In the evenings, the Queen would often lie in bed with her children telling stories. Sometimes, they would look up at the ceiling and point out the faces made by the knots and grain of the wood.
“Look, Mother. Doesn’t that look like a fairy? See her wings and curly hair?” said the princess.
“Mother, look over here. It’s a big bear! See his nose and fierce eyes?” said the prince.
“Yes, children! It looks like there are creatures in the wood. Amazing!” came her reply.
The creatures listened and came out at night. All was well, for a time.

One day, a foreign aggressor laid siege on the land. He had heard of the marvelous wood and wanted the castle for himself. The King called his men at arms. As they surged forward to meet the enemy, the magical creatures emerged from the wood to join them in battle, taking non-magical forms. The Griffins appeared as eagles and the centaurs as horses.

The aggressors were losing as the battle wore on. In desperation, they prepared the fiery catapults. The magical creatures gasped when they saw the flames. They must keep the fire away from the wood! They attacked with renewed vigor, swarming around the catapults. Before they could prevent it, one fiery ball was launched. They paused, gazing up helplessly as it flew toward the castle. How could they stop it without revealing themselves?

An enormous eagle rose into the air, caught the flaming ball in its claws and dropped it in the moat. The Griffin had saved the day. The enemy was defeated and the castle protected.

As the King’s men celebrated, darkness fell. The magical creatures slipped among the young saplings bordering the streams. Deep in the night, they returned to the castle. “Soon, the trees will call us home,” they whispered.