Monday Memoir, Feb 28, 1961

 Still stuck in high school. This was not really a fun year. Oh well. 

Feb 28, 1961

Today was a pretty day but for some reason a rather trying day for me. School wasn’t bad. My classes passed quickly and I spent most of my spare time with Maureen. That Donna Osborne makes me so damn mad. One of these days I’ll knock her teeth down her throat! That damn cat.  I didn’t get any letters today. As usual I rode Tina out to the pasture. Everything was okay. While I was coming home I saw a car wreck. It was awful. These Mexicans didn’t make the curve above the lake. The Walkers got there first, so after I saw there was nothing I could do, I went home. It was awful and it made me sick. So sick I did not enjoy my spaghetti dinner much. I did my chem. problems. Probably did a poor job, too. I was so tired. I don’t feel good. I’ve got to go to bed. I’ve stayed up too late already. Today just wasn’t a good day. See, I can’t even write straight. I’m scared, I guess. Bye, Gaye

At this point I had just begun to become friends with Maureen Jewell who was new to the school that semester. She was into cowboys and horses too and we hit it off and became close friends for quite awhile.  Sadly I lost track of her in the late 60s and have never found her again--maybe on FB but a message got no response. 

I am not sure how I got crosswise with Donna Osborne but she was (I thought) riding my ass with no reason in PE and I was about ready to do a mule treatment on her. Get the 2x4 before talking nice. I finally got to where I would just laugh at her snark as if it were hilarious and that kind of spoiled the fun, I guess. No fights ever took place. I really did not believe in fighting. Bashing a mouthy,crude guy over the head with my biggest book does not count!

I dimly recall that wreck I saw and it was pretty ugly if memory serves. I'm not sure if  anyone was killed or not but it was bad. Perhaps a bit gory so that red spaghetti sauce did not look appetizing. That gravel road around the lake had some tight curves and the loose gravel could be very tricky. If you started to lose control, that's all she wrote--you were going to flip or roll. Later I drove that road fairly often but kept my speed down and never had any problems. 

My dear Tina was now five years old and well fixed in  her place as my favorite. There were few things she would not do and do well and I had long outgrown being a little intimidated because she was very energetic and also pretty tall. 

Just another ordinary day in the life of the cowboy girl/high school junior who often felt she existed in two separate worlds. Was it a privilege or a curse? I often wondered; maybe a weird combination of both.There is still a lot of both aspects in me today and especially in my writing. I did grow up in "interesting" circumstances and maybe that prepared me for the very complicated world we live in today.

A few photos. Maureen a year later, May 1962. The only photo I have of her. Then Tina, probably a year or two later but out at the pasture corrals where I had ridden her this day. Finally a panorama paste-up from three snapshots of Peck's Lake and the road around it. Where the accident happened would be far in the background .

Monday Memoir, Feb 21, 1961

Junior year at Mingus. Basically just more of the same. I didn't really 'hate'  school but often was bored and tired of it!

Feb 21, 1961

What a gloomy day this was. I got up and dressed though Mom said I could stay home in bed if I wished. I should have taken her up on that. School went rather quickly today, thank goodness. I wrote my application letter to ASU during study hall and read “Heart of the Desert.” It was a little corny and old fashioned but a nice book anyway. In art I splashed around with tempera paint and splashed some on my skirt. Thankfully it is washable. Boy was I ever glad when the final bell rang. I got a letter from Wayne. I’d almost given up on him but he decided he didn’t want to lose me I guess. After reading HofTD I didn’t feel very close to him and so it was rather hard for me to write to him, but I did. We had to do the chores via the pickup because of the weather. I felt rather ill and thought I might be getting Chicken Pox because I had a funny lump on my wrist but I later discarded the idea. I also began a letter to Jose. Mom finished typing my ASU application and we started talking. We talked until 11:30 and by then were very cold and tired. So much for today.

Not quite spring and the kind of weather that is still common in this transitional season where nice and dismal days mix and match. It sounds like this one was rainy. From the overall tone, I think maybe Dad was not there--possibly in the VA hospital over at Fort Whipple by Prescott. How we did the morning chores at the pasture I do not know. It seems odd that I could have stayed in bed. The animals had to be fed and tended twice every day, regardless.

I know at this time NAU was still ASC (Arizona State College) and ASU should have been Tempe. I do not recall that I ever applied to go there; well maybe as I know some of us did take a field trip down with Mrs Fitzgerald along in this general time period. So I am a bit vague here. I always intended to go to Flagstaff or the new college that opened in Prescott a bit later though.

The Heart of the Desert was basically a "romance" (the genre had not yet been named and identified so it was just "a novel") The author was Honore Willsie Morrow who was one of my more favored authors though out of date even then. I re-read several of her books as e-books not long ago and was a bit surprised how issues of the late 1800s like she wrote about are echoed or parallel some of our modern ones. History repeats itself perhaps 

I was still writing to Wayne, the rodeo cowboy from Washington whose place on my scale of 'special' pen pals shifted up and down fairly often. Right here on a 1-10, he was perhaps about a 6. Another pen pal, Jose, was much more relevant to the theme and style of that book, at least the person I believed him to be. That gives some context to my mention of writing letters to them both.

Did Charlie  Mike have chicken pox about this time? It seems like he may have. He actually had them twice--first as a grammar school student and then as an adult in 1973 when he was moving to Colorado with my husband, kids and me having moved in with us in Bisbee for awhile that summer. That time he was one sick puppy, too. I never had them that I know of but have had shingles which indicates I must have--so it may have been a very mild case.  I was sick a lot thru school though, always having a cold or rhinovirus, tonsillitis or strep throat.  

For Mom and me to talk that way hints that Dad was not home.  It wasn't too usual. At this point we were not close in a lot of ways--probably due to the emotional incest thing, I feel Dad played us against each other too much  so we tended to be competitive or almost adversaries to some degree. I also had mostly stopped confiding in her because things I said in confidence, or so I thought and intended, often came back to bite me in lectures and comments which proved she had told it all to Dad. Looking back I find that all sad because I therefore had almost nobody I could trust and openly discuss my problems with. I became very controlled and insular in most ways.

No, I would not go back and relive those later teenage years for all the gold in Africa and the jade in China! I am sure I brought a lot of it on myself but I was rarely happy and carefree. The next year during my final semester, life was mostly better but still not ideal. I suspect although most of my illnesses were not truly psychosomatic, my usual state of mind weakened my immune system so every bug that came along dug in on me. 

Pictures? I can't think of a one although too much plain text is dull! Bear with me this time, okay? Maybe I will just stick in a sunset! This is one from my friend Julie Carter that has an iconic feel. Contrary to most it also feels a bit melancholy to me.

Monday Memoir, Feb 14, 1062

 Well--my last spring in school. As I may have said before, those few months were some of the easiest and most enjoyable of my teen years. No, I did not go to the prom or banquet or a lot of other things I might have wanted to do, but  the chores may have eased just a bit--Mom helped me a little more than she had and some other issues were distracting Dad so he was not on my case all the time about what was or wasn't done and how things were done. And Charlie Mike was getting older and more responsible and willing to help me. I think very quietly Mom did try to make this time as good for me as possible and I deeply appreciate that..

Feb 14, 1962, Wed

Yes, I got Valentines. Not many but enough shall we say?  School was okay. ‘Reen was absent. I wonder why I’m not the only one who gets to quit writing themes but I missed one more than anyone else. We had an assembly celebrating Arizona’s 50^th year of statehood. In art I matted one each of ‘Reen’s and my pictures to send in to an art show. I got in the mail Jose’s second letter, a lovely old fashioned Valentine and then six lovely red roses by a florist! The latter I concealed in my ‘house’ (the shed in the shop yard) so I would not have to answer any embarrassing questions. They are now just a Valentine from an “anonymous admirer”!! They are lovely though. I rode Annie and led Prez for about half an hour. She really is lame in her right forefoot. We drove out o the pasture and doctored Ritzi’s leg. She is getting much better. I’m awfully glad because I as awfully worried about her. This evening I have not done much--eat peanut butter cookies, read and re-read Jose’s letter, eat an orange etc. Today has been pretty good for me. I’m afraid my luck will break pretty soon though. I can’t expect every day to be good. At least I haven’t had a headache for the past two days. It is 9:15 now  so I guess I will get ready to take a midweek bath. I’m going to be cleaner from now on. It is a girl’s duty to keep herself neat and tidy.  Time to say adios.

Mostly Valentine's Day had not been a big deal to me for ages. There were quite a few times I got no Valentines at all and wasn't seriously grieved by that. Right at that time,  I was in the  most intense or connected phase with Jose, the Pen Pal in Utah. To get real florist flowers was quite amazing! That did not happen again for a very long time!

To clarify, we rented two houses  in lower Clarkdale side by side. We lived in one and the other was storage, a kind of office, Dad's wood workshop, a photo darkroom in the kitchen and so on. We called it the "shop house. " It had one of the typical metal sheds in the back yard, which had a wooden half-wall dividing it and wooden floor and probably originally used for coal? . We used the one behind the residence house for a tack room. Anyway the one I mention was just junk storage and Charlie Mike and I kind of appropriated it for our purposes. It was a safe place for my flowers which I knew would cause a huge kerfuffle if they were seen!!  They kept well in the coolness there too. I wish I had a photo--it was a unique  thing in my life!

Of  course I still rode at least some almost daily and the critters had to be fed, cleaned up after and often one or more doctored.  I've mentioned Ritzi before. She was pretty but had a wild streak to some degree and was prone to injuries and sore feet. I'm not sure what had happened this time but recall she had a nasty wire cut on one leg. It probably got infected but was too cold at this time for screw worms. A certain kind of fly lays eggs in wounds and the larva then eat the damaged flesh; that is okay but don't leave them there too long! There is a medicine to wash them out.

That semester I was not the least worried about grades. I had no hard subjects and could almost count on 1s in my main classes--except Mr Doubek in Chorus. I guess he did not like me because I only got a 1 the final six weeks after it had been announced I was going to be Valedictorian! I have no clue what he held against me, really. I did not normally have too much homework unless I was working in a term paper or special project so I goofed off some evenings.

I have to giggle about the "girl's duty." Those old houses had an added on shower on the back porch which had no heat and got little use in cold weather. We bathed the old farm way in a laundry tub or the kitchen sink. That seems very weird and primitive now! I have really appreciated 'normal' bathrooms the rest of my life. I am so spoiled now I use an electric heater in mine so I never have to step out of the shower into any chill at all! Anyway keeping clean was a bit more of a challenge under those conditions.

I was so used to 'bad' days or at least unhappy, depressing or very dull ones so I always feared that a run of nice ones was not going to last and dreaded return to the "normal'' get-through-this-however-I- can type.  Maybe I was too hard to please? I once wrote a poem about "determined to be dolorous," and in some ways I think I was. 

Again not much in the photo area and probably repetitious. So, me that spring, in one of my favorite outfits. I had my hair real long and liked it. Next Jose with some of his fencing students.  He was an instructor at BYU on several active/skill  type things. Then mule Annie up in Mescal Canyon; she was good and reliable and a very ordinary looking mule--brownish black with no markings. And last Prez, another mule. He was more tan-brown and a big stout and steady ride. I used them both a lot and was very fond of them both.

Monday Memoir, Feb 7, 1961

 Second half of my Junior year. I had pulled out of my fall rebellion but was still generally not a totally happy camper. A year or so earlier I had found I could say "damn" and "hell" and a few other 'bad' words and the big thumb in the sky did not descend on my head. Oh boy. Cussing became a whole  new method of self-expression! But never in the hearing of the parents. 

Boys seem to learn this faster so Charlie Mike and I soon invented a word or two of our own to plug in when there were listeners. One was "grut." It sounded gross enough to be pleasing to teenagers and tweens as we were then and became our go-to as shit and the F word did a few yeas later universally. 

Feb 7, 1961

Aye que dia! School wasn’t bad. I was still stubborn and didn’t dress out for PE. I sat and talked with Linda C and Verna. I think I passed the chem. test--did about as well as Vickie anyway.   Well, I lost 2 cents. Fred Coleman did come. He rode my mare, in my saddle etc. and I’m still riled. They say he’s not so hot a hand, either. Damn, Some half breed dude wranglin’ SOB  on my mare with my gear. I could flip. It ain’t fair. Nobody has ridden her except the family and old Charley. That was supposed to be a special privilege reserved for my special friends. Might as well put a placard on her and me saying “Welcome dudes and wranglers. We’re here for you to use.” Oh. I’m not as riled as I sound but there are no real cowboys under 50. Maybe my Buster was. Quien sabe? But he’s gone. I liked  him, too. Wish I knew where he was. I wrote some letters tonight. If I had homework, I didn’t do it. I feel like hell and that is a flat fact. Son of a bitch with the seven year itch. As you can see, I’m in a cussin mood. Poor Shane; he’ll be disappointed in me. I still really don’t know what I am. It’s a rather awful feeling. I’m too weak, too easily swayed and I can’t set my mind on anything. I think I’m gonna go crazy or take a whole bottle of aspirin or something. Shoo. What I need is a strong shoulder to cry on. Well, guess I’ll have to use my pillow. Bye, “Doll”

At this time I was just short of eighteen and becoming very displeased with my overall life. Teenage years are tough anyway and I had a slight case of arrested development since my parents had fought against my moving past the docile and biddable child stage with everything they could. Puberty threw them a curve and now I was six years past that!

Names again. When I was writing this I had no idea it might become semi-public someday or that memories would dim and many readers would have no clue who these folks were. So much would change between 1961 and 2022! So in PE: Linda was Linda Crose (Heydorn) and Verna was Verna Moser (I am sure a married name but do not know it) Vickie was Cranmer-again probably a married name years ago. She and I were both in Mr Clark's Chemistry class; normally she did much better than I dd there! Math and all related was never my strong suit academically! And Shane was one of my pen-pals, the one who sent the black gaberdine and and did leather work. 

And moving on. Ah, Freddy Coleman--one of the 'notorious' Coleman brothers from the Sedona area. I do not recall why he came and rode with Dad at that point. I had bet either Charlie Mike or maybe Dad that he would not show since his brother Vern had not when the mule saga was beginning but Fred did. And that he rode  my Tina and in my saddle which was set up for her without the mule rigging did trip my trigger. Had I been there I might have agreed or allowed but it was done without my permission and I was not pleased! Touchy, wasn't I? And rather defensive!

I was not happy with myself and knew I was mixed up to some extent. I was not serious about suicide at that point --there were some times a few years later but we are not there yet. The restrictive and enmeshed family situation, though I had no names for those things then,was chafing a lot. I knew I was in many ways 'brainwashed' but what to do about or how to overcome it was not shaping up. I expect more kids and teens have gone through something along these lines than I would have guessed then or even thought of until fairly recently. The study of family dynamics and dysfunctionality was in its infancy in the early 60s. 

There are few relevant photos so let's see what kind of fits. First, Charlie Mike and I with a mule probably laughing at some silly thing. "Grut this stuff!" This shot of me was probably the previous year. Now and then Dad would get a wild hair and decide to take portraits. This was one of three at one time. Not too appalling. And last, a sketch I did about that time--one of the Colemans I am pretty sure; most likely Vern,who I recall was huskier and older than Fred.