Memoir Monday, Jan 15, 1966

 So I was back in Arizona, my vaca-scape  (think vacation and escape morphed) of nearly a month ended. I had healed a lot in that time, at least at surface or superficial levels. I had been very worried about returning but to start it seemed I was the prodigal daughter and if not actually feted and treated at least was shown enough favor and respect that for a time I was very optimistic. Of course somewhere inside I suspected it all was too good to last, and it was, but for maybe 6 weeks and even a bit longer part of the time, I felt I had made progress and won some points. Then almost abruptly, things doubled down very savagely. 

Jan 15, 1966

Another busy day, a mixture of good and bad as most of them are. I kept busy as usual. We talked some. The folks went out.  I walked uptown and mailed Dusty’s letter and poems. Mom told me my confession upset Dad. I really never can tell when to believe what he says. I can’t blame him for it, but it is painful. I tried to encourage him though and perhaps succeeded in part. We had lunch and cleaned up to go over to the clinic. We’d planned that Mom and I would go in together but Mr Peckham called me in first alone. I think I did a fairly good job. He still says that it’s very important for me to do some things on my own but admits he was a bit hasty about encouraging me to leave. I said I found the city wasn’t my cup of tea and was glad to have that curiosity or doubt settled. It’s doubtful that we’re making much progress but one must try, I suppose. It looked quite stormy this pm which was disgusting to me. I’ve had all the bad weather I need. I made an applesauce cake and a casserole for supper and helped Charlie Mike do the chores here. Also did dishes after supper. We played records and I planned some sewing projects. I decided I’d try a shift out of the red plaid material that once was a pleated skirt. We went to bed about 10:30, I with Dusty on my mind. I dreamed he followed me down the trail and I held a hand back to him. He came up and put his arms around me with a sigh and I leaned back against him and tried to kiss him over my shoulder but couldn’t quite reach. But I could feel his nose against mine and my cheek, just as real as in life. Dreams can be so weird. I never really dreamed of being kissed until after I had been. A few nights ago (Monday evening?) I dreamed of him kissing me and woke up shaking, it was so real. A week ago I was in Blythe or Needles about now. God, it seems impossible.

I got home on the 10th, which was a Monday and the first few days passed quickly. I did not do any 'chores' but picked up most of the routine household tasks like cooking and dish washing. We went back up to Flagstaff to get the boxes and heavy luggage I had put in lockers at the depot and then to the Clarkdale station which handled local REA*  for boxes that had been shipped--food, clothing and other stuff  the aunts had gathered which was allegedly to help the folks. (*REA is Railroad Express Agency)

Wednesday while the folks went out to do the pasture chores I biked over to B&B 6 and spent a short while with Dusty. He chided me for not staying and going to school but was very glad to see me.  I hurried home to avoid any issues. Around that same time in a mostly fairly mild 'talk,' I was forced to admit Dusty had driven me to Flagstaff. There were no immediate fireworks but I later realized this was yet another ''charge, crime or sin" to be held against my sweetheart. No doubt--Dad totally hated him.

I was making a huge effort to keep calm, cool and not let things get to me. The partial healing did help me there quite a bit and learning the contrast between what the folks, mostly Dad, said and what the kinfolk in California believed and their unfavorable feelings and impressions had caused some serious erosion in my total acceptance of the enmeshed family story and stance. I would never buy all of it whole cloth again.That detachment was a saving grace as time went on.  

On my sewing, Aunt Roxie supported my hobby or efforts there and took me shopping where I got several lengths of fabric that came home with me. Over several months I put it all to good use as well as redoing some older garments to new styles. The first was a pair of matching western shirts for Dusty and me. He got his for Valentine's Day. 

So for the time being, life went on about as smooth and easily as it possible could. Did that make what came later easier or harder? Perhaps a bit of both. But I never came quite that close to murder or self-destruction (as on Nov 30-Dec 1) again, despite some very low lows. 

A very few pictures:  First, perhaps not the best match but Dusty really did resemble Steve McQueen.  Just 'cause--Leo was one of my horse faves and was with me until spring 1968. And a bit of the red plaid, which I had picked in Sacramento and even then knew I would use to make matching shirts for us. Wish I had pix of them but do not; I had mine for quite awhile though. That swatch is on a page in a scrap book and I think it is in one block on my 1st special quilt that is on my bed now.