The Purple Cigarette Case

As I walked into the cabin up on the Missouri mountain that first time, my ears still buzzing from the shock of learning about Ramona, the very first thing I laid eyes on was a purple cigarette case lying on the rustic wood coffee table. I took in the wood paneled walls, the striped earthtone olefin sofa set and briefly noticed the scent of the place. Musty, stale smoke, some kind of sour whiskey or beer... but my eyes kept going back to that cigarette case. I hadn't seen that case in a few years but I recognized it immediately. It was Ramona's case. I had this hysterical thought that they were wrong, they had to be wrong! Ramona was obviously just in the other room... there was her cigarette case right there on the coffee table after all. Oh and look here is her purse on the floor beside the couch.

I got up and wandered around a bit. Not my house but it didn't seem to matter. Ramona's mom, Nan and her cousin I had never met; CJ and... Ashley! Oh my god little Ashley...  with those big round eyes just like her mother...were there too, they were talking, everyone seemed excited and lost all at the same time and I just couldn't focus on them no matter how hard I tried. The house was small. Only 2 bedrooms. It was furnished like it had always been there. The furnishings and decorations placed by some elders in the family years ago and left to be attended by whomever happened to currently possess the house. But there... and there. A cigarette case, a purse, a calendar on the wall.  A doll on the floor of the bedroom, a sweater... my god that was my sweater! I had forgotten she had taken it so long ago. Notes scrawled and stuck to the refrigerator under a magnet. Little pieces of Ramona all around me. Somehow I knew they were her things even if I hadn't seen them in years or ever before. I could feel Ramona in every room. They weren't her rooms she had only been there what a month? Two? But she was there now big as life just the same. Any second she would walk through the door and laugh at all of us being so silly; crying and carrying on.

I sat on the couch and tried to focus on Ashley. Six years old, an orphan so young! My mind drifted again to a letter Ramona had written to me just a few years ago. Ashley must have been a baby then. She reminded me of her health. She had become a diabetic so young, at the cusp of her years of teen angst. She rebelled against her disease as hard as any teen ever did against parental rule. She had smoked cigarettes and weed and popped pills, drank and partied like she was fulfilling her destiny to die. They had told her she would not live to see 21 years old. But she was 21 when Ashley was born. The years of self abuse had taken their toll but there she was pregnant and hopeful for the future. She had written to me and begged me to take Ashley if she should die.

We were kids, she and I; 19 and 21 years old. What did we know about wills, lawyers and custody agreements? Yet there was Ashley before me. An orphan.
Reflecting on the events of the day, I thought about how crazy that I should be sitting here at all right now. That Ramona should be gone and I am here.  We had planned the trip haphazardly as we usually did things. My marriage crumbling, Ramona had run from hers and was now hiding in the mountain cabin with her cousin.

We had spoken on the phone several times since she had left Orville. She kept telling me, "These people have MONEY!" She had told me all about impromptu helicopter flights to the gulf for shrimp, and obscene money spent on booze and barbecue and everything under the sun.

"They work in oil, you know, THAT'S where the money is," she had said.

Looking around it didn't seem like they had money. Land yes, they had land. The cabin sat on I don't even know how many hundred acres. She had wanted to buy me a plane ticket to visit; hash it all out. Somehow I was sure that my visit would result in my divorce.

I had rushed to the airport in Hartford, Connecticut this morning; an hour drive from Groton where I lived with my husband, Aaron and three kids. unable to find my address book with the new phone number at the cabin. I wasn't able to call to verify our plans for several days before the trip. I was worried but ultimately I trusted her to know my flight information. She had bought the ticket afterall. In retrospect it seemed odd to me that she hadn't called me... but then I was under so much stress at home myself, and really Ramona was like that. How many times had we gone 6 months or more without talking at all only to have the phone ring at 3 am and there she'd be,

"Girl, I know you have a good margarita recipe, right?"

We never skipped a beat, every conversation left off was picked up months or years down the road as easy as if we were never apart.

When I had stepped off the plane into the terminal I was only slightly surprised not to see her at the gate. As I waited for my baggage at the carousel I wasn't really even concerned. I carried my bags to the payphone in the center of the airport and fussed around in my purse for a phone card or cash, I don't remember anymore in the end I think I just dialled collect.
When Aaron answered the phone I asked him if he'd finally found my address book.  Ramona wasn't here.

"Are you sitting down?" He asked me ignoring my inquiry.

"Uh... no, Aaron I'm standing at a payphone in the middle of the airport," I retorted in annoyance.

Then came the back and forth... god he could be like a dog with a bone! Telling me over and over to sit down because he has bad news.,. I was becoming more and more irritated with him as a sneaking dread began to come over me and I was suddenly positive that he was going to tell me that my mother was dead
when suddenly I noticed that Nan... Ramona's mom? Nan was walking toward me.

"Why is Nan here? Nan lives in Arkansas, this is Missouri..." my thoughts were swirling as I vaguely heard Aaron finally say,

"Ramona passed away last night."

"What did you say? Why did you say that?" I was suddenly furious! If he had been standing in front of me I would have punched him right in the face.
Then I saw Ashley trailing behind Nan and I knew it was true.

I dropped the phone and we hugged each other so tight right in the middle of the airport and I was screaming and crying. I think she was too. Ashley clutched at our legs. All the years that she had felt like enemy mom, vanished and she was holding me up. My legs quivered under me and I don't know how I didn't fall. I don't remember how we got to the car. I don't know how we did it without losing my luggage. All I really remember now is the long drive in the backseat, with Ashley leaning over on my lap and then walking into the cabin and seeing that purple cigarette case.

That afternoon we drove back to Jacksonville, Arkansas to Nan's home and the place where Ramona and I had become friends in high school. I spent my two week vacation helping to plan my best friend's funeral. I was grateful to be there, if she hadn't bought me that ticket I wouldn't have been able to get there. That was in 1995. I miss Ramona. Everyday.

Uncondtional Love

I wanted to tell you
What I've learned about
Unconditional Love

Right from the start
I knew that he never had it
Not until he met me

For so many years
I loved that man
I begged him to see
I was giving him everything
He ever asked for
Ever dreamed of
Everything he always wanted
He couldn't see it

I thought - I knew
That we would get thru it
That any minute he would
He would open his eyes and see me
And it would all be worth
The pain, the tears
The bruises
We would both finally have
What we always wanted

I was willing to bear it all
To have unconditional love
And to give unconditional love

Eventually, it all fell apart
The choices weren't mine to make anymore
Still I knew - if I had faith
and I kept on loving
That one day it would all be worth it

What I didn't know was that one day
My baby girl would be 5 foot something
And she would stand and look me in the eye
and say
"I wish you would die"
I didn't know that she could never appreciate
The sacrifices I had made for her, for her brother
For her sisters

I didn't know three angels would
Shut the door to heaven from me
And open their mouths to drench me with
Retribution

I didn't know my firstborn
Would turn her hate on herself
I didn't know that I would be
Forever locked in the hell I made

Because I had loved unconditionally

In the end he never loved me.
Love is a verb you see
And the verb he held in his heart for me was hate
He hated me with his words, with his hands

H edidn't know how to love me
Or anyone else
And he never cared to learn

In the end it was never worth it
Not worth my pain, my tears
Not worth my bruises
Certainly never worth my babies

And these will never learn this lesson
Because I never taught it to them

And now I see her trying to love that way
My baby girl
Giving away too much of herself
To a boy who will never open his eyes and see her.
And she doesn't yet know
And you tell her but she doesn't care

It was never worth it
It will never be worth it

No Tribe of My Own by Victoria Meyers (30 of 30)

Trapped in a short tunnel
Feeling like a hot poker stuck
In my shoulder
Can't think
The shiver runs up into the
Back of my neck like
an ice pick

Anxiety tries to overcome
My best intentions
Knowing what's right
What's true
With no audience to listen
No peer to be found
I have no country
No tribe
No family
How did this happen?
Whenever I get this way
I'd like to have a couple
Of strong drinks
Always comes with being broke
Maybe I should take up stealing
Lying and cheating
At least they think they're free
Think they're having fun
No brains no headaches

Grandma's Boxes by Victoria Meyers (29 of 30)

Talking to Max today
I said, you know I'm trying to let go
Of this box I've held around me
All my life
THIS is how you
SHOULD do it
Then when I can't really meet
That goal- I've proved that
I'm just a FAILURE

I told Max today
I don't want  you to fall into
This kind of a trap I set for myself
She asked me, "So why do you do it?"

Reflecting on the question I mused
That it must have been my mom who
Told me over and over how
You can't do this thing
Or reach that goal
Perfection unattainable
Unreasonable expectations

Max told me today
Don't let Grandma's boxes
Box you in
They're all full of dusty old memories
Dust them off and make them shine
Have a yard sale and get rid of them
Who wants to buy Grandma's boxes?

The History of My Heart (Part 4) by Victoria Meyers (27 of 30)

The history of my heart has a latest chapter. One of exquisite love and ultimate horror. It's name can only be called, pain. With death, and death, and new love and hope dashed. Wings spread and soaring heights of love that fall and fall and fall to a fiery burning depth. It was going to be the final victory and it became the final torment. The depths of the mothers torment and the wife's desire know only the rule of heart.

Salvation found and peace and joy cultivated for nothing and lost, maybe forever? The sins of the father, on the son are nothing compared to the sin of Eve on my child. On my heart. A wicked indulgence to be so bold, so crass. To question Jehovah, God, the only way to peace and the furthest fall from grace.

The heart that finally found the greatest love, that finally found the highest purest love and then lost it. The heart that finally found the most exquisite peace and the joy and loss, and loss and broken carnage of soul.

The heart polluted by the demon that came in so many forms, the trickster. The lover. The death. The pain.

A beach, some wine and sweet sweet promise of death yanked away. The fall of hope rising, and falling and rising and falling again. Like a Ferris Wheel ride. My heart could take no more of the dizzying heights and garish carnival lights, looking down on the crowds of soulless mournful ants and wind rushing through the iron spokes the roar of the wind, the hideous musical joyous ride of a lifetime.

Where does one go to find such pain? Arkansas. Florida. Anywhere it seems.

The history of my heart has not ended. The history of my heart continues to unfold. With sickening hope it blinks its moist eyes once again in the sunlight, in the morning mist. It hopes, it breathes it refuses once again to die.

Three deaths are visited upon this heart this life, pray it will not be four, pray it will be released. Pray it is forgiven. Pray. Pray . Pray.

Pray the vine grow forth from my fingertips, thru my pencil tips. Pray the vine with heart shaped leaves will spread its lush green healing over the girl in the chair. Pray the vine will carry the forgiveness of the light thru its lifeblood to overtake the pain, to overtake the life and soothe away the shame.

Pray the vine heals, the green love spreads far and wide and covers the earth with hushed softness and rainforest strength of the oldest and tallest and strongest.

Pray.

To Be Continued....

Shadow War by Victoria Meyers (24 of 30)

I've spent the morning reading about another family, and another and yet another; torn to shreds by this Orwellian governmental control that seems to seek to claim all children as its own.
Citizens.
It's not just one town, one state, or one country. The stories pour in from all over the world. A child with difficult symptoms, constipation, diarrhea, skin rashes, perceived behavioral issues and mental illness.
The overall consensus in the mainstream says drug the child till they drool. Keep them in a diaper till they die at 30 years old from the years of neglect and abuse they will experience once they've had the permanent insertion of the government teat.
We have not come as far as you might think from the days when we housed our brain damaged "psychopaths" in neck irons in straw strewn sanatorium hallways and cages.
When you hear about the "government teat"*  I have always pictured the masses of doctors, hospitals, social workers, lawyers, school and prisons who unwittingly conspire to keep that money milk flowing as little piglets attached to the fat government hog. But no- I realized today I didn't get it quite right. They are even smarter then that! What they really do is install that teat into your child. Like little energizer batteries from the Matrix, so each and every one becomes their own little government hog. Satellite hogs.
They've really got it all figured out but all the while- children, all over the world are dying. Some quick, some slow. Doesn't matter though, we don't yet have a population shortage so there's always a new one to take the place of that lost teat.
And how? What is the method? Targeting of families who try to disengage. As long as you comply they leave you in your little bubble where you actually believe you are the one in control. Your choices. Your democratic voice.
But let not a demon take notice of you, that he will terrorize you all of your days. "If you can, do not let them notice you, or your life will be filled with regret. They stalk those who prey upon them, therefore, hide your good works. Only those who are quiet and modest will avoid their attention altogether." **
How is it everywhere? All over the globe? It seems it should be stopped at borders. Don't the borders mean anything anymore? In a world where only six conglomerates control all media it's really not a huge leap to consider that governments not really as sovereign as we would like to believe.
Tread lightly mother warriors.
We are left in shadows still.


   *(from "The Fight", Parks and Recreation (TV), Season 3 Episode 13 (2011))
**(Nicholas Kazan- Fallen 1998)

Posted by Victoria Meyers on Friday, April 24, 2015

Regret by Victoria Meyers (19 of 30)

Regret is ageless
I don't like to blame
I am accustomed to taking responsibility
For my part in my life
For the mistakes I've made
For the trouble I have courted
I do take responsibility
I made a huge mistake and I accepted you
I made allowances when you told me of your past
I put your mistakes in my own perspective
As if they were mine
How I would move forward if they were my own
I made the mistake of thinking others are like me
You are not absolved from blame
You did hurt me
Your children
You did those things in the face of love
You had everything a man could ask
Unconditional love
A second chance
A third chance
Uncountable chances
You had me, you had us
You are regret

~Regret  by Victoria Meyers

You should Write a Book by Victoria meyers (17 of 30)

You should write a book
I've heard that all my life
Start telling people how many
Places I've lived
How many stupid things I've done
All the different ways I should
Already be dead

Tell them about three abusive husbands
Raising five kids
Going back to school at 29
With five kids at home and a psycho husband
While homeschooling
And running a busy tax office

Talk about how 9/11 made me
Quit school to stay home with my kids
Describe unschooling
Cooking gluten free for picky eaters
All the many weird ways I live my life

Why would anyone want to read
About all that crap?

A Mountain of Mend's by Victoria Meyers (16 of 30)

See you and I girl
We used to be friends
To put it all back
We'd need a mountain of mend's

I can't remember now
How it all went wrong
But I'd give you a stack of nickels
If we could just write a new song

I'd let you sleep all day
If it would help you out
I'd cook all your favorite food
If you could just erase the doubts

We had so many plans
And we were having so much fun
Till you let these pretty boys in
And you went on the run

See you and I girl
We used to be friends
To put it all back
We'd need a mountain of mends

I miss your angel voice
I miss your lightning smile
If I could get them back
I'd walk a million miles

I want to go back
To when we had the plan
To pack up all we'd need
In a dolphin headed for land

'Cause I know
That together we were right
I remember there was nothing stopping us
Before all this fight

See you and I girl
We used to be friends
To put it all back we'd need a mountain of mends

The Self-Fulfilling Party Planner by Victoria Meyers (15 of 30)

I have thrown a lot of parties and get togethers of many different sizes and magnitudes throughout my life. When I was a teen in therapy this fact came out that when I throw a party; no one shows up.  So my therapist took this as a challenge. Whether to prove to me that I must be exaggerating- which admittedly depressed souls will do- or to give me a happy successful party experience to reset my counter - well... I'm not sure.

In any event he required me to plan and throw not just one but two successful parties. That was a stipulation in the assignment - YES - they were to be successful.

So with mixed emotions and some guarded fear I set about to plan the first of the two.

My guests, who were all from an enclosed circle of influence, got wind of the assignment. So as kids tend to like to be mean and against all odds  and even threat of punishment they plotted against me. All of my guests purposely refused to show up. Not only that but even my therapist forgot to come!  And yes, he had been given an invitation; hand-written and hand-delivered like all the rest.

So my life has seemed to continue to follow this path. No matter where in the world my nomadic life has led me, no matter the circle of friends of which I was a member, whenever I have summoned the courage to throw another shindig- with very few exceptions- no one shows up.

But I keep doing it. At one point in my life I even made parties my JOB. Go figure. What could have possessed me? Somehow deep down am I actually doing this to myself? Or am I still trying to utilize the therapeutic direction of my past?

My party career never took off. Self fulfilling prophecies not withstanding- I still throw parties that no one attends.

Today I attended a gathering that was thrown together in less then three days. Almost no one received any reminder to attend, much less an invitation at all. Yet there were hundreds in attendance. Family members, old friends, new friends, colleagues, business acquaintances and even dastardly teenagers. Their were spouses and guests who may never even have met the honoree at all.

How could this be? This gathering put together in less then three days for a man who felt so alone and hopeless that he had even taken his own life? The irony is not lost on my. It strikes a cold fear in my heart.
It makes me ask questions that are none of my business, but I wonder...
De he throw parties?
And if he did did he have good attendance?
Maybe he never did throw parties and didn't know how dearly he was loved.
Maybe he did but he forgot?
Maybe its normal for people to ignore you until your dead?
It's a conundrum to me.
But I wonder, will this party failure that I am haunt me even into death?

I wish that he had been able to see how much he was loved. Maybe he would still be with us.

Letter to my Little Self by Victoria Meyers (14 of 30)

Hey little girl,
I remember when you were sitting in your room at your flower table
Coloring with crayons while you sang Elvis, and Eagles and Shawn Cassidy songs
You believed you sounded just like the singers and you sang loud enough to drown them out

Hey little girl,
I remember when you used to spend hours choreographing dances and skits to go along with those same songs
When you would get the other kids to to join in and put on a show for your moms' party friends
I remember how you gave the party goers all tickets and directed them to come to come see the "show" at the designated time.
You had it all figured out and you put on three shows a night- so that no one had to miss out

Hey little girl,
Don't stop dreaming
Life will get hard, and so many, many years will go by that you will forget
You will even forget yourself and who you would have been - before - if they hadn't done all those things to you to knock you off your trajectory
So many years will go by that you will want to give up
In fact you will give up entirely three times before you get back on your path

Hey little girl,
Remember all those things that happen to you not only the good and happy things- but also the ugly nasty and a sad things too
Are the same things that will make you amazing
They will color you music and your poetry and your parenting and your love
With all the empathy that you need to touch the hearts of those who will listen

And little girl,
I'm telling you they will listen one day
And you will smile

For Knowing You by Victoria Meyers (8 of 30)

I still remember how it felt
 To walk into a room on your arm
As a tall woman, I always hated
That my dates were slightly short
But with you it never mattered at all
Something about you was larger than life
I always felt safe and secure on your arm
 When we entered an event together
We felt tall together, regal
People felt it too and they gazed at us
With smiles of open admiration
If we danced or laughed, they joined us
We were awesome together - in public
 No wonder it confused me to be alone
At home wondering where you were
Praying that each next set of headlights
 Would bring you home safely
The hours spent praying and crying and praying
And in the end I wish, I wish - I wish
So early on it could have ended
I could have gone on- Our kids too and we would have all been fine
But it didn't end sooner and we
Are not fine - none of us
We are all the worse for knowing you

~For Knowing You by Victoria Meyers

A Funny Thought by Victoria Meyers (3 of 30)

I had a funny thought today
While I sat there in the Hall
I thought that maybe we could
All just be a family again
The friends came and introduced
Themselves one by one like I was
Some kind of stranger or newbie
They really didn't know I've been
Around here for years and years
Well have I?
They should know
I had a funny thought tonight
Sitting there at the Hall
Thinking that maybe we could
All just be a family again
I miss those times when we'd
Trail into the meeting -late
Seven uneven heads sitting in a row
We usually had to take a whole row Just for us
 I had a funny thought this evening
When I was listening to the Memorial Talk there in the Hall tonight
That I miss being a family
I miss bringing my family
I wonder where they all are
Right now