#he obviously didn't think what remarrying to have more children would come off as to his existing child

[thatlittleegyptologist]

Hello! You said you were bored and I am also bored so I thought I'd see if I have a question worth answering!

Been doing some casual genealogy on my family and have consequently been getting more into historical Egypt, Lebanon, and surrounding areas (we immigrated to the US a couple of generations ago, but most Karam families are still in Lebanon and Egypt). We unfortunately aren't sure what regions exactly we may have more direct relatives in (we didn't keep great records so I'm relying on public data), but I know that we were Christian Maronites from the area.

While broader histories of national religions, and politics are more widely accessible and easy to look through, it doesn't tell me much about what kind of daily lives my ancestors would have lived. I don't know if they had a unique way of doing certain things like making bread or shoes or clothes, or if there were any local dramas lol.

I guess what I'm actually asking is: are there any sort of lesser known regional history facts/stories that you can think of that you don't get to talk about often?

This isn't a "ooooh my family is from around Egypt tell me all of your secret pyramid info" lol, but more of a "were there any known Ea Nasir types around at some time in history that maybe one of my ancestors bickered with at some point?" Perhaps a localized story about someone's lost pet, or a grandma's recipe that no one else could get quite right.

While I think my draw to ancient Egypt has always been the same one of beauty, mysticism, and awe that most westerners face when first seeing the pyramids on tv, I'm trying to approach my forgotten genealogy a little less as a vague national identity and as more of a relatable neighborhood full of people at some point in time, where a family member some time ago was probably a lot more like me than I can imagine in today's age.

Obviously these stories wouldn't have necessarily come from a long dead family member of mine, but they were probably living not so different lives. And it's the smaller, more personal anecdotes you don't see in national geographic that make the biggest impact on a personal level. I can't identify my ancestry with gilded sarcophagi and pharaohs, but I sure can relate to struggling with your crops, y'know? 😅

Anyway, that was WAY too long, but I've been following your blog for a little while and felt like reaching out cause I think you're pretty cool. I just hope you're staying cool in this heat wave! (I am also living in the dark in front of a fan rn lol)

Thanks!! 😊✨🇱🇧🇪🇬✨

Hi!

Ok, so first off I know very little about early Christian Egypt aside from some of the Coptic texts (Apa Marcus and the like), but I can give you something from Ancient Egypt.

There's Paneb, who has a wonderful chequered history in the Village of Deir el Medina. Commits a lot of crimes, some of which he's guilty of, and some which have been invented by people he's wronged. Notably stole a goose and some copper chisels in two separate incidents. Also had a habit of sleeping with other men's wives.

There's also Naunakhte, also from Deir el Medina, who wrote a will disinheriting half of her children. She had property she had inherited from her father, and initially wrote a will where all her children were included. When she remarried, she updated the will to include her husband, but then disinherited several of her children because they did not look after where when she was sick and she couldn't be bothered with kids like that. Absolute power move.

[shizukateal]

Lore Olympus Fast Pass thoughts (201, part A, apparently)

Apparently there's a word limit on posts again??? I'll link the second part here.

I was about to agree with Zeus but then Persephone reminded us that his idiocy is just as dangerous as her going down alone. Sadly, they'll both have to compensate for each other's disadvantages.

I mean... she would kill me, but I would probably not resist going near Hecate. Or at least staring at her for a while. Good on them for the prudent action, though.

Oh, this is a new low for Zeus. Like, I don't even bother expecting anything good from him, but this is a lack in the departments of situational awareness and interpersonal skills that goes beyond my imagination. This is some Sovieshu-Remarried Empress-tier fuck-up.

Huh, so THAT is Leuce. Her name means white, so I would have made her white-skinned, but I'm obviously not going to complain.

Hmm, most sought-after nymph and a rather conceited one as well. I wonder if we'll see her again? Whatever Zeus bribed her with must've been hefty. And also her myth also ends up with her being turned into a plant by Persephone.

Very gentlemanly of Hades to not disparage her by comparing her to Perse or anything though, just firmly turning her down. Also he looks great with that hair 👌💯

Actually, I'm the one who has been mentally comparing Sovieshu and Zeus for a while now, so in retrospect I should've seen this level of callous and hypocritically egotistical disdain for the concept of loyalty in love coming from a mile away.

No, asshole, he is not ok.

Much like Fanny Price, Persephone is too good of a person to be petty. I am not, though, I do feel happy about this.

Owo? Who's this?

I mean, Zeus, a) YOU made it a big deal when you escalated the whole thing with the trial, b) everything Persephone says, and if I can annex something to that, even in the more ""realistic"" possibility that both of them stopped having feelings for eachother after this separation they are still friends. The LO-antis can complain as much as they want about the romance being ""rushed"" or whatever, the facts are that, diegetically, Persephone and Hades have been supportive towards eachother in very meaningful ways.

Yeah, that's not good enough for me, bitch, you left her without her powers and even if you didn't have conclusive evidence that this only affected those marked by Kronos YOU SHOULD'VE STILL CHECKED (<- Athena voice)

Time to bring up the heir theory again, buckle up:

To recap, I think the law of successions actually goes like this: Next one('s?) to be born off of a Fertility Goddess becomes the Ruler. This would mean that Hades and the rest could've become the King of the Gods, but then Zeus cemented his position by eating Metis and gaining her powers. Assumedly, he then found out about that first part and did everything he could to suppress that knowledge, because his sons or whoever wanting to overthrow him is one thing, but if it's a cycle tied to inevitable fate then shit becomes even worse, because there's nothing he can do to stop it once the baby is born, so he can only prevent it by sequestering Persephone. However, even in the chance that I'm right I don't necessarily have conclusive evidence that Zeus knows that, although his reaction to the expired condom recently feeds my suspicions. Still, he could just be acting on what he's telling Persephone now about her giving her powers to someone else.

That being said, it perks my ears that he brings up Apollo as the main threat not only here again, but during the trial, where his train of though lingered on the fact that he is his son and that, by extension, that adds a danger to a relationship between him and Persephone. Taking things at face value, Apollo is obviously the only one of his children that clearly wants to usurp him and him being a prince means he'd have legitimacy to the throne... but so would a child between him and Persephone.

#lore olympus fast pass #lore olympus 201 #lo zeus #lo hades #lo persephone #lo leuche #lo demeter

[elvesofnoldor]

.

#mae overshares #humm might be spicy take but if you are trying to date/marry a widowed parent whose existing child is still attached to their missing parent #and you are not as committed in being that child's new parent as you are being that child's parent's spouse #then you are an asshole in my book and you shouldn't have tried to build your own merry family on the ruins of somebody else's broken family #this post is about indis. i dont like her. i will never like her and my mind cannot be changed. #apparently disliking her is unpopular but idgaf #i dont wanna rant abt indis cause i dont wanna spend any attention dedicate to fictional character i dislike. life is too short for that #but every once a while i get seized by the sheer force of anger i have for indis and i WILL talk abt it or else i WILL explode #like if you are not ready to face any difficulties you might encounter and make sure the existing child of the person you are abt to marry #would feel just as loved and accepted as your own biological children in the family you are abt to build with their biological parent #then dont marry that child's parent. like idc the child was difficult in any sort of way. you are intruding upon somebody else's family lol! #your feelings don't mean dick to me if you barged on somebody's family and then the existing child rejected you as a step parent #i also dont care. in this case. that miriel did not have a problem with indis. she allowed this marriage to happen #so this is on her tbh and she knows it. and honestly she probs felt so guilty abt the way feanor turned out that she didn't have the heart #regardless of how miriel felt. i have a fucking problem with indis. #its not like i dont have a problem with finwe because he decided to have more than one child for reasons i cant understand #he obviously didn't think what remarrying to have more children would come off as to his existing child #it's like he was saying 'you are not enough' to feanor. and i didnt see this before but feanor sure grew up like the sort of children #who constantly felt like they needed to do more and be more so their parent will love them. and it's obviously his dad's fault #he also obviously didnt realize the damage he's done until decades later and feanor threatened to kill one of his other children #because feanor believed he has to compete with his half-siblings for his father's love and he was paranoid that he would be left unloved #finwe honestly didnt seem to realize what's done until his first child already turned out to be so emotionally fucked up and it was too late #my feelings towards finwe soften a lot because of what he did next: he gave up the crown and left to live with feanor #to me this signals to me that finwe was trying (in vain. but still) to rectify the situation. i don't see that as finwe siding with feanor #(because there is no way finwe thinks feanor's behaviour was in any way acceptable lol) #i see this as finwe saying 'fuck the crown. fuck being a king. what matters to me right now is to be your father.' #i see this as finwe saying 'our people can have another king but i'm your only father. and being your father means more than anything else' #i see this as finwe saying 'i'm sorry that you felt you needed to compete for my love. you never needed to fear that you will lose my love' #obvs following feanor to exile might hurt fingolfin a bit. but again. fingolfin has his younger siblings and his own mother. alive and well #he's not alone and he never felt alone. unlike feanor. so. and he got to be king didn't he? so im just saying

[everydaychurch]

Beauty from Ashes (Part 1) by Warren

When I was a very young boy I was raised  in a dysfunctional home devoid of any resemblance of a consistent, safe, nurturing environment. I longed for what I believed to be a normal, secure life. This was all I recall desiring. I needed to feel wanted. I yearned for happiness. In comparison I was envious of the life my friends seemed to be experiencing. I Questioned why feelings of love were absent. Why wouldn't I be convinced that  I was a nuisance, a mistake, a catalyst that caused the battles my parents, myself, and siblings where dealing with? My parents were both over forty when I came into the world. Unplanned of course. I was told over the years my mom never loved my dad and their marriage was one of survival for my mother. She had no idea at the time he was a monster.

To keep a very long story short my life up to this point was a chaotic fight inside a landscape of insanity. I had no choice but to be tough  24/7. Always on guard and seldom without fear; I was ready to fight. 

I witnessed violent, dangerous, and threatening life moments no child, let alone adult should ever see. I was let down by most adults around me.I trusted no one; but I wanted to.

People in my realm of influence were far too concerned with their own traumas, especially my depressed, manipulative father. He died when I was 7.  My biological dad was physically, mentally, and sexually abusive not only towards his children but to other children as well. I never would ever know if there was a good side. He taught me to read at an early age I guess, and ride a bike, but heaven forbid if I did something he didn't like beyond his ever changing standards and emotional states. The challenge being  you would never know what that might be.

 I ended up being the peacemaker in the middle of the violence. I still find myself doing that as an adult. Always trying to appease everyone. You try to appease everyone you end up pleasing know one. Its not you job anyways. It’s something I am still working on.

I grew up in shame. I attended 11 different schools and moved far too often. Many fistfights, suspensions, and one sided counseling sessions with school principles. People were scared of me.  One school even brought in then U-dub Quarterback Sonny Sixkiller to talk with me. He had no clue what to do. I can still remember the look on his face as he walked back to his car. The look of defeat.   I punched a nun once who slapped me and wore it like a badge. I was in 4th grade.

Single parenting was looked down upon in the 1960′s. My hardworking, strong willed, New York native mom worked multiple jobs so I was often left on my own to fend for myself; even as young as 5 years old. It’s no wonder I later lived through my teenage years willingly participating in the old 1970′s adage “Sex,Drugs,and Rock and Roll”.  One week a rebel  and next week Young Life meeting guitar player. I wore my many masks well. I fooled many a parent, pastor, friend, and teacher - but I was a mess.

You see, even though life settled down somewhat when my mom remarried, I remained rough around the edges. I had a good man in my step-father. No telling how bad life would have gone without him in it, but I was still carrying a darkness and sadness inside my soul without support or skills to change my situation. Yet know one knew or wanted to know. It was enigma because on one hand I wanted someone, anyone, to notice but on the other hand making every effort to hide it.

As an above average athlete, with a strong mind, and a budding musical gift  I had no lack for popularity. A good fastball, straight A’s, and an electric guitar are great smokescreens This fueled my ability to cover up the deep rooted pain I carried. 

These young years were where my view of the world was shaped. Experience being the teacher that shaped my view of God. I think it can be said life events often do. Good or bad.

Strangely I think I always believed in God, even as a young 3 year old. I once viewed an old family 8MM movie my father filmed, since long lost, where at that age I stood on a box pretending to deliver a fire and brimstone sermon to the neighborhood kids. This was double interesting since my family certainly never regularly attended church and if they did it was Lutheran. 

So not a huge surprise, even though my beliefs were so messed up in regards to the nature of God I made a formal “Altar Call” commitment to follow Jesus at 13 years old. 

In the years that followed, as far as I was concerned, I failed with that commitment over and over again. It was a yo-yo faith at best. I truly in my heart loved Jesus, yet at one point I screamed at God with my hands stretched to the sky, “ You obviously don’t love me”. For me I was the dirty, ugly kid void of any understanding of security, hope, love, and joy. I certainly had no grasp of the true heart of God. Yet I still sought His approval and acceptance based on who I believed I was, not on how God actually sees me. I didn’t understand how the creator of the universe viewed me until much, much later in life.

I left home at 18 and joined the Air Force. Yo-Yo faith in full action. I had my periods of going to church and living by all appearances a Christian Life. I also had spans of numbing drunkenness and partying.

Marriage to Kathy was the next big life event at 20, then my daughters came into the world. I loved them at the time the best I was capable of. My wife was a trooper as our foundation was rocky from the start due to all the baggage listed above. She had her own issues to deal with as well. By the age of 25 I had 3 daughters, spent 3 years living overseas, bought and lost a home, had a car repo’d, and gone bankrupt. By the time I hit 28 life was better but far from whole. I knew as a family and as a person God was needed to intervene and I recognized I had to make changes, which I did. I recommitted my life to Christ. It was good. For a while anyways.

By 30 I was already studying and preparing for the ministry. I remember fondly the happy day when I knew I was called. Kathy was excited too, but the deep rooted issues in my heart were still hanging around. Our first step of entering church ministry was a huge failure, taking a horrible toil on my wife and daughters. Our marriage never fully recovered after that. We were living with an open wound. It was already on a cracked foundation even before ministry life began. There was always a limp. 

When stress comes into the game of life  whatever foundation your life has been built on will test how well your home will respond. Will it stand? Will it have devastating damage? Will it crumble to the ground?

For me, every time stress arose I entertained the old thoughts; God is punishing me. He hates me. He really didn’t call me. Its all in my head. In times like these its easy to start passing blame on someone or anything. Hear me when I say this; “that attitude only magnifies your problems”. However, Ministry could at times look incredibly successful in the middle of a mess and there were times when it was. But the truth is there was always a mask. There was always a skewed understanding of the nature and character of Jesus. I could preach the truth of Jesus to others, but not understand those same truths for myself. I knew things in my head that my heart could not grasp.

in 2010, after continued ministry struggle, I quit the pastorate. My marriage was hanging on a thread now. My adult children didn’t like or want to be around me. I was barely surviving as a person. Kathy was beyond her boundaries of reasonable relationship with me, I don’t know how she felt about God at this point, but I know she was disappointed. My own confidence in church life was broken.I think she felt the same.

I didn’t think my struggles could grow any larger than they were at this time. I hate to say this but oh how wrong I was. 

After leaving ministry I went back to college. Kathy had a good job. My kids were on their own. I had grandchildren. I certainly loved my family,  but...I was horribly shell shocked. Ministry had become my identity. I had no other developed work skills outside of church, music or military, I had to bring in some money while in school, but my honest attitude was any job outside of ministry was below me. Then it got worse; much, much, worse.

My heart was broke - literally. It was revealed that I had, unbeknownst to me, long term diabetes. Diabetes had destroyed my heart. After 3 heart attacks I was rushed into open heart surgery or die. This mess brought out the absolute worst in me. Anger, fear, accusations toward God. My boiling point had been reached. In my mind these latest events were nothing more than continued failure, more punishment. I was mad at God. My wife Kathy had had enough. On Valentines Day, only a few weeks after surgery she asked me to leave our home. I was homeless or living with relatives for the next 6 months.

I began working on myself. I didn’t walk away from God, even in my anger. It got better. I worked hard. Kathy and I reconciled. We moved east to Detroit where Kathy grew up. Life was getting better again- for a while anyways.

Unfortunately the damage ended up being too deep for her.Two people who I will always believe loved one another could not get past it. I didn’t want to give up, but after 3 more off and on reconciliations she no longer wanted to be married. I was served the divorce papers on my birthday while in the empty apartment I had just removed all my possessions out of into storage. I was soon to be homeless again. A few weeks later I lost my job, then shortly later lost my mother to a brain infection.

The worst time of my life ever.

But something was different. I didn’t go through the mental up and downs with God. My church provided some money for a Motel 6 where I could  stay and eventually I got an apartment. I was still working, as my termination date had not yet approached .I still secretly tried to win Kathy back. I just couldn’t fathom what had happened and my marriage ending in divorce. After realizing nothing was going to change I let go and came home to Seattle.

I also went to counseling during this time and that helped tremendously. I began the journey of dealing with the childhood abuse and divorce. Through counseling during this horrible period of time my perspective on God’s nature in the midst of pain initiated the early stages of change. Wasn’t perfect of course. I had some follies and made some serious mistakes, but God proved faithful and likely had a plan of fixing me long before I did,  He was determined to renew and restore my life. My expectations were far short of His. His ways were certainly not my ways.

After moving back home I was pursued by a couple of ladies and I entertained the thought of dating. Bad move. One of those follies I mentioned earlier. I soon swore off the thought of dating and women. I needed to focus on myself. I was still obviously wounded. I still had difficulty with church and anger to some degree. It didn’t help that I lived across the street from a church I was once was on staff at (it was the only apt complex I could afford) I had to look at that church every single day.

STAY TUNED FOR PART 2

[drlindamurraytenacity-blog]

WHAT FOLLOWS IS A BOOK - COMPLETELY UNEDITED-- TO READ THE EARLIEST ENTRIES GO TO THE OLDEST BLOGS © Dr Linda Murray “I to you will open the book of a black sin deep printed in me my disease lies in my soul” . . . Thomas Decker in The Noble Spanish Soldier. . .   Book, “The Silkworm” - Robert Galbrath Grade ‘3' Saying ‘3'-----When I left Scotland in December 1963, 1 was half way through grade 3. Desmond was in grade 2 and Kevin was struggling in day care. When we reached Winnipeg my father had us enrolled in a Catholic school with nuns in habit teaching. In our appropriate grade levels as they were in Scotland. This turned out not to be as smooth as he thought it would be. I remember a very bad day at the hands of these nuns. They could be brutal. All of us had clear Scottish accents and the teacher was having a tough time understanding me. On one of these occasions, I was reciting numbers and she kept stopping me at the number '3'. She made a big deal out of my pronunciation. Three had an ‘R’ in it so I obviously rolled my Rs and she kept trying to correct me. She made a huge deal out of this in front of class. Desmond was also having trouble with his accent. These nuns were cruel and called my father to talk. According to the nuns, we were not as emotionally developed as the other children in the grades we were in and we were having language problems because of our accents. We were possibly a little more needy than our classmates but given our experiences during the last three years it wouldn't be a big surprise. In my opinion some TLC would have helped us out instead we were demoted a grade. Where the nuns said we should be because of our ages. Then my father moved and we went to a different school. Near the end of this school year and my father got married we moved into our house in Fort Gary and another grade three class. I spent time in four grade three classes in a one year time frame “For darkness restores what cannot be repaired.” . . . Joseph Brodsky M-I-C-K-E-Y  M-O-U-S-E-----I have a very clear memories of watching the Mickey Mouse Club on TV when I was 8 or 9 years old. I liked the show because I remembered it from being younger in Scotland. Watching just made me feel better somehow. Like I was still connected to my old home. The home my mother lived in. It's funny I did not think of this connection till recently. We were also allowed to watch Disney on Sunday nights while eating dinner. I wanted to belong to that Club but I never told anyone until much later when our neighbours boys were in my life. It is funny though. When I won a trip to Orlando Florida I insisted that we spend I day in Disney, more on this later. Sick From Soup------My father was lousy cook. But he had to make lunch for us before he got married and after he let the nanny go. He had a blender and he was too cheap to pay for canned soups. This was a known fact even to me at the time dried Chicken soup existed then. His blender was the blender from hell. He used to try to create soup for us for lunch. You would not believe the stuff he threw into that blender in the name of soup. I was usually the first person to try the soup he would ‘cook’. Some of them I could tolerate and I ate but the boys were not as receptive. One day, I tried his latest concoction but it was brutal. Even I couldn't eat it nor could I keep it down. The boys were not forced to eat it that day like on most other days he cooked. If I wouldn’t eat it must be bad because. I would eat almost anything he cooked. At the time I did not want to hurt his feelings. Once again I became my father’s keeper. I felt responsible for his problems his needs and the needs of my brothers. Sharing Skis------One day I remember going up to the Highlands of Scotland with my father and his friends. We were skiing. I clearly remember skiing on the back of my fathers skis. I loved to ski even though I had not done so on my own. There was just something about the sport. I guess it could have been because I was alone on the skis with my father. Whether it was the sport itself or the good memories with my father I am not sure. Sometime near when my father and stepmonster married we actually went to a ski hill and tried skiing. This was the first time I remember having a recreational day with my father in a very long time. My father was not one to waste money, especially on children. I remember he rented one set of boots and skis for Desmond and I to share. Talk about cheap. We had to trade off approximately every half hour. I loved skiing and took to it very quickly. I was learning how to bob up and down on the bunny hill. What a rush. But I would just get started and I would have to give the skis to my brother. I think he liked it too but we both hated having to share the set of skis. I am not sure why this was such a problem for the two of us. But it is possibly because we were also having to get used to sharing our father with her. Its funny when I go back and think through these memories as an adult. I still love skiing and there will be more on this later. 185  Osborne Street----When we were living the Osborne Village long before it was trendy we had to cross Osborne Street to get to our school. We also walked on Osborne Street for a few blocks. On this street there was what you called a five and dime store. They carried candies and children's stuff much like the Dollar Stores do today. I started going into the store. There was a ‘nice’ old man who owned the store and he lived in the rooms behind the store front. Having spent so much time in my gran's store I felt safe and it helped me get over some of the loss and loneliness I was feeling. The old man used to give me candy. You all know where this is going now. I was a prime target for this paedofile. I look back and I realized that he capitalized on his being my grandfather’s age and candy like in my gran’s store. The store door even had a bell on it like my gran's store. His interactions with me started off pretty harmless but within a few weeks he was used to me coming in and sitting on his lap eating candy. Then he had me come into the back rooms to show me something. I cant remember what now. But, then he became a lot bolder getting me to lie with him on the bed then he moved on top of me. Before I knew it he had me pinned on the bed and was forcing himself inside me. I kept saying no but he wouldn't listen. Suddenly that bell went from the front door. Someone came into the shop. I was saved by the bell on the door. He had to get up. And I ran out of the store. Never to return. I never told anyone about this till I told my psychologist in the late 1990s. I never did anything about this until the late 1990s. More on this later. Stealing----Shortly after being molested, when we were still living on Stradbrook I started to hang around with another Kim and her friend. One day we were outside the drug store on Osborne street, the store with the big rounded window in the front, and we had no money for candy.  The company now in the building was “The Cheese Cake Factory”. I am not sure how I was the one to go into the store but I was. They wanted me to steal some candy. OK! I was going to try this. I felt fearless. I figured in the sphere of all that has happened to me, this was nothing. So in I went and the salesperson started to talk to me. So I backed up into the rack of candies and with my hands behind my back I grabbed a bag of toffees and stuffed them into the back of my clothing. I did this while I was talking to the sales girl no less. I wasn't a bad kid or anything. I knew it was wrong. I knew what the consequences would be if I was caught and I did it anyway. I needed to impress these kids more than I was afraid of the belt when my father found out. I left the store sick to my stomach but I had the bag of toffee. The kids were amazed that I could do that while I was talking to the salesperson. So was I. I did not steal anything else until I had no money to eat, later on in life. This was also the last time I would do something I knew was wrong to make friends. Cleaning With The Nanny-----When my father decided to leave Scotland for Canada he hired a nanny to take care of us kids. He brought her to Canada with him. The local newspaper ran a story on us in November 1962 and in the story, under our pictures, he advertized for a live in nanny to go to Canada with us. He told us later that he picked a nanny that he was not the least bit attracted to so there was no chance he would land up with this uneducated person. I learned that my father was an education snob. For her, it was an opportunity to become a landed immigrant. She would not have had this opportunity because of her lack of education. She took care of us whenever we were out of school and my father was at work and took care of the apartment. I am not sure of her last name but her first name was Jean Niven? She had to share a room with me. My father said she was lazy. I remember that when we moved into the apartment we found a box of make up in the porch and we were excited to play with all of it. Somehow she thought that this was a bad idea and she took custody of the useable makeup. I have some very positive memories of her. Whenever she waxed the floors. Especially in the hallway. She would tie rags around our bare feet and we would race down the hall cleaning the waxed floor. We were normally not allowed to run in the apartment. But she said if we didn't tell, our father didn't need to know. This nanny also taught us how to make plaster-of-Paris maracas with old light bulbs. This was great fun. I wonder how we would have faired if she had stayed with us instead of stepmonster. My father thought that she was lazy and let her go shortly before he remarried. I think that we would have had a much better life with her in it, rather than the stepmonster. At least she was never nasty to us and tried to ameliorate my fathers strictness. I often wonder what happened to her. If you are out there Jean get in touch I would love to get your perspective on the way things were. Shirley and Sheila----When I was about nine years old my father met Shirley and Sheila F. They were twins and they were both working as nurses in the Misericordia Hospital. They also lived together. Dad started dating Shirley, soon to be the ‘stepmonster’.  Much later in time Sheila also married a widower with three kids. And she managed to isolate the man from his children also just like our stepmonster managed to do with us three. Even worse in our case we did not have Mike as our father. I loved this man, he was so gentle, he clearly loved his children, and even more he was not the authoritarian my father was.  Unfortunately, even Mike could not save his children. Luckily they had their mother much longer than we had. Dad, Shirley, and Sheila were fairly heavy smokers. More on this later. Our First Cigarette-----Our first cigarette was provided from out stepmonster to be. We were in hers and Sheila’s apartment when my brother Desmond took interest in her cigarettes. I was 9, Desy 8, and Kevin was 5. She took a cigarette out for each of us and lit them for us. She told us how to smoke it and laughed as we choked on the smoke. I was so sick. I felt like puking. I didn't touch one of those things for a very long time. I never became a smoker either. Both of my brothers did take up smoking in their teens. It is interesting that this first experience smoking cigarettes was so negative. I was so sick and this was a real red flag for what was to follow. As I grew, I constantly ragged on them for smoking. It made sense later that I often was sick with colds and sore throats and I later became so allergic to tobacco smoke. The Perm----When I was about nine and we were getting ready for my father's marriage to 'step monster' to be. I had to have my hair done. All I remembered was sitting in the chair a long time with her and we both got perms done. Much later she told me later that it was me who wanted the prerm in my hair. Not her. But I don't remember that. What I do remember is the mess my hair turned out to be. It was fried, a big ball of static fizz, a tangled mass that was next to impossible to get a brush or comb through. What I know now is that you cant use an adult perm on a child’s very fine hair. They must have known even then by the outcomes that the adult perm would damage a child’s hair. I remember standing on the couch in the living room of the apartment and looking at the friz ball that was my hair. Nothing worked to control it we just had to cut it out as my hair grew. For the wedding my hair was sprayed and back combed. It took forever, and it hurt. I still hate to go to a hairdresser and opt for a really short cut. Sleepwalking on Stradbrook-----Before the ‘marriage’ my brothers and I were living with my dad and brothers and a nanny on Stradbrook street. I still had a problem wetting my bed at night. Although we did not know at the time we  know now that this was another early sign of a serious depression problem. Anyway, the routine was that either the nanny or my dad would get me up at about 11 P.M. or 12 A.M. and take me to the bathroom. Most of the time I would not remember this happening. It was like I was in a fog. One night the nanny placed me on the toilet and was called away for some reason. All I remember of the night was her asking me if I would be O.K. on my own to go back to bed. I can hear myself telling her I would be fine. I remember the actual configuration of the bathroom and that it was right across from my bedroom. Apparently, when she went to check on me she found me missing and the search was on. The finally found me wandering around on Stradbrook Street in my pajamas. I had left the bathroom, unlocked the apartment doors, walked down one or two sets of stairs and let myself out of the locked apartment block. In most areas of town this would not have been too bad, but Stradbrook street is near Osbourne Street. It was in the middle of the Osbourne Street Village and there was a rough bar on the comer. The area was in very rough shape. It was not ‘The Village’ as it is known now. The Yellow Dress----When my father was to marry the step monster I was supposed to be a flower girl along with the step monsters young sister Francine. The bridesmaids were dressed in pink so were to have pink dresses. I remember always hating pink. I am not sure where this dislike of pink came from but it was intense. As it turned out, there was not enough pink material to make both the flower girls dresses to match the bridesmaids so one of the flower girls dresses would have to be made out of yellow. I begged to be given the yellow dress but I was forced to wear the pink and Francine was given the yellow dress. Francine teased me about it mercilessly. It was such a simple request ‘let me wear the yellow dress’. But step monster said that Francine looked better in the yellow and I looked better in the pink. This is one of the many pink battles I would have to fight. And, to this day, I still don’t like pink. I also still do not know why. Twisting at the Wedding-----I have some ‘positive’ memories about my fathers wedding. I loved to hear bagpipes and there was a piper. I also remember dancing at the wedding. I was doing the twist and I was on a stage of some sort from what I remember of the event. I cant remember much else for some reason or another. I also remember my father and step monster leaving for their honeymoon. But I am not sure who took care of us. I think it was a family friend ‘Curley’ and her boys. It is interesting some of the things you remember while other things you cant remember.

Kilts in December-----My father decided to leave Scotland in 1963 just after/before Christmas. I was eight and a half, Desmond was seven, and Kevin was four. He had a number of reasons to leave. There was opportunity, a fresh start, and there was escape from my grandmother. The two of them never got along. He was an authoritarian rebel ex-Catholic bully and my grandmother was a meddling narrow minded Protestant. He hated my mother’s family. I think that he blamed them for my mother’s death while they blamed him. As it often is in life there are three versions of reality, his, theirs, and the reality of depression. My mother had been dead for three years now and he saw little future for us in Scotland. I did not know much about why my father took us away from the only family and support we had, I was to find out about the reasons much later in life. I realized much later in life that my father was a coward who ran away from his problems instead of dealing with them. I do know that my grandmother’s heart was broken and he didn’t care. We were her only grandchildren, and all she had left of her eldest daughter Joy our dead mother. In preparation for the trip my grandmother wanted to buy us new clothes to make the trip in, she dressed both Desmond and I in a kilt made from the Murray tartan and royal blue sweaters. I cant remember what Kevin was dressed in he was too young for a kilt. She also sent each of us off with a bible with an inscription. Mine read "Linda Murray is my name, Scotland is my nation, Canada is my dwelling place but Christ is my salvation"....Johan Latimer (my maternal gandmother). I still have both the kilt and the bible. Unfortunately for us, we arrived in Winnipeg Manitoba in late December. There was snow everywhere. The snow in Winnipeg can be six feet deep at this time of the year. The air was so cold and there was no walkway from the plane to the airport gate. We had to walk down the stairs with uncovered legs. My gran and my dad didn't have a clue what to expect. It was cold, Damn cold.