More Fond Childhood Memories

This picture brings back memories.  The horse training whip was my mother's preferred weapon of choice in disciplining me.  She used to show it to her friends and brag about beating me with it.  She'd wrap the long nylon tail around the fiberglass pole and beat my bare legs and whatever else she could hit.  Sometimes the ragged tail would come unwrapped from the pole and would wrap around my legs, only to be snatched back off with her next swing.  Those were the most painful beatings I received.  I screamed.... not only from the pain, but also with the desperate hope that maybe someone would hear me and stop her.  Once or twice my neighbor did hear and did attempt to stop her. After these sessions my mother would leave red-faced and panting from exertion.  I'd be on the ground, gasping for breath, my throat raw from screaming and my legs dripping with blood.  

Not All Mothers Love Their Children

My mother 2010

The truth of this has finally been confirmed!  It has only taken 42 years to get a straight answer, but by golly, I finally got one.

Do you know what it’s like to grow up thinking your mother doesn’t love you?  Sure, I realized that my step-father didn’t, but that was okay because he wasn’t my real dad – I wasn’t his real daughter.  As much as I felt that Momma didn’t love me, I questioned myself… it couldn’t possibly be true.  I tortured myself over this for years.  There was that part of me that believed, if only you do this better, or that better, you’ll see – she really does love you.  Lord, I tried so hard, over and over again... only to end up with my heart broken from the pain of her rejection and indifference.  Then there was that other part of me that said, Look – can’t you see that she’s defective?  She doesn’t remember your birthdays, she drives right past your house to see your sister, she doesn’t call to check on you when she finds out you’re in the hospital, she didn’t even tell her best friend of 20 years that she had another daughter.  Hell, as soon as my parents put me out at age 16 they dropped my medical coverage and forgot about me - they never contacted me again.  I moved into 11 different homes in that first year and they didn’t even know about it.  If it hadn’t been for my sister trying to find me and keep in touch they still wouldn't know anything about me.

Little Me at 2 years old

So, anyway, I’m getting off subject.  Hallelujah, I finally got the truth out of my mother and it feels great!  April of 2010 my mother confessed that she didn’t love me and never had, even though she tried.  However, she is proud of how strong of a person I am and how well I’ve turned out.  Amazingly enough, this awful truth brought me peace.  It erased most of the bitterness I’ve been carrying around in my heart for years.  I finally know the truth... I wasn’t imagining things... I can trust my judgment because I was right all along.

Fishing for Boll Weavils

I was strolling thru the kitchen one day and saw my mother intently staring into a boiling pot of elbow macaroni, occasionally dipping something out with a large spoon.   I had a feeling I needed to find out what was going on so I casually asked,

“What ‘cha doing momma?”

“Looking for Boll Weavils,” she replied.

“What’s a Boll Weavil?”

“Wait a minute and I’ll show you…here’s one” she said, proudly displaying this little black beetle on her spoon.  “The Weavils got into the noodles so I’m fishing them out,” she explained.  

I looked into the pot and sure enough, there were little black beetles floating up to the surface as the water churned and boiled.  I started thinking about that.  What if the little bug got stuck inside the elbow macaroni and didn’t come out?

I went to bed early without dinner because I came down with an upset stomach.

Making Biscuits Momma?

I just happened to pass thru the kitchen while my mother was sifting flour for biscuits.  I heard her cuss so I stopped to see why.  She was peering carefully into the metal sifter as she turned the handle.  

“Damn Meal Worms” she muttered and dumped more flour into the sifter.  I glanced around her shoulder into bag of flour and the flour was moving!  Little worms were happily weaving their way up and down and all around in the flour my mother was sifting.  

“There are worms in there!” I exclaimed. 

“Extra Protein,” she commented as she methodically sifted the flour.

I headed toward my room thinking that I really wasn’t hungry after all.  I stopped by my sister’s room and offered up a suggestion:

Don’t eat the biscuits.

Down Home Cooking Momma’s Style:

These are some fond memories I have from childhood and eating from my mother’s table.

Vegetable Soup

fresh Vegetable soup made from our garden

Dinner at our house was a structured event with rules set in stone that were strictly enforced.  No elbows on the table, no drinking before the meal was finished, and no talking unless spoken to, were a few of the rules.

I had almost eaten all of my soup and was near the bottom of the bowl when I noticed something thick and green that looked a little peculiar.  I carefully fished it out and was examining it closely when recognition caused me to jerk back in surprise.  

The boiled Horn Worm hit the table and rolled a couple of times.  My step-father, the Enforcer, sat to the right of me and was on me in a second.  I explained in horror that my bowl of soup had a boiled Horn Worm in it – see right there?  The worm was briefly examined and to my growing horror, I was instructed to finish my soup.  I cried and begged, but it was no use.  Gagging with each bite, and staring into the Enforcer’s hard, cruel gaze, I had to finish my meal.

Purging the Soul

I have two long-winded major parts of my life I want to talk about.  I don't have any children and I think relaying these stories are important.  I had to suffer through too much for them to be simply forgotten.  One is about my life growing up and the way things were in our house.  The other is about what happened to me after my parents kicked me out at age 16.  Both of these things effected my life and helped to shape and create the person I have become.  I can't tackle these stories head on because they are so hard to tell.  So I'll start by slipping sideways into different portions of the story and hopefully will be able one day to go back in and fill in all the important details.  Right now, today, I want to talk about what it was like, from my prospective, growing up in Pelion in the Sigmon Household.

All about Ben

Well, I have finally reached the difficult decision to sell Ben.  I've had Ben for seven years - and he's been wonderful.  He's too good of a horse to just stand in his pen day after day, wistfully looking at the other horses pass by.  I will miss him terribly but I am trying to offset that by finding him the best possible home - hopefully with someone who will want to keep in touch with me.  I made several little video clips of him Saturday, February 26th.  He had not been handled or ridden in about 5 months when this video was taken.  When I say not handled, that doesn't include petting, brushing or putting his insulated blanket on.  Anyway, some of the video is good, some is embarrassing.  I did get pissed at Allan because I thought he was being too impatient with Ben, (he had a time with the bridle) but it all turned out well anyway because it shows Ben's personality and patience with us.  LOVE THIS HORSE!!  Here are the clips in order: