Popcorn :)

So...I'm so grateful to be blessed with some of the most wonderful family members and friends. There are days that I'm driving or sitting at my desk or walking across campus and I can feel my body filling with love, energy, powerful light. I know it's coming from the thoughts and prayers of those folks who live near and far that love me. 

Today was one of those days. I was driving to the bank and I was filled with love. I decided to call one of the people who I know sends that feeling to me daily, Sam, my brother.

On a momentary side note: if you know me you know that Sam has had many nicknames in his life. I've called him: Bubba, Little Sam, Big Sam, Unka Sam and Bro. Today I call  him Bro. You should know that I always call him Bro. I never refer to him as Sam. It's just easier. My Daddy was Sam, my dog was Sam, my best friend's daughter is Sam, one of my best friends from Louisiana is Sam, my Cousin Clint's son is Sam. Many, many folks in my life are named Sam.

I called Bro. We talked about Mom and Kate and Abby. And somewhere in the middle of our conversation we started talking about Iowa. Bro said he would like to go back to Iowa. I on the other hand am not drawn to Iowa but talking about Iowa made me think of Idaho.  If you know how my mind works call me up and tell me because I immediately thought of my Daddy. When I think of Daddy I generally have a story.

Today I reminded Bro of a story-- After I moved to Louisiana Daddy started driving to Georgia each week to buy lottery tickets. He and Mom made it a weekly event; drive to Georgia, get lottery tickets and ice cream. It was nice. They played the same numbers each week; my birthday, Bro's birthday and Jaime's birthday. I don't think they ever won much money but it was an event.

One night when I was talking to Daddy he told me that he and Mom were getting ready to go to Georgia to get the tickets. I asked him what he would do with the money if he won. Daddy said, "Well, I'd build you a big beautiful house where ever you wanted it and I'd build Sam a house in Alabama and I'd build Jaime a house in Idaho." I was perplexed. I thought and then asked, "Daddy, why Idaho?" Daddy replied, "Because that's one place on earth I never want to go." Daddy went on to say, "I'd buy me and your Mom an RV and we would drive from Sam's house to your house. We'd dirty up all your towels and then we'd leave." Daddy used to joke that we only came home long enough to dirty up their towels.  Bro and I laughed hardily at that!

After I got off the phone with Bro I went to the bank and then I ran into Wal-mart. As I entered the store there was a display with those big cans of popcorn with images of Christmas on them. I thought I need to get one of those for Daddy and then I remembered.  He loved the caramel popcorn :) Maybe he was there and some of the love and light that I feel is coming from my Daddy.  Maybe I'll go back and buy one. I love popcorn too.

To Be a Redneck!

On Tuesday night the University of Montevallo held its Dancy Lecture Series. Brenda Marie Osbey was our guest lecturer.  Ms. Osbey has a long and prestigious history in the state of Louisiana. She's an amazing poet, historian, as well as fantastic lecturer.  Perhaps it was her poetry that inspired me the most. She writes about NOLA and her life as a young black woman there. She is authentic, brilliant, southern, uninhibited and truly AMAZING. 

I'm a playwright but I haven't written in at least a year. Many time constraints as well as personal issues have kept me from writing.  Ms. Osbey inspired to me to write again.  She inspired me to write with abandon, to throw the truth on the paper, to be who I really am, to be unafraid, to....write. 

I'm going back to the several plays I've begun but not finished. This time I will finish them. I will post them here as well for you all to read. Thanks to Ms. Osbey I'm feeling authentic today and I'm okay with that. After listening to her lecture I was reminded of a silly journal entry that I wrote a couple of years ago. This entry is a glimpse into the whimsy of my personality as well as a little of my back-story.  I call the entry "To Be a Redneck!" 

Hell yeah! I own a cowboy hat. The fact is that I own a large number of cowboy hats. I wear cowboy boots on a regular basis and I drive a truck. However, no one has ever accused me to my face of being a redneck.

To be quite honest, I’m a little disappointed. I’ve even accused myself of being one! I used to joke with my brother about being a redneck while standing next to my truck (okay, really an SUV) in his driveway and drinking a Miller light wearing my cowboy boots. But if you know Sam, you know that he shrugged it off and said, “Hell, I’m the king of the rednecks!” Whatever!

What message is being sent to kids who grew up in “traditional” redneck families and connect themselves with the concept of “redneckedness” but are not considered rednecks by their peers? Are there other social groups who disown their young in the same way just because they’ve become educated, attained goals, got good jobs, make a decent living and don’t have a hound dog sleeping under the couch on their porch?

When I was in college my cousins used to laugh at me because they said I talked funny. I guess because I had learned to write sentences where the verb and subject were parallel this made me different from them, however, all the while I wanted the “sameness” of our relationship. I wanted to retain my “authentic redneckedness.”

Yesterday I had the chance to regain my title of a redneck woman; a colleague told me that his 1992 Ford Ranger was stuck in the mud in his side yard and he was on his way home to push it out. I offered, immediately I might add, to hitch his truck to mine and pull him out. This created extensive laughter from his wife who said, “I’ve got to get home to charge the batteries in the video camera!” And that was when I realized; I own cowboy boots, hats, a truck but I have never owned a pair of Daisy Duke’s. Which I add, I probably should being wearing Daisy Duke’s with my cowboy hat, cowboy boots while pulling Marcus’s truck out of the mud and drinking a Miller Light in his driveway, Y’all! This attempt at regaining the “redneckedness” of my youth failed. Marcus was able to get the truck out on his own without the aid of my truck, boots, hat, Miller Light, etc. Sad.

So perhaps because of my lack of opportunity and lack of appropriate redneck attire I can no longer fit into the regional stereotype. This saddens me. But alas, back to the important question posed above, what message are we sending to young rednecks? I guess the message is: get out, you no longer belong.  Or perhaps, rather than get out, we should shout—RUN! FORREST, RUN!

After doing about 30 seconds of research on the subject of “disowned children” I found that society disowns children because of disability, sexual orientation, poverty, religious differences and for disobeying societal rules. All very sad stories, and true, but what about redneck children who are being ostracized for growing, learning, thriving? I found no stories of such children. Perhaps we are an under recognized group? Is there Federal Funding for such? I want my check!

After years of schooling, being disowned and other such events I believe that I am wise enough to give advice on this subject and my advice is this: drive a truck, wear boots, get a hat, buy Daisy Duke’s (even wear them if you are brave enough) and speak your speech with a strong “y’all” here and there!

We may not have hound dogs under the couches on our porches, we may not even have couches on our porches, we may take down our Christmas lights because the “association” tells us we must, we may hold advanced degrees from prestigious universities but no one can take from me or you the earthiness that lies at our core, no one can take my authentic self (and they will have to pry that Miller Light out of my cold dead hand!).

One of the many Cowboy Hats!

Meet you at the top of the mountain...

Tomorrow it will be eight months since my Daddy died.  I miss him so much and I know Kate does too. She doesn't express her grief the same way I do but I still know she is grieving. 

Thursday she asked me to tell her a story that my Daddy made up for her and told her often. It was hard to get through the story as we drove to school but I managed to tell her the story without crying until the very end.

I want to share the story with you. 

When Kate was two and a half she had a love/hate relationship with dragons.  Dragons scared the munchkin to death but at the same time she loved to look at pictures of dragons and watch movies with dragons in them. She even aspired to be a dragon when she grew up!

One weekend we were visiting my parents in Fort Payne and Kate was stalling going to bed.  My Daddy asked her why she didn't want to go to sleep and she told him she was afraid a dragon might get her.  My Daddy didn't miss a beat; he told her this story:

Once upon a time in a land very close by there were many, many dragons that roamed over the land and on the mountain.  The people of the land were very frightened by the dragons and stayed inside their houses so not to be terrorized by these fire-breathing creatures.  Well, one day I put on my hat, laced my boots and took to my steed. I captured all the dragons in the land and I took them up to the top of the mountain. One by one I locked the dragons in a cage and then I left the mountain top and came home.  At home I found Meemee and she told me of one little lost dragon.  We hunted down the one little dragon that had escaped. Meemee caught it with her lasso and together we took up to the top of the mountain and locked it up in the cage with the others.  When you are twenty-one I'll meet you at the top of the mountain and we will release the dragons together.

It wasn't until I got to the last line of the story that I teared up. It was at that point I truly realized her loss.  He will not be here to meet her at the top of the mountain when she is twenty-one.  I believe that she will meet him again someday but I still grieve that she only got to spend four short years with one of the most creative, kind, generous, eccentric, witty and loving people in the world.  I miss him everyday of my life and I know Kate does too. I love you Daddy! RIP~ Henry Samuel Killlian, Sr. 07/21/1940-02/18/2011

I'm not a princess, I'm a bad-ass....

It's interesting how relationships with Alcoholics can impact so many parts of your life. My life has been changed forever in many, many ways because of my marriage to an alcoholic; good and bad.  Financially I'm devastated. I allowed D.W. to make all of the financial decisions in our relationship.  Many of these decisions were about properties I owned, loans I took out in my name, etc.  These decisions will not affect him or his life but will effect Kate and me for the long term. 


I own a house in Louisiana, actually I own 3 houses in Louisiana.  I bought these houses before I knew D.W. or before I knew that I wouldn't retire from LC. When I got the job at UM we, D.W. and myself, decided to put the houses up for sale. He found a real estate agent and he decided on the amount we would ask for the houses.  He thought because of money, time, blood, sweat and tears that I had put into the house that 'we' should turn a good profit.  He decided we should ask $300,000 for the house. The house had appraised for just under $200,000. Now I can't believe I didn't insist that we price the house based on comps or the appraisal but I didn't.  He had never bought or sold a house. He didn't even have a bank account when we married. But I trusted him completely. I wanted him to be right.  I would have never second guessed him. I was silent. I was afraid


Well, the house never sold. Yep, I still own the houses. I've rented them for the past four years. I can barely pay the mortgage, insurance and repairs with the rent that I collect monthly.  I've continually tried to sell the houses but because of the location no one will buy them.  The most recently asking price was $140,000-- Yep that's down from $300,000.  If we had asked $140,000 when we moved four years ago I'm betting that they house would have sold quickly.  I was silent about the price of the house.


He took out a second mortgage on the houses in Louisiana in my name.  He didn't forge my name, he didn't have to. I signed the papers without reading or even talking to him about the loan.  We were having a hard time making ends meet because he was in school full time and not working.  I learned later that the loan has a balloon payment of $28,000 (March of 2013).  I was silent about the loan even after I found out about the balloon payment.


I was silent about D.W. not working. When most grown people decide to go back to school they take classes and work. D.W. couldn't work. He suffers from ADHD and other things that make it impossible for him to do anything other than take classes. He made lots of excuses. He couldn't keep our daughter when I had rehearsal or had to work late; I had to hire a babysitter. He couldn't come home at night; he had to go to a coffee shop or bookstore to study. It was much like I was a single parent long before I asked him to leave.  But through it all I was silent. 


I was silent when he took out around $60,000 in student loans with me as the co-signer.  He has now defaulted on all of them. For the last two years I've received around five phone calls a day from his student loan companies and/or collection agencies wanting to know when I'm going to pay his bills. 


I was silent when he spent over $275 a month on tobacco and coffee. I was silent. We could hardly pay our water bill and I was silent.


I write this to remind myself and others in relationships like this that we have a voice. We do not have to remain silent. You don't have to remain silent about financial issues or anything else for that matter.

Are you afraid if you speak the alcoholic will leave? I was.  Are you afraid that they will yell? I was. Are you afraid that he will push, hit or punch you? I was. Or are you afraid that he might kill you? Sounds dramatic I know, but I was afraid that he would kill me.  I was paralyzed.

You may want to be treated like a princess and he may occasionally treat you that way. He'll string you along with a little love and lots of apologies. But if he has threatened to leave, yelled at you, pushed you, hit you, punched you he is not a prince and it's time that you speak up. It's time that you yell.  It's time for you to be a bad-ass that you can be.


I'm a bad-ass.  There is no way that I would stand for the abuse I once stood for everyday of my life.  I'm no longer silent.  I don't stick my head in the sand anymore.  I'm moving forward emotionally, mentally and spiritually; I'm stronger.  And eventually I'll be financially stronger.  I've made hard decisions recently about the financial mess I'm in and I have lawyer/planner working with me to straighten it all out.  It will take a while but I have faith that we will get past this because I'm not a princess, I'm a bad-ass.....