It seems so strange now as I sit in my solitude remembering my life unfold before my eyes. It was as though I was thinking about someone else's life and not my own. Who was that little girl, that teenager, that woman, this person that I came to be. Where do I begin, how do I tell my story, my heart fills with fear just thinking about going back in time and reliving the horrors of my past. I'm happy now at peace with myself. I am free at last from guilt, and shame, and fear.

The room is dark except for the flicker of the fireplace and a candle burning on the table. Christy is tucked safely in bed, and I'm alone with my thoughts and memories. I feel compelled to write a book about my life. I know we're not alone, that we all have our trials and tribulations, our cross we have to bear. It just seems to me that my cross got to be a little heavy at times. My poor babies, what a load it must have been to them. I know how I felt during that period of time, but I can't imagine now what they were feeling. At that particular moment in my life, I didn't think much about how they felt.

I was too busy just trying to stay alive. Being raised by very backward parents, us kids were taught not to be heard or seen just to stay out of sight as much as possible and not make a fuss about anything. Daddy could jerk off his belt, and one of us had been whipped before we knew what hit us. Dad wasn't very big in stature, but he had a huge spirit. He didn't have any patients with us kids at all or anyone else as that goes. Daddy had a very loud high pitched voice that got louder the more excited he got. His hair was almost black and wore it slicked back with lots of hair oil. His eyes were blue and very fair skinned, so burned easily in the sun. Momma was a tiny little blond woman with bright blue eyes and a beautiful smile. She seemed like one of us kids, she was very quiet and was afraid of daddy as much as we all were. I don't remember her ever trying to lay a hand on us. I think she felt sorry for us because dad was so mean to everyone. It seemed like he just loved to jerk off that belt of his and lay in on one of us kids.

Momma was an orphan raised by her brother who also raised all the rest of their brothers and sisters. He died of TB not long after mom and dad got married. Grandpa lived with us at that time. He had what they called the old timers affliction and couldn't remember a thing past the time dad was only ten years old. Grandpa could sure swing his ole walking cane at us kids. We got pretty good at keeping out of his way. Grandpa was short like dad and had blue eyes and was bald on top of his head. He suffered from severely swollen rheumatoid arthritic knees and could barely walk and was always moaning in pain. He would sit for hours rubbing his knees with rubbing alcohol and saying his 'Hail Marys.' Grandpa was a Catholic, and Grandma was a Protestant. Grandma died when I was just a baby, so I never got to know her.

The ole saying was that grandma was a witch and grandpa left her when my dad was just a boy of about ten years old. Grandpa on my dad's side came from the old country, Poland. He brought his sawmill business over and was making a lot of money, or so they said he did. When the depression hit his bank, grandpa became bankrupt and lost all his money. We were told that was when he lost his mind. Some say he just had old timers affliction, and some say grandma put a spell on him. I thought he was just a mean ole man that went around hitting us kids over the head with his walking cane. I remember seeing my great grandma, and grandpa one time that we stopped by on the way out to California when I was just barely three years old. They spoke in German so we couldn't understand anything that they had said. I remember my great aunt was standing beside the big ole wood stove in the living room. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, my aunt was so beautiful. She had a long white dress on, and her hair was done up on top of her head in a bun like do. I remember her holding out her arms to me and giving me a gentle, loving hug. We didn't stay very long, my dad was in a hurry to get to California and grandpa wasn't feeling very good. So we said our goodbyes, and we all piled into the old car and left, and we never saw them again.

I don't remember too much about that trip, but I do remember when the twins were born. Me, my big brother Joe who was three years older than me, mom and dad, and grandpa all lived in a little tiny trailer on a ranch. I remember the trip to the hospital after the twins were born, and dad stopping on the way and buying a fifty-pound bag of oranges. He told us that we each got our own baby, momma had a boy and a girl. They named them Donald and Donna. That's all I remember about that trip to California I don't even remember the trip back to Arkansas.

My next clearest memories are of the place where we lived when baby Gena was born. It was called Harold's Corner, way back in the sticks of Arkansas. We lived about two miles off the main highway down a little dirt road that had ruts so deep you couldn't get a car through it at winter time. There was a creek on one side and honeysuckle on the other. All the houses looked alike, just old planks you could see through. We used old newspaper to cover the walls to keep out the wind and cold. They were all built on stilts high enough to keep out the snow and flood waters, and were all the same color, a kind of weather-worn gray. Once in awhile you'd see one white-washed, I thought it looked a little out of place.

The house had two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen, there was no running water or toilet. Out in the back yard, there was a hand pump where we would get our water for everything. In the field behind the house, there was an old out-house. It looked as if it would fall over in a big wind and the barn stood tall with just a slight lean to the south. We inherited two old mules named Blue and Kate. I can still hear daddy now yelling out in the cotton fields whoa Blue, whoa Kate. I'd stand and watch him while holding on for dear life to the plows that were hooked up to the two old mules. Daddy was a sharecropper I think everyone was, back in the day. Sharecroppers worked another person's land, and at the end of the harvest whatever profit was made had to be split with the owner.

It all depended on the weather if you did well or went bust. In a good year, I remember my dad making over three hundred dollars and boy we thought we were rich, everyone got new shoes.

The house was furnished with two cast iron stoves one for warming in the living room and one for cooking in the kitchen. That's where I learned to cook, today it is my passion. Why, when I was just six years old I could throw some wood in the old wood stove and cook a meal for seven people. I never will forget first try at chocolate fudge, it was so runny you could drink it, and my dad ate the whole mess. He said that it was the best fudge he'd ever had. There was a bed in each room and boxes for sitting and storing our clothes. We had an old wooden rocker in the living room that was saved for grandpa.

Life was hard for everyone back then, they all had just enough to get by. If they didn't, they would just move in with a relative. We all helped each other, and every Sunday we would all get together and have a big dinner. My aunts would bring their dishes, and we'd always have either a big fish fry or fried chicken, not no store bought chicken either. The men would go out in the yard, and see who was the best at chasing down a...