Broke

I will not be able to do this for awhile. I've broken my wrist in two places. Smashed my face and bruised everything else. Pain, sleeplessness, and nausea from meds will keep me off my game. Explanations later.

Woodwork

Ruth and I sanded and stained every inch of the cupboards, doors, baseboards and trim. Once the sanding had a good head start, I left Ruth to work on it while I started staining the wood. Sanding is the kind of work I always had trouble with. I still didn't know why. This was still 9 years before the aneurysm. I just knew it gave me "that feeling" and I had to stop what I was doing, or pass out. I guess sanding takes pushing and getting your back into it. The pressure of sand paper against wood and the constant back and forth movement made me feel odd. A sander could only be used on large flat areas, which meant most of it had to be sanded by hand. Ruth was afraid of making a mistake and didn't want to stain. I never got that feeling when I stained. So we worked together, with her sanding and me staining. I didn't use a brush, I hand rubbed the stain on with rags. Lightly, and in small areas at a time. No pressure and I liked the immediate results. I put a hickory stain on the kitchen cabinets. Most of the doors were stained maple. Baseboard and trim were stained maple if the wall was plastered, or something to match the paneling in a room. We worked on all the woodwork before it was cut and put on. Once it was finished and in place, it just took a quick touch up at the seams and a couple coats of varnish and it looked great.

Ruth's Father built all the cupboards, both kitchen and bathrooms. He was a perfectionist and took great care to make everything fit snugly, and it showed. He had been building Grandfather Clocks from wood on his own farm, for each of his seven offspring and each of their kids. Ours was made of cherry wood and when we drew up our floor plans, we also planned just where the clock was going to sit. Grandpa was pleased by that. My own paternal grandfather liked our clock so much, he asked to have one too. W's Grandfather continued to make and sell clocks right up till he died. When the family had a auction after he died, his clocks, even the ones that weren't finished brought buyers to the sale.

The kitchen cabinets he built for me had a couple special features. A narrow door beside the sink with a triple towell bar that pulled out. That became more common in later years, but when he built mine, it was a new idea. He even thought to build the vent holes into the design, so wet towells could air dry. I also had two side by side doors that pulled out and stored cans on narrow shelves on each side of a center divider. These proved to be a bit heavy when full, but it was also a new idea and his own design. One that would have worked better if he hadn't used real wood. No thin plywood or pressed board in anything Grandpa built. It all came from trees on his own farm. Boards he'd cut, air/dry cured and had stored for years for his own projects. After his wife died, he had moved everything into the farm house, much to his daughters dismay, and continued to build inside the house. His girls couldn't change him or his ways, and he continued to work in the comfort of his own home. It took a huge cleaning party and everyone to get the house ready for that auction.

While we sanded and stained, the men were kept busy on the construction of our house. (I'm sure I'm not doing this in the order it was built. It was a long time ago.) We had a big bow window in the dining room, a picture window in the living room and a large patio door in the family room. Plus the windows in the rest of the house. This is also precision work. Everything went well, but the patio door. They never found the problem. Everything proved to be square in both the opening and the door, but somthing kept binding and they took it out and put it in several times. Because of it's size and weight, F was getting pretty frustrated. We finally decided it was all ok, it was just too big and heavy and all that heavy wood made it harder to open then we would have liked. F always considered that door one of his failures. He swore no one in the family would ever put in a wooden sliding door that big again. But, it gave me a beautiful view into the back where several dogwood trees and a pussy willow bloomed each spring. And we could watch deer in the woods while sitting in our family room. I didn't care if it was heavy to open, the view from the whole room made it worth it.

The bow window in the dining room created some problems for them too. No one else in the family had used a bow window, and F and W had to figure out how they wanted to finish it off on the outside where it stuck out from the house. This area, top and bottom, have to be finished in a way that looks good. There was the 4' overhang over both the picture window and bow window. We brought the roof line straight out to the 32' width the whole length of the house and that end of the house was only 28' wide. So we didn't have to worry about rain around the bow window. Just how to finish it for looks. Sometimes I felt those two could spend a week thinking about how to do something and then spend one day doing it. Which is why we lived in the basement for 14 months. But, I couldn't complain. They built a solid, attractive house that should stand through just about anything.

J T Learns the Hard Way

Mr. Hoy G. dug and set the septic tank and put in our leach bed. And while the poor man worked, young J T and his dog made his job a harrowing experience. No matter how often I scolded and warned those two, or tied the dog and set the boy in a corner, they would sneak back out to be in the way as soon as I got busy again. Finally Mr. G shut down his backhoe and dozer and came up to the house to ask me if he had my permission to scare my son into staying away. I readily agreed, and wished him luck, because I didn't think anything he did could deter J T.

The boy was fearless and had proved to be a handful. There is just too much danger involved in construction where a small child and a young dog are involved. They kept me, and Ruth, on our toes. What J T didn't think of, his Duke led him into.

So after giving Mr. G permission to scare my son, I just had to find a good vantage point to watch what he planned. It didn't take long. J T was climbing on a pile of dirt and Mr. G was using the dozer. The man pretended he didn't see the boy and first he knocked him off his "king of the hill" dirt pile. But, he didn't stop there. I almost quit breathing when he continued to bulldoze the dirt and buried my toddler up to his shoulders as he lay on the ground. But, the most amazing thing about this was the action of young Duke. The dog was in a frenzy of barking and trying to tug at the boys clothes to pull him away. The dog wasn't strong enough, but he sure tried. Watching all of this was surreal. Mr. G turned off his equipment and sat watching, looking as stunned as I felt. I was up in a bedroom above the garage in the partially built house and had to go around the long way to get outside. When I arrived, Mr. G had my son back on his feet and was brushing the dirt off, while at the same time petting and praising the dog and trying to calm a crying J T. We felt the dogs frantic actions did as much as Mr. G's expertise with the dozer to finally convince J T he had to stay away from the dangerous equipment. After that, he played on the other side of the house while Mr. G finished his work.

But, I still couldn't keep J T from climbing and walking planks and playing with tools. Especially the electric ones, and just generally scaring me every other minute. He even went so far as to use a hand saw to cut into our basement steps. Which really angered his step-father. My lovable first son just couldn't stay out of trouble. Ruth and I decided Duke had more sense than J T did.

Spring Mushrooms

I learned to hunt mushrooms that spring. It was something my new In-Laws did together every chance they got, each spring. Ruth's sister and family came out one day and the next thing I knew, construction was abandoned and they were dragging me into the woods to see if we were in a "good location." There was a lot of teasing about our buying the land before we knew if it was "worthless." It was not a worthless woods, and I'd discovered a new passion. Not only did it give me a good reason to get out in the woods, I could do it with a group or I could go out and wander our area alone. They showed me morals and a long stemmed mushroom that F had his own name for. In the years since, I've heard them called by several different names. Mushroom hunting is very common here. I'd never even heard of it where I grew up, just two counties away. Though I've learned since that some of them do travel to hunt. They just don't talk about it, because those people, like my parents, don't trust or believe it's safe. (Besides, most people won't divulge their secret hunting grounds.) Even the novice I was that first spring, can't mistake a moral for something poisonous once you've seen one. I have a book with beautiful photos to show me other safe mushrooms, beyond the spring kind hunted here. But, I must have too much of my parents in me, because I've never quite been willing to trust the book.

People around here take a lot of pride in their ability to find mushrooms. Or, if they are among those who admit they can walk right over one without seeing it, they have to follow protocal. In a group, they have to stay several paces behind the line, so the others can see one before the "blind as a bat" hunter can trounce all over it. Or, you could be in the kind of group that spreads out and, it's everyone for themselves. The P family were the all in a line hunters. Close enough together to make it a contest to see who saw a mushroom first. With a lot of conversation and teasing during the hunt. I was quickly allowed up even with the line. Which I only discovered later was a real honor. They would sweep back and forth over the woods and I doubt anything of any size escaped them. I enjoyed those hunts tremendously. At the end of the hunt, they would combine, and divide evenly, everything we found. It was a family affair. During the time we were building the house, the hunt would often conclude with me cooking what we found for everyone, who had stayed to work. Making up for the time they took us away from construction. First the mushrooms were cleaned. The big ones could be cut in half. There might be a bug inside or even a snail. Then they were soaked in salt water in the fridge. Later, I would shake off the salt water and dip them in flour and fry them in butter in a big electric skillet. The family only needed a loaf of bread and some butter. I didn't even need the bread. We would just eat till they were gone. Nothing else tastes like a fresh wild mushroom.

Most of the others I've hunted with are the "to each his own" kind. Which is ok too, because they never had the same kind of success as my teachers. I'm pretty selfish when it comes to mushrooms and I've found more than anyone else. I don't like to give them away.

I've hunted with a couple who always take a pistol along. Their family owns land that is great for hunting, if you like steep hills. But, they spread out so far apart, you lose sight of each other and can even be on different hills. That pistol makes me nervous when I don't know where he is. He says it's only for snakes, but I cringe whenever it goes off. And, I never took the kids along on those hunts.

I've hunted with a group that moved through the woods so fast, and wanted to move on to another spot so often, we hardly had time to see a mushroom. All I got out of that was a fast paced walk in the woods. OK, but I wanted mushrooms.

After years of hunting (and loving morals) there is one hunt (as usual) that I will never forget. I was on rolling, hilly land that I'd never hunted on before. (Always exciting.) There were 6 of us, (including my present husband) and we were spread out, but still close enought to catch glimpses of each other and able to shout back and forth. When I hunt, my eyes are on the ground. I move slowly, stopping often to sweep an area all around me. So I was not looking up when my face hit something furry. Startled, I stepped back and raised my head to see a raccoon swaying right in front of my face. I came real close to a real scream that time. Close enough to bring my scattered companions running. Almost immediately, I realized the coon was dead. Very recently, thank goodness. Imagine walking into an old kill.....(shudder). Some fool had shot him and draped him on a small branch. His own weight brought the branch down to a perfect level for me to walk right into. I guess my friend wasn't the only one to carry a pistol in the woods. Once my companions arrived and discovered what had happened, it was funny. After I caught my breath. But, I remember those first moments when the fur hit my face and I was inches from a wild racoon. In acres of woods and in a group, what are the odds of walking right into the only dead coon, probably in the whole county? Why do these things always happen to me?

About the House

I haven't really described the house or mentioned some of the things that were special, or wrong about it. I did mention in an earlier post that it was about 1760 Sq. Ft. It was 28 Ft. wide on one end and 32 Ft. wide on the other and 60 Ft. in total length.

I guess the first thing you'd notice, if you walked in, would be the double, or open through two rooms, fireplace. Red brick on the family room side, it also was open on the other side to the living room where the brick was in shades of gray. The bricklayer had never made one like it, but did a great job of setting the seam right where the wall would hide it. There was a low hearth on the family room side, covered in tile, and a real stone mantle. The living room was more formal. W had his heart set on a sunken living room, and that also raised the hearth on that side. To keep it level with the other hearth. I didn't put a mantle on the formal side. The fireplace was built around a Heatilater insert that was capable of heating most of the house if the power went off. That was also new to the bricklayer and he had to figure out how to vent the heat into the rooms in a way that looked good. He used the same tile that was on each hearth to set a pattern for each heat vent which was just below mantle level. An open fireplace means you have to have glass doors to close, so it will draw correctly. Our fireplace worked great, unless you left the door to the basement open. That effected the way it drew air and the house would fill with smoke. The Heatilater could definatley heat the house. As we discovered during the blizzard of '78. (As long as there was enough wood to keep it burning.) Even without electricity, the warm air was enough to keep the fans circulating warmth.

The kitchen and family room were only separated by a bar with lots of storage below and a shallow hanging cabinet above. A small desk was built on the end of the bar, where I sat the phone and worked on bills, etc. Between the bar and counter, where the sink sat under a window, was a door that led outside, where there would eventually be a deck. (The same door where I hung Nony's bell. Posted on Feb. 6) A large sliding glass patio door led out from the family room. I've already mentioned the built-in double oven and counter top range that we used in the basement before the upstairs was done. With the bar, I had a "U" shaped work area. The basement steps were straight across from the outside door, and the fridge set beside that door. A big room with lots of room for the family size table in the middle.

The house had a nice big bathroom and half bath. In the main bathroom, a built in counter ended on the right side with a big door from counter to ceiling, that opened to shelves. This same storage space opened into a full closet door in the master bath. So you could reach everything whichever bathroom you were in. This was a design I came up with and I'm very proud of it. I could brush my teeth or my hair from either bathroom. Towells were on a higher shelf and also available to either bathroom. Some personal things could be stored below the shelves on the master side where they couldn't be accessed (or seen) from the big bathroom. This closet was also at one end of the main rooms tub, and made the tubs plumbing accessable. The master bath had a shower, stool, and sink, but was very small because of one of those mistakes that happen. My Father-In-Law should have taken wall stud measurmeants from the hall, but forgot and that space ended up missing in the half bath. Which wasn't discoved till too late to correct it. Another 10-12 inches in there would have made a big difference. A few years later we discovered there was another advantage to that space being accessable from both baths. It became apparent when our youngest son, T.K. as a toddler, locked himself in the bathroom. I emptied the shelves and pulled one out and sent brother J.T. through to unlock the door. It was a genius design, if I do say so myself. Then to make up for his mistake, F thought to put a clothes shoot in the half bath. It took up some of the corner of the lower kitchen cabinet on the other side of that wall and dropped right down in a trap over my dryer. Even little boys pick up clothes when they can send them down a clothes shoot. Of course I also found toys and cookies in the trap. Not to mention the family cat that some little boy shoved down.

With the house abutting the woods in back and another woods across the road in front, there was a cool breeze down the hill all summer. W felt all we would need was an attic fan near the center of the house, which put it in the hall between kitchen and dining room. By closing windows on the sun side, and opening windows in the shade, we could stay cool without air conditioning. This worked too, except for a small, minor detail, that only presented itself on rare occasions. The ceiling fan had louvers that only opened when the fan was running. At least they were suppose to. We discovered that on certain stormy nights, (usually nights, maybe a rare day) when the wind was blowing just right, it could blow throught the soffit, into the attic and lift the louvers in a wail like a banshee. The first stormy night I heard that sound, it raised every hair on my body and sent a shiver down my spine that paralized me. J.T. let out a scream that was equally as frightening as the banshee wail. It took W a while to find the source, because the sound wasn't constant. It didn't happen very often, and we did get use to it. To the point that one evening, when we were entertaining our card club group, our banshee wailed and scared our guests out of their wits. J T calmly told everyone not to worry, our banshee didn't mean anyone would die. That took some explaining. If you haven't heard the Irish legend, (which I had explained to J T) a fairy Banshee wail is suppose to warn of a death in the family. Our Banshee only meant the wind was blowing up the valley instead of down the valley. Just one more part of my weird life.

The Second Summer

As soon as the weather allowed, everyone was anxious to get started again. We didn't want to spend another winter in the basement.

But now I was working too, and not able to do the running so that supplies would be there ready and waiting when the men got there. My Mother-In-Law, R.P. stepped into that job and was usually there when I got home with J.T. None of the Mother-In-Law jokes could ever be applied to this lady. She was a very big reason I was married to her son.

When I'd returned from Germany with G, the only friends I'd made had been at his families Church. Otherwise, I was stuck at the apartment with the baby and we hadn't stayed together all that long. W's Mother had been very good to me and we had become friends. Now I was back in their county and starting over. I was making friends at work, but all of my time was spent on the new house and there wasn't time to meet others. With the weekends being the only time to really build a house, I hadn't even started going back to Church yet. I didn't really want to return to G's Church and W's family didn't seem to belong any Church. So, finding someplace for J.T. and I to attend would have to wait a few more months.

I've wandered from what I wanted to say. I'm going to use my Mother-In-Laws first name. She was that important to me and it's the only way I can honor her now. Everything changed when she died. Her name was Ruth, which was also my own Mothers first name. She was as close to another Mother as anyone could be. We worked side by side. We took turns getting meals once I had my basement kitchen. Before that, the first summer, she brought all our meals out to us. Then stayed and worked with us.

Ruth worked just as hard on the house as her husband and son did. And, she helped me keep an eye on J.T. and his dog, so that I was able to do more. The men laid down sheets of plywood and tacked the corners. Ruth and I nailed them down. It was the same with shingles and drywall, and everything else.

I especially remember putting the shingles on. It was so hot that day, the black shingles melted the soles of my rubber sneakers. The others were wearing leather shoes, and I mentioned once that my feet were hot. They teased me, so I didn't say anything else. My husband was carrying the bundles to the roof. My Father-In-Law tacked them in place and Ruth and I finished nailing them down. We all worked well together and finished the whole roof in one day. Just the four of us. But, I had blisters on the bottom of my feet and the soles were actually melted when I climbed down. Ruth was angry with me for not saying anything sooner.

W had picked up one of those little habits that can be amusing at first, but eventually start to annoy. When he needed something he wanted me to get for him, he would whistle and point. Without a word, he's just expect me to get it for him. At first I thought it was funny. He might be on a ladder, or in some position that would make it awkward for him to get his own whatever. But, I'd also be working on something and gradually I became annoyed that I'd have to stop what I was doing to answer a whistle and point. I started telling him that I wasn't a dog and he could at least ask. But, it had become a habit with him and he just kept whistling and pointing. We were all working in the same room one day. Ruth and F were putting drywall on one wall and W was working on the ceiling. I was handing sheets up to W who was on a step ladder. He had a sheet held up and dropped his hammer. I was already reaching for it when he did it to me again. It was too much for me and I reacted without really thinking. I gave the bottom of the ladder a good hard kick and yelled at him, "Talk to me, I'm not a dog." W was knocked of the ladder and hit the floor hard. He was so surprised, he didn't even react. He just sat on the floor with the sheet of drywall still held over is head with both arms. His parents both laughed and Ruth told him not to say a word. He'd had it coming. After that he asked me when he wanted anything. No more whistle and point. I hadn't meant for him to fall and felt bad, but I sure didn't say so. Not after I'd gotten Ruth's support.

Life In A Basement

We moved into the basement in late September or early October. I wasn't sure how I would like spending winter in a basement, but I was up for the adventure. And glad to get out of the apartment we'd had since late May. (Not to mention the rent money we could save for construction.) It was the second floor of a narrow brick building. Just like in Germany, I was living with no door, except the main entrance at the bottom of the stairs. But, this time I didn't share it with the people downstairs. That door was locked on our side and they had another entrance. There were five rooms on three levels. Two bedrooms and a bath at the top of the stairs were on one level. Down one step to the living room and down three more steps to the kitchen. Which had an outside entrance, down steps to a detached garage. I never did get to see the lower apartment to see how that affected their ceiling. We went from that to a basement behind the garage. All one level on the ground, with the hill putting our living area underground. The house was 28' X 40' with the garage widening to 32' X 20'. (According to my memory of almost 40 years ago.) A concrete block wall separated the garage from the basement. And, I had a door. With no lock, but once the garage doors were closed, we were locked in. We had plywood walls to separate two bedrooms and a toilet and shower. With a big laundry tub between our bedroom and kitchen serving as our only sink. The kitchen area was also the future laundry. This was all on one half of the basement. The other half was all open and served as dining and living. Uncle R. B., my Mother-In-Laws brother, built a cabinet that would also stay in the laundry room once our kitchen was upstairs. We bought a built in double oven and counter top range and they were temproarily just setting on the countertop for use while we lived in the basement. I could also use the washing machine and dryer tops as countertop. (My family worked at Whirlpool, and Dad gave me my first washer and dryer.) I've never camped out, but living that way for 14 months seemed to me a lot like camping. Still, after the two years in Germany, this time I felt like I had it all. Especially since I could drive again.

There wasn't much we could do on the house that winter. It was a cold one with a lot of snow. So I was both anxious to get started again and glad for the break. We had several electric heaters that kept us reasonably warm, as long as we wore sweaters. It seemed a damp cold to me. I'm the kind who usually runs around barefoot or just in socks. That winter, I learned to wear shoes at home. I had a big thick breaded rug on the floor in front of the T.V. so J.T. had a place to play on the floor. But, he seemed to prefer pushing his trucks around on the concrete. He stayed healthy, so I didn't fuss with him.

I took a job that winter and found a nursery for J.T. that was run by a retired school teacher. J.T. turned 4 and he was getting a kindergarden education. He loved it, and I thought it would be good for him. I was working in the office of a factory that made gaskets to order. At first just as a general office girl typing and filing for whoever needed it. This gradually changed and I ended up with the blueprints from prospective customers who wanted quotes. I would match their blueprints to our dies and machinery and work up the orders for the factory to make prototypes to send to prospective customers with our quote. Every day brought a new and different challenge. There was some stress, but the final say came from the men over me and if something didn't work, it was their problem. One of those common situations where the woman does the work and some man gets the credit. (Or maybe, just maybe, sometimes the blame.)

We had our first Christmas as a new family in the basement of our own new future home. I wanted a live christmas tree that we could plant and always have. A symble of starting over with all the promise of a good life. It was a blue spruce and it was perfect. In shape, size and color. Things were going well, till spring.

That spring brought us an unusual problem. The first thaw. I came home from work one day to find it raining inside the basement. Mostly on our bed. Which was next to the shower in our half bathroom. We had vented the shower, but our vent froze on the outside. So there was no place for the shower steam to escape. It had accumulated on the underside of the subfloor and froze. We'd never noticed the layer of ice building above our heads in that area. Till it thawed and rained down on our bedroom. This cold, musty, smelly rain that ruined every material it touched. Most of our clothes were on a clothsline stretched across the room. We even had to replace our matress and springs. The wet wood seeped for days. And we each got a mostly new wardrobe. That is one of my most vivid memories of our life in the basement.

Summer 1968

Building your own home is ecstasy and agony. It was exciting, but the problems just keep coming. We were building where the ground sloped. The garage would be under the house on the low side of the hill. So they didn't have to dig a hole; the digging went into the side of the gentle slope. When we got back to the furthest corner, we hit water. Not really an underground spring, just some steady seepage. That is common in this county, so they knew we would just have to allow for extra drainage around our basement area and seal the blocks real well. I was learning how knowledgeable my new In-Laws were. Every time a problem came up, they figured out how to solve it. I didn't have much say in most of their decisions. But, it didn't bother me. I was getting a 1760 Sq. Ft. ranch home on several acres in the country. Compromise was easy.

The first compromise was a big one. I'd planned my floor plans to take advantage of a view down into the valley below us. I wasn't even told right away that they decided to flip my house from end to end. My plan put the living room and kitchen over the garage. They put the bedrooms over the garage. It made sense when they explained these would be the coolest rooms and their way also put the kitchen and living area on the up hill side on ground level. (It was also the wider end and gave them a bigger garage.) O.K. Now my view was just road and woods. I could live with that. They could have at least told me before I watched them chalk out the rooms on the sub floor. It was a clue, early on, as to who was in charge.

Work was progressing steadily, but slowly. Working around the mens full time jobs made this a sideline business. But, they did spend every spare moment on it. We even kept going through some of the summer showers. The goal was to get it "under roof" before winter, so we could move into the basement and not have to pay rent.

I had this strange idea that once it was "under roof" we would be almost done. If that makes sense to you too, you've never built a house. The rough construction goes fast. Everything after that gets slower and slower.

The day we set up the outside walls, my parents and Moms parents were there. My Grandfather had built his own house and he was very interested and full of questions. Even at his age, he pitched right in. You build the walls on the floor and then have to raise them into place. It takes all the help you can get. Dad was a lot of help too. But he was also funny. He'd never built anything but a corncrib. When they were setting studs at 16" centers, Dad made a comment about them being so precise. He told my Father-In-Law, F. that when he built something, if it was within 6 inches, it was close enough. (It was an exaggeration, but it was the way my Father thought.) F. laughed and laughed and then explained to Dad that if centers were off at the beginning, nothing you did afterward would fit. I'd already learned this when we put the floor joists in and nailed down the sub floor. Plywood edges would end where you could not nail them to a stud (or joist). If you had to cut everything to fit, you'd have wasted material and wasted time. Dad just grinned, (I loved my Fathers grin.) and shrugged his shoulders and told F. that he bowed to his superior knowledge and he guessed he'd better forget the 6 inch theory. The P. family did know what they were doing. It was a good day, and everyone was enjoying being together. One of those precious days when memories are made.

That was a long, short summer. Mom had brought J T a puppy and both were growing fast. They were always under foot and I had to watch them closely to keep them safe. With one end of the house over the garage, it meant a bad fall if they were running and not watching where they were going. And, there was the hole where the basement stairs would be. It was a relief to get the wall studs up. They could still fall through, but at least it was a barrier. I tried to keep them out in the "future yard", but every time I turned my back to help or fetch, they would disappear into the woods. I spent as much time chasing my little ones as I did building or fetching.

Once we were up on the roof, I got a lot of exercise. J T's dog, Duke, had invented a game that kept us in stitches. J T would run as hard as his little legs would go and his half grown pup would give him a head start. Then the pup would run after J T and when he got right behind the boy, he would jump and swing his body so that his rump would catch J T in the back and knock him down. Then before J T could get up, Duke would sit on him. J T would struggle and yell, but the pup wouldn't budge till he was good and ready. As soon as J T got back to his feet, he would take off again, and the whole show would repeat. We were nailing plywood to the roof and trying to work, but watching boy and pup slowed our progress. No matter how mad J T got, Duke just didn't tire of his game. And I didn't have to run up and down a ladder to see where they were.

Starting Again

Mom had continued to work after I left for Germany, but not at the hotel switchboard and office. She'd gotten a job at DeKalb in the office where she worked till the Multiple Sclerosis forced her to quit. (Though at the time she still didn't know it was M.S.) She had bought her own car but now she had to give up driving. Dad was driving an older Buick station wagon and that was the car they gave me to drive. (This is one wife who got nothing in her divorce.) Something had to be done in my brothers apartment, I forget what, but S had come "back home" too for a brief time. Both of my brothers worked for Quaker Oats, till J went off to join the Marines. When S tried to get in the service, he was turned down when they found a problem in an x-ray of his back. He's never had any trouble with his back, but it kept him out of the service.

S had a new girlfriend, but while we were all living together he was also good enough to take his sister to the movies a few times. I did wonder about his motive though. When he drove his car, he always seemed to need gas when he took me out. Which meant stopping at a local gas station where some of his co-workers and the new town friends hung out. They had never met me and didn't know I was his sister. They thought he was seeing two women, and I never told anyone differently. I believe my brother was enjoying (encouraging, even) the deception.

There was one other occurance with S during that time, that has become legend in our family. I was driving the station wagon and we were leaving a parking lot behind the theater. I went down an alley to the main street, which put me between two tall buildings where you couldn't see anything till you reached the street. As soon as we cleared the buildings, three teenage boys, who were running down the side walk, ran right into us. The first boy was thrown across the hood of the Buick and bounced out in the street. The second boy tried to jump the car and landed on the hood. The third boy was a able to swerve around us. All three boys were right back on their feet and kept running. Of course, I had slammed on the brakes right away and stalled the car. You can imagine how shaken I was, even though the boys ran off. But, to S's amusement, we couldn't get the car started again. We called Dad, who had to call AAA when he couldn't start it either, and the car was towed away. So my family still teases me about the time I hit the boys, and killed the car.

My baby, J T, had his second birthday while we were living with Mom and Dad. They potty trained him while I was at school and working. They were with him more than I was and it made me sad. Also, I was worried about Moms health. I had hired a young woman to help Mom with J T (see "Moms Illness" posted March 9) but that wasn't working out. Dad was studying for a Realty License, along with working at a factory. We still didn't know what Moms illness was and we were all under a lot of stress. I felt that J T and I were a burden, but didn't have the resourses to move out.

W. P.'s parents had hept in touch with me, and R.P. sent her son to see me as soon as he returned from his Army tour in Germany. Maybe, I didn't wait long enough, but I'd always liked W and I adored his Mother. I'd been there about 10 months, and only divorced about 4 months when I agreed to marry W. I really was totally infatuated with him. Most of the people who knew us seemed to agree I should have married W in the first place, when we'd just been friends and he was dating one of my friends. (They broke up when she went off to college, about the same time G and I were married.) And, this time my parents were happy for me, and didn't have any objections.

Before the wedding, W and I found some land and we drew up our own floor plans. Actually, he and his Father made several changes, but I was ok with anything that meant I was going to have a new home. And, it was on 5 acres out in the coutry, with woods surrounding us. The basement was dug and we started the house early in the spring of 1968. We were married on May 25 and lived in an apartment for a few months before moving into the basement of the new house. We were building it with the help of his family. From floor plan to completion, we only paid for digging out the basement and laying the blocks for the basement, and chimney bricks. We did the rest ourselves. His parents and his Mothers family had all built their own homes and we had their expertise and help. Even the kitchen cupboards were built by family. His Grandfather and an Uncle were carpenters. I was happier than I'd ever been.

But, there was one bump on my new road and it showed up while we still lived in the apartment. We'd been working on the house all day and I'd been sent to the lumber store on some errand. J T had stayed on site while I was gone. That evening, when I was giving my son his bath and turned him around to wash his back, I discovered bruises all over his bottom and on the back of his thighs. I grabbed him up and marched into the living room, dripping water all the way. I told the man I loved if I ever saw another mark on this child, we would be gone before he could draw a breath to defend himself. I never saw another bruise.

Complications

My brothers had graduated while I was in Germany. Dad hadn't encouraged them to stay with farming. He believed there was no future for the family farm. He foresaw farms moving into big veture businesses, way back in the mid 60's. Still, it was a shock, at least to me, when he took his own advice and auctioned away everything and moved them to town after my return. Mom had grown up in town, but I couldn't believe my Father could ever be happy away from his angus cattle and the life he'd always known.

Mom was so excited the day we moved her into a rented house in town. The whole family had gathered to help with the move. It was a nice two story house on a quiet residential street. The first thing they brought in was the couch. My brothers set it down in the empty living room while Mom decided where to put it. She wasn't in any hurry and she was enjoying herself. Until that country mouse ran out of the couch. Mom was yelling at the boys to kill it and the terrified mouse was running every which way trying to avoid stomping feet in an empty room with no where to hide. Except back in the couch. When the mouse made it back to the couch, Mom started yelling to take that couch outside and burn it. She had no intention of sharing her new home with those filthy critters from the country. My brothers bounced the couch on the floor till the mouse ran out again, and after a lot more yelling and stomping, they did manage to destroy the mouse. But, Moms peace and happiness was also destroyed. She was a nervous wreck with everything that came off the truck after that. It could not be brought into the house till it had been shaken and dropped and bounced all over outside. I can only imagine how that move must have looked to the neighbors.

My parents were only in their early 40's and they settled into their new life with Dad working in a factory. They seemed content and Dad told me the factory was "OK", but the weekly paycheck made it a lot better than OK. That regular income was a new experience for the farmer. Still he was looking for more satisfying work and he was taking some home study courses, looking for a career.

When S moved J T and I back in with the folks, it was to a strange house in town. So, it wasn't really like going home again. And this was during the time my Mothers illness was getting bad. (See "Moms Illness" posted on March 9 and the following post, "Multiple Sclerosis and Mom.")

I hadn't worked since before going to Germany, when I worked for the telephone company. I didn't want to work their split shift again. Not with my son to take care of and Mom sick. Dad offered me a chance to go to a Business College or the Beauty Accadamy, both in our town. I chose the business college and went right back to school. It was a good program and I could go through at my own pace. So I was able to do a lot in a little time. I was also able to get a part time job in an office almost immediately. Soon they offered me full time and I took it.

Meanwhile, I had seen a lawyer and started divorce proceedings. And, discovered that by moving back to my hometown, I had to re-gain residency before the divorce could proceed. I had been out of the county too long. This meant I had to live there 6 months before I could even file.

G showed up about a week after I moved in. A snow storm had turned him back (his story) and he returned to find our apartment vacated and that J T and I were not living with his folks like he expected. He accused me of leaving him! All of his things were at his folks and I didn't feel I even owed him an explanation. He was free to go to his pregnant girlfriend. Which he did. But, the 6 month delay, while I waited for residency to file for divorce, meant it was going to be a race between delivering her baby and their being able to marry. G kept coming back to hassle me. He wanted me to return with him to his parents house and live, so I could file right away. I refused. How could he think it was my responsibility to help him solve his problem? I had school and shortly I had a job and even though he kept asking, I wouldn't even talk to him about it. Which made his girlfriend angry and put G in the hot seat. I have to admit, I took just a wee bit of pleasure in that fact. (That's what bitterness does to you.)

It worked out for them. Once I filed, my lawyer got things through quickly. My Parents and I met with the judge in his chambers and my marriage was over, just that easily. (Times have sure changed.) G was waiting at the courthouse, but they wouldn't even let him in chambers. They sent him to my lawyers office where he waited for the secretary to type up the papers right away. My lawyer told me that had never happened before, but they accommodated him. He left that same day with the papers he needed to get a marriage license and they were married just before their baby girl was born. She had a second girl before G was off with the next girlfriend. I lost track after that. His parents kept in touch with their Grandson and I let them take J T home with them one Sunday every month. But, G was out of his sons life till the boy was old enough to play ball and do "man things". Then he came back, because J T was his only son.

It Didn't Work

I've given up trying to remember details of this period. Not only was it so long ago, I seem to have blocked a lot of it from my memory. Even the time frame is missing. It only took months (almost a year) and I can't piece it together. I only know now if I thought this marriage could work, I must have been blind. Or way more optimistic than I am now.

The problem wasn't G's hatred of his Army service. G wanted to be in control. He hated authority, and he didn't like to be tied down. When he went back to work, he hated the bosses. I didn't know how to handle his anger. I usually managed to make it worse and and he'd turn his anger on me.

Then at some point, G decided he wanted to be an Ohio Highway Patrolman. Probably not a good idea, (for the public) but I believed at the time, that if he liked his job, things would be easier for us.

He was accepted into the Academy. And he did brilliantly. Cadets had to live on campus and couldn't have their cars there. He didn't seem to mind their restrictions. Maybe because they were short term. I was getting official reports from his instructors about his being at the top of the class. He was happy and excited, and I believed things would work out. Then, during an afterhours basketball game, G's lung collapsed. They had to let him go. He'd had a collapsed lung during a baseball game once in Germany. It didn't get him out of the Army, which he would have welcomed. Now, he was being dismissed from something he really wanted. Not his fault, out of his control and nothing he could do about it. Things went from bad to worse.

He refused to go back to work in the factory. I'm not sure, but it seems there were several jobs that didn't work out, because he hated them. There was one horrid argument, when I met a part of myself I would never have believed existed. I'm not a violent person and I refuse to accept violence. But, I learned that night, that anyone can be pushed too far. I actually grabbed a large kitchen knife and wanted to hurt him. He'd gotten rough with me, not enough that I can say I was defending myself. But I sure turned the table on him. I never touched him with the blade, but he had to save himself. It scared him badly, (it scared me worse) and he got even. He immediately took me to his parents house and told them what I'd done. They talked to both of us, and I believe they were fair. His Father took him somewhere and talked to him while his Mother talked to me. Then they talked to both of us together. They handled the situation well. Except for my humiliation, I was glad for their intervention. And, they never mentioned it again. I've never forgotten it, and it scares me to know I could have ever meant to hurt anyone. I learned though, and I've never even come close to anything like that since. (Though there were several more times he deserved it.)

G finally got a job with a well known commercial bakery delivering bread to grocery stores. He had to leave home in the middle of the night to load his truck in a city about 34 minutes away. His route was our own area. He wouldn't get back home till late in the afternoon. This job gave him more independance and kept him away from his boss most of his work day. He seemed to be enjoying it, despite the long hours. I found him easier to live with.

It was during that period, that W.P. returned to our lives. This is the W who we double dated with my senior year when he was going with my friend P. We were the foursome who ran around in the convertable that killed the flying goose. W was still in the Army and had been stationed in St. Louis while we were in Germany. Now he was being sent to Germany and stopped to visit during his leave. The two men were getting drunk in our kitchen and sharing army stories and catching up. I got tired and bored and went off to bed. Later, there was a commotion that woke me up. It also woke J up. I went to get the baby and then discovered G and W had come to blows. With G getting the worst of it. W had left and G wouldn't say what it had been about. But, I learned that later. G had gotten drunk and told W how his army training had come in handy. He'd bragged that he could hit me without leaving a bruise on me. After the fight, W had gone home and told his parents and his Mother, R.P., made up her mind to contact me. They lived real close and she became like another Mother, just sort of adopting me and J. She and her husband let G know they were keeping an eye on me.

I can't remember how long G had been working the bread route when I got a phone call from his boss. I do remember the call came around 1 P.M. The boss wanted to know if G could come back to work to make a special run. It confused me because I thought G was already at work. I'd been feeling sorry for him for the long hours and now his boss was telling me he got off work before noon every day. He never came home till 3 P.M. or even later. That was how I discovered the truth.

When he finally came home and I confronted him, he told me he was in love with someone. He also said she was young and he felt responsible for her. I was 21 and the Mother of his son. She was 18 and pregnant. Even then, I didn't give up easy. I still didn't want a divorce. I phoned our Minister for counseling. He had known G since his early teens. He'd known me less than a year. It was the Minister/Counselor who told me to get out, now, before I had another child. He didn't believe G would be faithful to anyone. Still, I stalled awhile.

Then G took the decision away from me. He took off. He said the girl friend and I were driving him crazy. He emptied our bank account and took our car and told me he was going to the west coast to join the army buddy who had been front man in The Dudes. The rent was due and he expected me to move in with his parents till he decided which woman he wanted.

I phoned my parents and my brother S, helped me move back home.

Stateside & Home

Along with my parents at the airport were my In-Laws. R.B. and my Father-In-Law, Mac B. Since R.B. had already seen J, she didn't feel her sons request applied to her. Mac was here to welcome us home and then, after that brief moment with J, who was too bundled up to see, he stayed away till his son was there with us.

I didn't even go look at the apartment R.B. had found for us, and spent so much time getting ready. Not right away anyhow. Our families lived 50 miles apart and the apartment was in their town, where G's job was waiting for his return from Active Duty. I went home with my parents, where I stayed for a week.

But first, on the way home Dad stopped and took me shopping. J had fallen asleep again and Mom wanted to hold him and wait in the car. The first thing Dad bought was disposable diapers. We picked up a few other baby things I might need right away. Dad asked me what I wanted. I was so tired by then, it was about 13-14 hours since I left Germany, I just wanted to go home. But, on the way to the checkout, there was a cooler with some juices and pop. I saw a bottle of Welches Grape Juice. I hadn't seen or tasted any Welches in two years. That was what I wanted. Dad thought that was hilarious. He had offered me anything in that store, and I wanted grape juice. American Welches Grape Juice. It really was the perfect choice too. I nursed that bottle for the whole hour drive home, savoring every sip. My first taste of Home. Every sign advertising something familiar along the highway, (no more Autobahn,) every chain store that had been there before I left, everywhere was a memory of what I'd been missing. (Even thought some of them I hadn't even thought of while I was gone.) It was all so precious. When we got to the farm where I'd grown up, there were a few changes, but none that showed up in the dark. My first view was pretty much as I'd left it. Even the beautiful German Shepherd, Treasure, was there to welcome me home.

But, I was very different. Grown up, matured quite a bit, and now a mother myself. Relationships were going to need adjustment, and I realized it was going to be a lot easier with this week alone with my family. Before G got back and things got strained. My parents had never liked G, (especially Dad) and his idea of leaving me in an apartment till he got there hadn't helped his cause any. We avoided that subject. I was pretty sure Mom and Dad had guessed some of what it had been like for me with G. It wasn't that I couldn't admit they had been right about him. It was just that I felt it was my problem to solve. One of my Fathers favorite expressions had always been, "You made your bed, now lie in it." That was what I was determined to do. Later. First I had time to see the rest of my family and we could enjoy each other. They made it easy. No questions I didn't want to answer. Everything just went so well and this new mother had no problem at all finding her new nitch with her own parents. I don't remember a single uncomfortable moment. Till Moms own Mother visited. That woman always knew how to make you uncomfortable. The first time she asked me a personnel question, my Mother just handed her J and said something about her great-grandson. That stopped her in her tracks, she didn't think she was old enough to be a Great-Grandmother and the idea always distracted her.

J took his first steps at the farm before his Daddy came home. But, we decided that was a secret we could keep. He was still pretty unsteady, and we didn't think G needed to be upset by this development. Everyone wanted to hold him and fuss over him and get to know him, so he didn't have much chance to practice the new skill. I had also put off giving him his first hair cut till everyone had seen him. He had long, light brown curls and the same rosy cheeks that German babies have. (I wonder why, the rosy cheeks disappeared shortly after we got home.) It gave everyone something to talk about. He was long and filled out chubby, but certainly not what anyone could call a fat baby. He was just down right pretty. (Can you hear him groan? I sure do.) And he was still a very happy, cheerful, easy to please baby. Why do they have to grow up?

My things started arriving in the mail, so after the first week, Mom and I contacted R.B., who still had the keys to our apartment, and she met us at the new apartment. She had worked hard and things were ready. We'd mailed things to both parents and R.B. had been putting things away as she got them and she wanted to show me where. We had my dishes and things from my first apartment before I'd married G, and R.B. had stored things from our first apartment in Wilmington. We put what I'd gotten away and I was given the key. But, I didn't stay yet. I went back to my parents for a few more days. When R.B. got the phone call from G saying when he'd be there, she called me.

J and I were waiting for him at our new home when he arrived. He had promised me things would be different once the Army was behind him. He blamed everything on his hatred of the Service. I guess I was still young enough to be hopeful. There had never been a divorce in my family, and I really didn't want to be the first. I was willing to start over and I really wanted it to work.

Going Home

When it was clear to G that I was serious about not staying in Germany even an hour after he left, he made another request. But, not to me. He wrote to both families with the request that they not visit us or see J till he got home. He also asked R.B. to find us an apartment to be ready when I got there. For me to wait in with our son, alone, with no visitors till he could be there. His family honored his request. My family did not.

I was to fly home. The Army was sending G back on a Navy Ship. His trip would take about 9 days. Plus a day or so in N.J. to get his paperwork and muster out of the service. And then his drive home in the V.W. Bug that he had managed to get on the same ship that brought him home. Approximately 2 weeks after I arrived.

I still have vivid memories of that flight home from Frankfort. It was about a week after Thanksgiving. The plane was absolutely full of other G.I. wives and their children, mostly babies. They were not all short timers either. A lot of them were just going home for Christmas visits and would be returning. It made me realize just how selfish my husband was being. Understandable that he would want what he did, but selfish that he would actually expect it. (Try to demand it.)

There were so many babies on that flight, the Stewardesses were overwhelmed. A request was made over the P.A. system, before we even took off, for us to help ourselves to what the babies might need from the Galley. Water, juice, bottles warmed, whatever. We were on our own.

That is a long flight with an infant or toddler. J was now just over 9 months old, and very close to walking alone. He did not want to sit still on my lap. And, he was past the long nap stage. And, we were flying backward in time. We left Germany around 3 P.M., which would be 9 A.M. in mid-Ohio. J had taken his nap in the car on the way to Frankfort, and he was ready for action. There was too much action and excitement on that plane home to make him drowsy again.

They had spread us out as much as possible and once we were in the air they gave us permission to trade seats. So that passengers without children could find seats together and not have their flight quite so disrupted. It was almost like some kind of riot in the air. The couple in the seat in front of us were young newlyweds on their way back home after their honeymoon. She was wearing a fancy (ridiculous) hat with feathers and ribbons that trailed over the back of the seat. I could not keep J's fingers off of that hat. He grabbed the ribbons. He stretched and grabbed at the feathers. Babies are so quick. And, he was already a "tall" baby. No matter how I sat him or turned him or struggeled with him, that hat was just too tempting. She finally took it off and stashed it where he couldn't see it. They were pleasant about it, but not very pleased. A few hours into this flight of pandemonium, I heard the groom tell his bride he didn't believe they were ready for kids just yet.

Most of the youngins did gradually settle down. Not J, not till almost midnight, according to our internal clocks. I was exhausted by the time he fell finally asleep, when we were almost to New York. So, I arrived at this busy airport with a sleeping, dead weight child, hanging on one arm, and everything else I had to carry hanging on the other. They didn't have cases with wheels back then. And, even though I had mailed everything I could home to my parents, I still had plenty to carry so I could take care of the baby till everything arrived. Did I mention I was already exhausted? I found my connecting flight, and a seat, and I collapsed. The crowd with children had scattered of course. I found myself the only one in this waiting area, at this time of evening, with a baby. I had caught my breath and felt a little rested when they announced my flight, but J was awake again with all the commotion. If I thought he was a handful as a sleeping dead weight, I found the wakeful child even harder to handle with everything else. We were made to stand in line and I was having trouble with my load. When they announced first class passengers could board, I pretended to mis-understand, and I got in that short line and went right on the plane. Of course when they saw my ticket on the plane, the stewardess took me back to my assigned seat. But, she did help me carry my stuff and get settled. I did feel guilty....at first. When I saw how long before the rest of my seatmates arrived, I was feeling better about my deception. J was wide awake again, and I knew I was in for another hectic trip. But, this one was only going to last an hour or so, and help in the form of my family was getting closer. I was on the last leg of the trip and I was just starting to get excited myself.

This flight turned into a much nicer experience. My seatmate turned out to be a young man about my age who was flying home from College for Christmas with his family. When the baby
reached for him, he took J and played with him for the entire flight. He had teased me about getting on board first and we had talked about how far I'd come and what I had to carry. He thought my little deceptive trick was funny. The best part was our arrival at the airport in Columbus, Ohio. He told me to gather my things, and he carried J. We got off the plane that way, staying close together, so I didn't lose sight of my baby. Can you imagine what his parents must have thought, when their first sight of him was carrying a 9 month old baby and with a strange woman? I didn't even get to see their expressions. I was looking for my family, and he kept J and stayed with me till we were re-united. Mom grabbed me first, than, with a little confusion herself, she took J from my hero. I quickly introduced him and thanked him, and he wandered off with a big grin to explain to his family, who had gathered nearby and were staring at us. It was sometime after 9 P.M. Ohio time, which made it 3 A.M. for J and I, but I didn't care, I was STATESIDE again, and with my family.

The Problem Was

I've realized how much I have glossed over the two years of my life in Germany. Tying to sort it out now, over 40 years later, (and for the sake of our son J) I find myself still trying to be fair to G. My training and the kind of folks who raised me, didn't prepare me for living with G.B. "If you can't say anything good.....don't say anything." Well, there wasn't very much I could say that I would consider good about my husband. But, if this story is going to be fair to me and my memories and who I was trying to be, then I have to go deeper into what wasn't good.

I believe I've already admitted he was selfish and controlling. Now, I am going to admit just how controlling he was with me. (Again, to be fair...maybe he has grown up and changed. But, this is how it was then.)

He spent the two years that I was separated from my family and friends telling me over and over that I was crazy. Stupid, worthless and just plain crazy. He kept threatening to have me committed. At first you know it isn't true. At first, you know someone is just being mean. And, he was too smart to do it in front of anyone. But, when you are essentially among strangers and you hear the same awful words over and over from someone you loved and trusted, you begin to doubt yourself. He knew just what he was doing with his constant mind games. It actually started with the silly ghost stories I grew up with. Ghosts, or actually "Spook", was a word or description for the things that happened without any real explanation. It was as good a name as any, for the things we had experienced. Whatever you believe, sometimes it was real and sometimes it was just an excuse. For example, say you put your coat on the back of a chair, then later you found it someplace else. Blame "Spook", instead of worrying about your mind. Something like a game we slipped into when we were growing up. Then G came along and told me I was crazy. In the beginning I actually caught him moving things or doing things, and then telling me it was all in my mind.

Months and months of being controlled and manipulated. Somewhere along the way, I kind of lost myself. But, not totally. I knew; I recognized that his actions and his words were not the same when we were alone as they were when others were with us. I was able to reason that when I was with the other wives, or if Segroine was with me, I was functioning fine. Then slowly even those lines began to blur. I was actually afraid that I wasn't "well" enough to be a Mother. Then we had the month with his Mother and Sister and I saw my husband acting like everything was fine and he loved me. It began to come together for me. But, I was still not sure enough of myself to even get angry yet.

I was also pretty sure that he was using his band job as a chance to cheat on me. During my pregnancy, I had gone to a lot of the jobs and all the wives were there and we got along well. After J was born, I took him in the infant seat and everyone fussed over him. But I wasn't comfortable taking the baby, and gradually I stopped going as often. Then when I did go, the wives and band members seemed uncomfortable with me there. G convinced me that was in my mind too, but he didn't ask me to go very often anymore. I mostly stayed home with baby J. And, he started staying away for longer periods. I had no evidence and no way of proving anything. At least not in Germany. I was thousands of miles from support and help.

Then came the month of the trip, and his changed treatment and attitude with me. And, with the baby. Before R.B. and B.B. joined us, he had practically ignored his son. Now he was (at least occasionally) making a fuss over him. Occasionally. But even Grandmom and Aunt didn't spend as much time with J as I had expected. So, I put it down as a family kind of thing. The baby was my responsibility and the only time R.B. or B.B. helped was when J was in his car seat between them in the back seat. I remember being surprised by that.

Still, it was having them with us and the trip itself that helped me see clearly who I was married to. That was when it dawned on me that if I was as crazy as he said, why did he leave his son totally in my care. His control was slipping.

After they left and our two years were coming to an end and it was time to return home to the states, I was finally able to stand up for myself and fight back. He went too far.

You see, G wanted me and J to stay in Germany till he had returned home. He didn't want us to go home first. He said he didn't want to miss introducing his son to everyone. I was not going to be left behind in Germany, off base and alone, and this time I argued. He even went so far as telling me there wasn't any money for our return flight till he could return to his job and send for me. Now I could call him a liar and know it was true. I told him if he didn't have the money, my Parents would send me a ticket. I knew his pride wouldn't allow that and I was right. He dropped the money issue. With his Army pay and my supplimental spouses check, which I signed over to him every month, and the $15.00 every night for playing in The Dudes, we should have had a lot more money than he could account for. Our German rent was only $45.00 American a month. We were a lot better off then the other wives I spent my days with. The man had been getting away with anything he felt like, and I had let it happen. I told him I was going home first and things were going to change, or we were through. To my surprise, he seemed to care.