I had a very simple childhood, that all changed when I was around 14 and we moved to Florida, my father, who was in a very severe motorcycle accident, had forgotten how to function due to frontal lobe brain damage.  One day, my father did not come home from work, this led to a summer of confusion, at a very fragile time in my life. It was at this time in my life that I began doing things that I would never have dreamed that I would do.  I invited my friends to move into the condo down in Sarasota that I had previously lived in with my Dad. 

 I remember being as sad as I have every been, worried about the location of my father. It was the summer time, I got a job and began to pay bills, but the few hours I was able to work, was not enough.  I struggled to fit in in a town in which I was surrounded by kids that were well to do.  This was where I began to engage in criminal activity and drug abuse.  I was trying to numb the pain.  Some of the things that I did at this time, to make money, are things that I am very ashamed of.  I was angry at the world, for taking my dad and my simple New England life from me.  I began to take my anger out on everyone and everything, stealing and hurting people.   The more bad things that I did, the easier that it became and soon I had trained myself to act in an evil way, on impulse.  Those were very dark days for me, and while I have some fond memories with friends, I have many more memories that I wish that I could erase.  What was a defense mechanism, soon created habit and in retrospect, I am shocked that I did some of the things that I did.  

In this blog, I have touched on some of these things, but only the people who really know me, know of the work and tremendous changes I have made in my life with age.  I have spent years, retraining my thoughts and rehabilitating myself, to counter react the negative behaviours that I trained myself to so on impulse.  I would like to revive this blog and rename it.  I would like to come clean to the world about the things that I have done, I know it will shock a lot of people who have not been in my life for a long time, but I think that it is time.  I am working on a book, about a period of my life whee I sort of figured it out.  It was after a lot of hard work and falling flat on my face that things finally began to fall into place. There was a point where I decided that I was only going to move forward, but the progress was slow. I would like to share the tools that I attained, to survive a life that many of my friends did not. 

Please stay tuned, there will be more changes to this format, or a new blog, I am not sure yet. For now, please go through the archives and read some of my entries, which are true accounts of my journey.

Thanks, 

Tilly

Johnson's Pond and Again

There is a place in Coventry, Rhode Island that is near and dear to my heart, a place where I can become a kid again, a place which is filled with some of my fondest memories of family and of coming of age, that place is called Johnson's Pond. 

Johnson's pond is a large pond which begins in a neighborhood and spreads out into the country in the town I grew up in, my grandmother lived there. As a child, I spent many summers skipping rocks and sitting on the end of the dock with my little brother trying to snag a bass or two out of the muddy water, if we got lucky, my Uncle Bobby would come down after work and we could fish into the warm summer night.

We used to access the pond by walking down a fairly short path on my grandmother's property, down to the beach area with sand and docks with a couple of boats.  We always knew that with Summer, brought countless days of waiting on a bite from the biggest bass in the water, catching turtles and the festivities of the 4th of July fireworks and the water skiing show. 

 Down by the pond, my grandmother had a screened in shelter, with tables and appliances for our family gatherings, and whether it was on the pontoon boat or the jet ski or if we were just doing cannonballs, we would be in that water until the summer became fall.  I remember my dad taking my brother and I out for early Saturday fishing on the boat (that is when we would catch the biggest fish).  We would have family come into town from Canada and as a small child I always thought it was strange, listening to them all speak in a different language while they played cribbage in the under the sun. 

There were many days at my grandmothers, were my brother and I would pass up playing video games, to wait at the end of that long dock, hoping to catch the grandfather of fish, the elusive and fierce Northern Pike (usually, we didn't).  I miss those days so much, I miss the family together, I miss being an innocent kid with not a care in the world but to toss out a fishing line for hours and anticipate the movement of the red and white bobber. I miss the potato salad and the croquet. I miss packing into the boat and waiting under the stars for the first explosion to fill the dark sky in Independence Day and I miss the innocence and simplicity that it all represents in my life.  I miss my grandmother.  

Last summer I went back to the pond, I try to go back when I can, it doesn't change much.  When I looked out over the water I felt that comfortable feeling, the safety of fond memories, the welcomeness of home. When life bogs me down and I feel like things just never go my way, I remember this place and I remember how lucky a child I was to be able to enjoy that special place and then everything once again becomes ok.  Thank you memere' Lacroix, thank you for having this special place when I was a kid, the memories keep me going and give me something to look forward to, even today.

A Little Random Nothing

Early in life you think that you have nothing but time, but as one progresses and the time gets shorter, it seems that we never have enough. I remember sitting on the dock of the bay, literally. I left my home in Georgia and I went to to Oregon and then San Francisco and then to Santa Cruz where I would reside.  Time did not matter.  After hitting a dead end in Eugene, Oregon and running out of money, I hitched down to Northern California.  I remember the feeling of time not really meaning much.  My first night I fell asleep under the first giant redwood that I had ever seen, listening to the radio and in the morning I awoke, cold and not knowing where the next day would take me.  Rather than having anxiety, I became content and I straggled down to the shoulder which led to the highway, it was like 6 am.  I waited for a minute, throwing my thumb into the air to passers by without a worry and right on time, my ride came to take me into Santa Rosa. That day I had lunch with my new driver and new friend and shortly thereafter I was travelling over that glorious bridge into San Francisco and viewing the famous sights for the first time in my life.  I didn't worry back then because I had no choice, I was forced to live in the moment.  Now, with life the way it is, full of goals and routine, I worry more than I ever have.  You would think that the security of a "normal" life and possessions and would put me at ease, but I  always force to remind myself of my previous lessons, and live in the moment, being grateful for right now.  When it is all said and done, we all have the exact same amount of time.  We all have 24 hours. We cannot control the past and all that we can do is prepare for the future.  That's a tough lesson to learn, but the only way to survive and truly be a happy person, and to have a purpose.  I have spent countless hours wondering why it was so easy for me to be content in some of the crazy situations that are logged  in this journal yet it can be so difficult in my routine filled life.  In the most chaotic of situations, I was surviving, and I had no choice but to let go and let things unfold. Oddly enough, it can be very difficult to convince yourself to do the same when everything is normal.  To be content, is the only choice. Everything usually works out, after all I am still here and its still today.

~another random nothing

~tilly

Day 2hashtag#2

I awoke that morning with a confused look on my face, where was, I? How did I get here? As the fog cleared from my mind and I grasped my surroundings, I quickly brushed my teeth and wandered down the old staircase gripping the banister, like the rope in gym class. The stress of what was next had me a little worked up. I walked through the foyer and to the right and was welcomed by an older black guy wearing a lot of jewelry, he was painting at an easel. 

"Hello, and good morning!" said the man and I instantly calmed. At that moment I decided I would head to the French Quarter.  I roamed the streets that morning, passing up Royal and across Conti and up Bourbon and across Toulouse.  I had no idea where I was going, but I was content.  I flashed back to the previous day and I realized that being content, was the way that I had to be.

On Touloiuse I walked by a little place with a sign which read "Pop Bar" on it.  I walked in and asked for an Amber. I sat and listened to the chatter from an older burly woman who was sitting at the bar with her laptop. I overheard her talking to the bartender and telling her that they needed a bartender for tonight, someone had just quit.

"Hello and good morning!" I exclaimed. "They call me Tilly"I said, with an extended hand.  The next thing that happened was magical in and of itself, I was once again hired on the spot and asked to work that evening.  Keep in mind, this was 3 days before Halloween, in New Orleans, in the French Quarter, right after The Storm.  

I ran up to Camp and then over to Magazine and settled back in my window sill.  What was happing?  

New Orleans, After the Storm

It wasn't too long after hurricane Katrina that I found myself sitting in a graveyard in New Orleans, the afternoon sun beating on my neck.  The previous night I was a shining star, until daybreak when I lost $5000 at the poker table.  "I have no idea what I am going do." I thought as I peered across the old burial ground off of Magazine St.  The city was a disaster, rubble everywhere, cars overturned under the bridge that crosses the Mississippi.  I had no idea what I was going to do that day, so I sat and wracked my anxiety ridden brain for solutions.  I was broke, I had no solutions. As alone as I felt, I was not alone in the Crescent City that day, there were many lurking about whose struggles eclipsed my own. It was then that I came to the realization that I was sitting on an empty page above the bodies lying beneath me.  I turned around and behind me there was a giant mansion, a "guest house", as they call them in Nola. I rose to my feet and grabbed my laptop and headed towards the mysterious building, full of hope and no other choice.

When I walked into the building I saw a big staircase and some creepy pictures of children on the wall, one was getting his haircut by a nun.  As I turned to the left a man asked me if he could help me.  Yes, he could help me.  "I need a job." I told the man.  "Well, I need someone to work the front desk." said the man.  I told the man that I had worked in hotels when I was younger, he checked my reference and offered me the job. I told the man that I would work for board, a deal was made and he handed me some keys and showed me to the 3rd floor.  It was a modest little efficiency, with giant windows looking towards the Mississippi river and the CBD.  I thanked the man as he left and I walked over to the giant window which looked like it had been painted over a 1000 times.  I raised the window, the sill was long enough for me to sit in and I grabbed my laptop and began to type. 

This marked the beginning of a life-changing lesson for me, the first time I learned that I truly could whatever I want and that's what I did in New Orleans, whatever I wanted.  

Every once in a while, I get the urge to jot down pieces of my life for a period, right now is one of those times.  This begins, New Orleans, after the storm.