Confidence or Self-importance

Self-importance is our greatest enemy. Think about it - what weakens us is feeling offended by the deeds and misdeeds of our fellowmen. Our self-importance requires that we spend most of our lives offended by someone.

Carlos Castaneda Anthropologist and Writer

University of California

Do you remember in the movie, "La Bamba" when Ritchie's mother, Connie Valenzuela gets offended because the band does not allow her son to play solo at an evening garage performance? Ricki jumps in the car where his whole family is waiting and she asks, "What did they mean ...not letting you play, Ritchie?" He says, "Don't worry, I'll get them to listen." Connie is angry, though, and she says, "My Grandfather was a full blooded Yaqui Indian..."

I aways smile when I think of that pride. What is it? Mother's pride? Family pride? Some part of me knows that it does not really matter how you came into this world and which group of people you belong to...but another part can relate to that indignant mother! Respect! It's like Aretha Franklin R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

(Photo Yaqui People C1910 Mexico)

I'm thinking about confidence and balancing our needs with the needs of others....of knowing that you can make a difference in your own life and in the lives of others....of putting yourself out in the world. I think many of us are born with a introverted character, we have to learn to express our needs. Others are born with an extroverted tendency and may overlook the needs of others. Neither is necessarily better because we have to learn balance, either way. I know some people who keep giving until they harm themselves...and others who tightly hold on to what they have -but the universe or chance creates hardship and loss anyway. Perhaps, teaching generosity to some children is difficult in some way but so is teaching children to stand up for themselves and be noticed.

Many years ago, when my daughter was singing at a small theatre for a school function, I watched her get pushed away from the microphone by a more aggressive singing partner. (I have it on film so it's clear in my memory.) The other girl's parents had the shame of their daughter's public behavior to deal with but the girl who pushed was the one who was heard the most. I kept thinking that my daughter should have moved back toward the microphone and tried to sing again instead of staying in the background. I always wonder what is the right guidance to give in those situations. I didn't want my daughter to grow up into an aggressive personality but I did want her to know how to stand up for herself. She's turned out fine but I still wonder how to handle pushy people in the world.

As a shy child, I had to learn how to stand up for myself. My mother frequently commented about my own sensitive ways. She used to say, "I worry about you. You need to toughen up!" I think I must have gotten much bolder in my teen years but I remember feeling the need of support before I could try something new. I waited for friends to say, "Hey, you can do it!" I think you miss a lot of opportunities when you need to wait for someone else to discover your talents and encourage you to move ahead. Sometimes even people you love just don't want you to excel too much . Why is that? I'm naive a bit- when someone tells me it's control and jealousy, I don't want to believe it. Usually, I just look away and try not to notice. I think maybe my daughter does that too. It's a strategy. I don't know if it's the best one.

What do you think about confidence and self-importance? Sometimes when it comes to my children, I'm like Ritchie's mother, Connie Valenzuela. Do you remember when she was imagining for her son and she looked up into the sky while visualizing, "Ricky Vallenzuela and his Flying Guitar?" She's dreaming big for her child...her cause...

(A version of this blog post can be found in Oasis Writing Link archives.)

Virginia Woolf, Moments of Being

Virginia Woolf

Loss upon loss
Fears the greater loss
Still.

Imagine Virginia Woolf at thirteen. She lives in a busy household that centers around her mother, her mother who is forty...her mother who takes care of seven children-no eight because there’s one yet at home… a child not spoken of… a child who will disappear soon…a child who is called an idiot-child by Virginia as was the custom of the day. Imagine her mother is married to a man, her second husband, who is fifteen years older, a writer, and demanding. Imagine Virginia at thirteen in this busy house of guests and happenings… the same Virginia we all know through her writing… the Virginia who loses her mother on May 5, the same day of my mother’s death. Imagine Virginia at thirteen. She carries the presence of her mother (as I do) while her mother is long gone. She wrote in Moments of Being:

“I could hear her voice, see her, and imagine what she would do or say as I went about my day’s doings. She was one of the invisible presences who after all play so important a part in every life.’’ (80)
And as Virginia pours out her heart-words both troubled and turbulent in To the Lighthouse, a work of fiction that’s autobiography, she becomes empty and unbound to this once compelling presence of her mother. She asks, “Why, because I describe her and my feeling for her in that book, should my vision of her and my feeling for her become so much dimmer and weaker?” (81).  

And while writing again about her mother, 

she worries that she will erase her completel.

Columbine surrounding the bust of Virginia Woolf, sculpted by Stephen Tomlin.
Photograph by Pamela A. McMorrow

Maternal Moosings

Oasis Returns: A few notes on life, change and mothers

Espresso coffee with warm milk taste better than Mr. Coffee's rushed cup.

Do you start your day off with coffee? I can drink a pot of "American" coffee without getting "the jitters" while consuming two cups of Yaucono espresso could send me over the top. I usually get up early in the morning and put on the coffee- first thing. Though I have cut down my intake of coffee, I continued to drink a cup of coffee in the morning. (Haven't you been thrilled with the news that coffee could have some health benefits?) My motto: Healthy eating in moderation! Isn't that sentiment a contradiction coming from a lifelong vegetarian? I still like a bit of butter and cheese but lately, I prefer higher quality dairy products and avoid eggs.


This morning, I listened to the roosters crow and chickens squawk while I walked to the front gate of Green Oasis Finca. I have just planted a white rose bush that was given to me by nearly grown daughter, Miss A, which I, in turn, dedicated to mom because it was the anniversary of her murder on May 5. I found the physical act of digging deep into the earth and planting this ever-blooming floribunda rose, Summer Snow, the perfect way to connect and disperse this heavy laden grief that burdens me around Mother's Day. I feel refreshed and ready to get on with life. I just need a little sip of coffee, love from my family, and the company of blogging buddies to keep me thriving. I have appreciated the continued visits to my quiet Oasis blog, even though I feel like this black and white Holstein. Look at that face!
I have discovered that "girl cows" do have horns. And that in women, they hide under the surface until about the age of 50 years or so. My own horns are showing! Or rather I'm feeling a bit edgy-and it's not from the coffee. My daughter is soon off to college, and I feel strong pressure coming from that impending change in both of our lives.

My lovely daughter just finished this painting, yesterday.














Beginnings are scary. Endings are usually sad, but it's what's in the middle that most counts. So when you find yourself at the beginning, just give hope a chance to float up. And it will! Hope Floats


Amber's Sun 5/2010

What is truly important?

Oasis Reflection:
This week, I've been thinking about how we need to remember to teach our children what is fundamentally important in life. Mary Dow Brine's poem,"Somebody's Mother" (Writer's Almanac/Feb 16, 2010) touched my heart.


~~~~

Somebody's Mother
by Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of 'school let out,'
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her—
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest lad of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she's poor and old and grey,
And her own dear boy is far away."
"Somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was, "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"

(Public domain)

~~~~~


I think most of us hope to raise our children with the skills to be successful in life but do we remember that compassion for others is essential for a health and harmony?

These words are written on my prayer flags...

May we all reflect and connect with others while sharing the best we have to offer.

May we create harmony...and be harmonous. (I'm sending this thought to myself as well.)

May February's theme of love radiate throughout your life and all it's creations.

Love Stories

Life is a surprise. It's full of forgetting and remembering but when you forget, you don't remember. Okay. Take that thought slowly. It is only when you remember that you realize that you forgot something. It's like that with most lost memories...they come rushing through your mind after some triggering moment. It is also possible to remember factual events, but still forget the accompanying feelings that those events entailed. So I ask myself: Do you remember if you don't feel the experience again? Lately, my memory is inundated with past experiences that come upon me, suddenly. And too, I'm aware of the feelings of another time. They sweep through my mind alive with the fragrant and bittersweet breeze...

Morning Memory

White lace flower curtain
Growing round and close.
Late morning heat, cooled,
Again the earth breathes sky.

Brushed by the damp and
Dead leaves, I walk.
Head-wind determined...
Old fears dry and peel off.

Oh memory wind, oh friend
I open the door to your
everything and all -in
this once-was breeze

Heavy stuck leaf-prints
Evaporate and crumble
Soil-rich with promise-
Newness yet to come.

(Cynthia Pittmann)

~~~~~
What causes this upsurge of memory? It could be a certain age, or having time to reflect? Perhaps it is a combination of turbulence and slow thought all in the context of a relationship? I am a mother who has a daughter- and "we get along" my daughter would say. Lately, when the breeze of her life blows through mine, I remember what it was like to live many years ago. I don't mean that I experience what she experiences (though that happens too) I mean that I remember myself as a teenager. I think back on my own high school years and I remember what it felt like to be devoted, absorbed and swept away by another-in the "teen way"- which is not usually accessible to my ordinary task-oriented adult self. Lately, I surprise myself with tears when I listen to the uncomplicated music of Taylor Swift. Suddenly, I remember/realize the pain of early unrequited love when I hear this song (Don't judge me!!! :-) :




~~~~~~

Letter to Sweet Sixteen

Dearest young Miss C,
Going as you are into this life of love...
Anger, joy, loss, and hope all swirling around you
Kaleidoscope of poetry and dreams
Your mind a Ferris Wheel , a Carousel
"June is busting out all over..."

You discover Spring arrives early in Ohio...and
It's a trip -all night-to reach down to find spring...
Alive in the apple blossoms...
Alive in your favorite songs...

A wild and careful you-
an overfilled fragrant vase-
Set on the mantle,
likely to fall. Oh, would I catch you?

I would. And yet, wild horses will break that
"country roads take me home" innocence.
Should I tell you many dreams will fall away?
No, I can't.

You get to have your time...uncomplicated
Romeo and Juliet. Wasn't it Robert Kincaid who said,
"The old dreams were good dreams;
they didn't work out, but I'm glad I had them."

In love, welcome
and goodbye.

(Cynthia Pittmann)

~~~~~
I remember watching this music video many times with my daughter. From my adult me's perspective, it was "cute," even charming. But then one day, my concentration focused in and I left behind all of the story detail analysis of the anachronisms.(Romeo and Juliet were younger than that...they couldn't really be together...that period costume, it comes from a later date...) I didn't have to hear, "Oh, Mom, stop talking. You're ruining the video!" because I was there, too. My teen-self came forward and asserted herself, "Let me be. Let me live."

~~~~~~


~~~~~~

Hey there, Cynthia (on the far left), how are you doing? It's been a long time; and, it's so nice to see you, again!




Post Script:

Thank you, blogger friends, for taking this trip down memory lane with me. I know we stayed up all night talking but the sun is rising and I feel renewed! xxoo

To Mom on Mother's Day; I Will Always Love You

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today, naturally, I'm thinking of my mother and appreciating the gifts she has given me. May she be surrounded in light and love...and too, may all of you resonate with the kind of nurturing love that you need in this life.

[Whitney Houston]



Below we have the heartwarming Dolly Pardon singing her song...

[lyrics to three versions]



And why not include Lorelai singing to her daughter, Rori? This clip from the Gilmore Girls reveals the moment when Lorelai shifts her attention to Luke Danes and reveals to everyone that she loves him....or was it just the combination of the song, a few too many drinks and the memory of an old romance?

Happy Mother's Day to you all!

photo credit

Noblesse Oblige Meets The Dust Bowl

Noblesse Oblige Award







The fine writer and book lover, Carol, of The Writer's Porch


has honored me with this colorful and dynamic award. What a charming acknowledgement of my efforts here at OWL blog. Thank you, friend!

Here is a description of the award

This award recognizes the following attributes:

1) The Blogger manifests exemplary attitude, respecting the nuances that pervades amongst different cultures and beliefs.

2) The Blog contents inspire; strives to encourage and offers solutions.

3) There is a clear purpose at the Blog; one that fosters a better understanding on Social, Political, Economic, the Arts, Culture, Sciences and Beliefs.

4)The Blog is refreshing and creative

5) The Blogger promotes friendship and positive thinking

Wow! What a compliment! Here are my responsibilities:

The Bloggers who receive this award will need to perform the following steps:

1) Create a post with a mention and link to the blogger who presented the Noblesse Oblige Award to you.
2) The award conditions must be displayed in the post.
3) Write a short article about what your blog has thus far achieved preferably citing one or more older post to support:
4) The blogger must present the Noblesse Oblige Award to blogs in concurrence with the award conditions.
5) The blogger must display the award at any location on their blog.

Oasis Writing Link; A Short History of Beginning at an Ending

Oasis Writing Link started almost by itself; I had been thinking about starting a blog after I read the book Julie and Julia by Julie Powell; briefly, it's a book about a woman who started a blog and how it evolved into a book (now it is a film staring Meryl Streep that is scheduled to be released this August!) when a work friend told me I should just type in blogger.com and see what it was all about. She said it was quite simple. (Julie has a current blog where you can comment!)

Without clear intention, I decided to fill out a request for a blog. Many of you know that Oasis Writing Link has the acronym OWL which points to my mother, Susan Pittmann, a Halloween baby, who loved that she was born on the witch's day. She was murdered in 1992 by our neighbor, Mr. Brooks. (James Elwood Brooks); I have written about the circumstances surrounding this hate crime. OWL blog is a tribute to my mother's life.

Recently, my sister, Linda found this photo of Brooks; it appears to be the mysterious missing photo taken by Christine Puckett, my mother's murdered partner, just before they were both shot. I heard that Brooks hit Christine with a shovel before he went into his house to get the murder weapon. I understand that Chris was trying to document his aggression so that the police would take precautionary-preventive action (at least take his weapons away!!!) How shocking to see his blurred angry face just before he shot my mother and Christine. (I saw these photographs for the first time just one hour ago.) From the photo angle, Christine must have been lying on the ground while she quickly took the shot. I remember Mom saying that they needed to prove that he was behaving aggressively because the police wouldn't act on Brook's verbal threats. They said they needed evidence to document his irrational condition. Sadly, it is on this day, cinco de mayo, that they both were shot and killed.














I also have two other new photographs most likely taken just before this one:










Mr. Brooks -as we used to call him as children- is quite angry here, and shouting in the first mini photo. In the second, he is reaching into his car to get the shovel to strike Christine. The larger blurred photo is when he lifted the shovel and moments after, it must have struck Christine. Then he returned to his house, lifted the rifle and shot Christine from his kitchen door. When she fell, he selected the loaded double barrel shotgun, which was along side the door and walked over to her bleeding body. My mother was on the phone talking to a 911 operator (I heard the tape); she said: "My worker's been shot!" They asked for information and likely tried to keep her there but she left the phone dangling and ran out to Christine. By that time, Brooks was again out in our yard with the shotgun, they had some words. Probably, mom tried to calm him down but he just lifted the gun and shot mom at close range. She died rapidly as the blood poured from her aorta just below her heart and into the soil. Brooks then walked over to Christine and shot her again. This is what I think happened; it's what I can piece together from the various stories, hints and facts that I know. Great sorrow swept into many people's lives on that day. Mom had five children, seven grandchildren, many unofficially adopted children and grandchildren, many friends and relatives.

Mom and Christine's deaths were like a dry wind that left a shadow of ash on all of those members of society who passively permit anger and aggression towards those who chose to love someone of the same sex. (For more information about the impact of this crime, you can go to this documentary film website and read about the Pittmann Puckett Story.)

May we all learn to love and accept difference in each other.

The DUST BOWL - natural disaster cause by the violation of our earth, unknowingly caused by the belief that we can dominate nature, and force it to change.







I want to call attention to these blogs that strive to bring understanding and empathy into this world; these blogs uphold a positive faith in our ability to act by the force of love to create a better world.

1. The Soaring Impulse
2. Lori Times Five
3. Lost and Found in India
4. From Forensic to Fine Art
5. Mama Shujaa
6. An Aerial Armedillo
7. Tangobaby
8. Psyche Connections

Please visit these lively blogs that celebrate life and call on all of us to be the best version of ourselves.

Airing Dirty Laundry

Oasis Feature: Re-post Self-disclosure and Honesty

How do you react when someone "over" shares?

Though I no longer live in the country, I think this post invites relevant introspection about our sharing boundaries.(click to read original post with comments)

 

Yes, it's true, I have lots of it! Seriously...at least three bags in the bedroom. See, it's been raining on the weekends and I wash all of my dirty clothes outside in the sun. Why? Yes, I have had modern conveniences but whenever they break, I take a break from the 21st century. Washing clothes outside reminds me of women washing by the river; I feel connected to the past and linked to an unbroken chain of peasant womanhood. Of course, women still wash clothes outside by a water source in many countries. (And, yes, it seems to be gender specific.) I look at this washing as my karma yoga, for all of you (sparse!) yogi bloggers out there. I kind of imagine myself out in another country, say India, next to the spiritually renown and polluted Ganges or in Peru, next to the Parana infested mystical water of the Amazon. Or on a Caribbean island, Antigua say, where author Jamaica Kincaid describes her childhood as she was growing up in the 1950's and I see her mother's pile of bleaching stones. I also see myself: There I am washing, and lifting the wet clothes. I swat them at the stones, breaking the clinging mud from its hold on the once lovely soft fabric. Rinse in the cool flowing water. I carefully spread the white clothes on the pile of bleaching rocks and allow the sun to bear down into the fabric until it is white again. If you do feel inspired to wash clothes outside and do your bit to save the planet, you should keep the weather report close at hand! Still, I'm not talking about that kind of dirty laundry.

I'm talking about the kind of secrets that people are not suppose to say unless there is a significant degree of real intimacy in the relationship. I was trying to come up with a list of socially taboo subjects...

• physical and mental disabilities


• same-sex gender preferences


• terminated pregnancies


• a murder in the family


• financial problems


• unmarried parents


• bodily functions


• criminal record

I know these are not all of the potentially "forbidden" subjects, but I think the above list is enough. Notice when someone begins to reveal something personal from the above list there can be a kind of moral physical retraction and the accompanying emotional feeling, 'Oh no, over-share! Make-it-stop. We want to know secrets and we don't want to know secrets. Why else would we avidly read about celebrities infidelities, and other domestic and personal indiscretions? Why would office gossip be so popular? Maybe we just don't want direct contact with those who tell their own secrets? What makes something wrong to share? How did we make these rules?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've been thinking about this disclosure issue because some of you know that my mother was murdered. Whenever, I share this fact, it's a risk. Some people just want to run from this sort of bare fact. I've noticed the same concern addressed in other confessional modes. Consider, the Twelve-step Program which is designed to help people confront the desire to deny and soften the truth by beginning every testimonial with, "Hello, I'm (insert name here) and I'm an (insert condition here)." Why would people judge you when you tell them the biographical detail of your life? I've read many autobiographies and several of the classics which are titled, Confessions. (Rousseau, Leo Tolstoy and St. Augustine.) I've noticed that what was private has changed over time.(The three "Confessions are from the more recent past and go back to the 1600's) Also, I have worked for a number of years in counselor type positions (military, prison, and college). From these various experiences, I can assure you of what you must already know, people are not really so different. Everyone has secrets. My own dear grandmother would not talk about her missing father. I don't know if he was really 'killed in the war.' Were her parents really married? Did she feel shame? I would like to know. I'm sure you also have some family secrets you would like to know. Many of our questions remain unanswered, either they are buried in silence or buried underground. We just have to accept the fact that we will never know. It's a secret.

We assert or reveal who we are or what our values are through 

personal sharing.

In our time, I think we should pave the way of connecting by honestly (and without pressure)sharing our own life experience. And if someone shares with us through our everyday interaction or through the blogosphere, I think we should say (or at least think) in a nod to the sixties:
 
Let it all hang out!
Right on, baby!

You tell it like it is!

We should let those brave people who risk self-disclosure know that what they have shared has been honorably received. We should embrace them in an accepting atmosphere. I say this because recently, I've read some confessions in blogland and the commenter(s) seem to be frightened away. Sigh. I wonder why? I think our lack of response is interpreted as society's voice echoing the familiar warning:

Don't go airing your dirty laundry out in public.

Here's a quirky little video, I thought you might enjoy. Also, it makes me think of my mom's positive vision. I see her on her motorcycle. (Like other trail blazing women of her day, she was a proud trophy carrying member of the Motor Maids, Inc.) This is for you, "Mama Sue."



More about my clean laundry:
If you would like to know more about my mother's story, click on the highlighted links. Also, there is a documentary film that is being made by Brian Alexander about the life and death of my mother and her partner, Christine, just click here.

 photo credit

Daphne's Comment on Goodbye Sun

Daphne wrote a comment that got left behind in the older post. I wanted to share it with you and thank her for her participation. I selected the photo below because it seems to be Daphne's favorite balance pose and she holds it to full extension for a long time! Daphne is a member of
the Yoga for Stress Relief group, I facilitate. I so enjoy her chatty participation. Here is her comment:







I love all the photos like yogini said. It even looks like you can publish them in a book with all your experiences especially as an ex-patriate in the Caribbean Island of chaos, Puerto Rico. I have to be honest, I want to read all of your entries again, I just glanced over them and didn't read them all. The one that caught my attention was the one on your mom's murder. I think of it and I hurt. You must still be hurting. I still hurt at my mom's death, I cannot imagine what it would be like if she would have been murdered. How hard it must be for you to forgive that man. You must think, why her? Maybe it comes from a previous life and she was liberated through that. I can't find an explanation... maybe your mom and that man were enemies in another life ... I don't know- it' s better not to rationalize and try to understand things- let's get back to our routine- cheers- Daphne.

Thank you for you heartfelt compassion, Daphne.

Goodbye Sun

Today, October 31st, is my mother, Susan G. Pittmann's birthday. She has been gone now for 16 years and 5 months, and I miss her dearly. She enjoyed the fact that she was born on "the Witches" day-and this blog- Oasis Writing Link(OWL)-is named in honor and memory of her. Mom was killed by her neighbor, James Elwood Brooks...why? Brooks was deeply offended by the public display of affection between Mom and Christine Puckett. Some say there was a property line dispute over the construction of a privacy fence but why did they need to build a fence? This question points to the truth, Mom and Christine were killed because they were lesbian lovers who were bold enough to get married and kiss in public, i.e. in the front yard within full view of all the neighbors and the passing cars on Middlebelt Road!

Brooks was not a stranger to me, our family knew him for years. He used to drink too much but he quit; he was angry and lonely. Frequently, he was lonely more than angry and I felt sorry for him. Once he shot our pet chicken, Chicken Little, because she was trespassing on his property. I was not afraid of him, though; I just thought that he had a temper as we used to say in Michigan. As a child, I reflected, I had a temper, too. Once I ran to his house when Black Beauty, our Labrador retriever, was locked in the backseat of our car. She must have gotten in when we opened the doors to go into the house. I remember I had a feeling that she entered while I was taking my time getting out of the car. It was that feeling that led me to discover where she was...I desperately tried to call Mom and Dad who were at work but there was no way to contact either of them. Brooks said the only way to open the door was by breaking a window, I tried but I couldn't. He said that the dog looked dead anyway. His lack of action was disheartening. Black Beauty, a gorgeous reject from a seeing eye dog school, died from the intense heat and lack of air. I saw her rolled up in a comfortable circle on the floor just waiting for her next car ride. (I know that sounds like a sad country song.)

Brooks occasionally threatened to shoot Cin-Cin, my French alpine 4H show goat, especially when she slipped out of the corral to contentedly enjoy the fresh green leaves off of his young apple trees. He threatened to shoot often but usually, he controlled himself by calling the police or reporting us for some imagined (or real) minor infraction. Ironically, he was reporting Mom and Christine for animal abuse. He shot at Mom's dogs, Arrow and Ms. Pitt, for trespassing. Ms. Pitt -yes, she was a pittbull-had a thyroid condition that slowed her down; she was heavy and not much of a wanderer so Mom kept her inside of the house most of the time. Brooks was shooting at Arrow and reporting Mom to any authority he could think of while passing more and more time at the Orchard Grove restaurant and bar. Shocked neighbors encouraged his rage at the lesbian women over at the Pittmann place. I imagine them questioning, "What happened to Sue, anyway? Wasn't she married to Richard all those years?" They would try to reason, "I always knew there was something weird about her; she rode a big motorcycle, you know. I heard she went all the way to Alaska on her bike; she's such a showoff." The grapevine reports that Brooks shared his plans to kill Mom and Christine down at the Grove where he would receive ongoing sympathy and support for his distressing viewing situation. He was going to kill them; he told the neighbors. He was going to kill them; he told Mom and Christine.

Brooks was not always a man of his word; he had a record of temper, not commitment. In the kitchen where he would sit and drink coffee, he had a gun-a hunting rifle-behind him. He had a couple of rifles in the corner and a shotgun as well. I imagine him sitting there at the table, rage pouring over his skin while he thought,"It's not natural ...those women together like that; it's just not right." Decisively, he got up and went to the property line; he crossed it and confronted Christine who was working on the fence posts.

Mom told me that Christine had a camera and was trying to take his picture while he was on their property; maybe she did snap a picture. Who knows? Brooks and Christine exchanged words and he went back to his house, pointed a rifle from the kitchen doorway and at a distance, shot Christine. Mom was calling 911 when Christine was shot. I heard the recording, "He shot my worker!" she said. The police operator tried to get details; address, descriptions-anything to keep Mom on the phone. I heard a sound like a phone falling to the ground and that was all. Mom ran out to help Christine who was face down in the grass. Brooks walked to our circle drive with his shotgun. With the strength of metal and gun powder, he faced my mom. She looked directly at him, courageously stood in front of him, while he lifted the gun and shot into her. She was so close to him that the bullets made a dollar-sized hole in her body; the blood poured out quickly and she was gone.

Sometime during the event, probably after Brooks killed Mom, he walked up to Christine and shot her directly in the back. Then he got into his car, backed up, and sat there waiting for the police to come. When they approached him, he didn't try to escape, he just said, "It had to be done." It had to be done. When you shoot wounded animals; a horse with a broken leg, a dog hit by a car, or a litter of puppies infested with maggots; you might say, it has to be done. When you kill two women who loved each other; and you are James Elwood Brooks or the community that supported him, you say; it had to be done.

Mom was 55 years old and Christine was 36, I think. I know it was May 5, 1992, Cinco de Mayo in southern California, when I heard the news. My sister, Linda, called me at work- the US Department of Defense, Naval Consolidated Brig, Miramar, and said, "Mom is dead." I replied, "Mom is dead? How do you know? Tell me, are you sure?" Someone called her, a cousin, I think, and said your mom's been shot. I couldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it. I was going to see her soon. I had my airline ticket and her new baby granddaughter, Amber, too; we were going to be there. She's not dead, I thought. But she was...her body was gone and I was too shaken to feel her in any other way.

Sue Pittmann was powerful. Her presence cleared the space of doubt around me and made me sure I could do anything. I am so proud to be her daughter. When the sun set on her life; it set in my heart and I knew I had to be strong on my own; I had to go on without a powerful mother lighting the way for me. I think I'm fine. Today's Mom's birthday; how glad I am that she was born. Happy Birthday Mom and thank you for my life.