By Jill McKellan

I got my cashiers job at the store that week.  The combination of talking to my children and giving my specific form of confession to Amelia really seemed to lighten my heart.  I actually felt like I could forgive myself and this whole thing really could become something I could live with.  I’d told my probation officer I wanted it to be a part of the past and she said it’d always be a part of me.  Said I’d better just start accepting that so I could move on.  I didn’t care for that.  Still, I’m open to trying anything that will get me closer to being in my children’s lives.

Thursday came and I made my way down the country road to Amelia’s house.  A field on the way had just bloomed with a bunch of sunflowers and they looked fabulous.  I paused for a moment to enjoy them…I’d never seen anything like it before.  Bright, brilliant flowers reaching up to the sky and not letting anything stop them from doing so.

There was something new on Amelia’s porch when I went up.  It was a small table and on that table was a decanter with some sort of caramel colored alcohol in it.  I slowly walked up to the porch and was trying to assess if Amelia was swimming in the drink or what.  She looked, “This gonna’ bug you?”  She pointed to the bottle.

“No, thankfully I can turn alcohol down easily.  If you had a meth pipe there though, it could be a different story.”

“No worries about that.  My son said that meth was made up of cleaning chemicals and crap like that.  Interesting the things people come up with now-a-days to find what they’re looking for.”

“How did you find what you were looking for back in your younger days?” I asked.

“Do you want to know that or the story I’m going to tell you?  Only one thing at a time.”

“I’ll go with the story you’re going to tell me.  Much more interesting, I suspect.”

“You suspect right, I suppose.”

Amelia lit her Camel and poured a glass of the alcohol.  She took a big drag and downed the contents of the glass in a second flat, not even making a face.

She looked at me and began to tell me her story.  “Back in 1939, I was pretty young thing even if you can’t tell that now.  I had so many beaus courting me and my only worry was choosing the right one.  I had grand notions of love in my head and romantic images that only a naïve young girl could have.  It was the new boy in town, Oscar, who really caught my eye.  He was so handsome…dark thick hair, bright blue eyes, wide shoulders, and an ambitious fellow.  My parents were thrilled that I chose him, of course.  He’d bring me security and beautiful grandchildren for them to spoil.  It would be a good life for their daughter.

When Oscar proposed to me I was ecstatic.  We planned for a beautiful outdoor wedding in the grove of Walnut trees lying just over there.”  My eyes followed her old nicotine stained finger to a huge cluster of trees in the overgrown field.  “My sisters and mother decorated everything so beautifully and I didn’t think a more magical place had ever existed.

On the day of the wedding, I walked through that field behind my sisters and said ‘I do’ to Oscar.  We left for New Orleans on a grand honeymoon adventure.  It was on that honeymoon that I got pregnant with my one and only son.  Everything was happening just the way it should and I was so happy.

Even with a child on the way, I took easily to handling the affairs of the household and managing the finances.  Oscar was working at the bank in Jefferson and making quite the name for himself.  Whenever he’d get home at night I’d help him relax; he always looked so tired.

After our son was born there was no greater joy for me.  The birth had been a challenging one, despite how healthy I’d been prior.  I discovered that I couldn’t have any more children shortly afterwards due to the complications from it.  It really didn’t bother me though.  I had one beautiful son to carry on the family name.

Oscar was never as taken with our son as I was, but I didn’t mind.  He was the joy of my life and kept me company when Oscar was working his long days.  One day, on my son’s sixth birthday, we decided to surprise Oscar in town for a special lunch.  My father drove us in and was going to take us back home after his errands.

We walked two blocks towards the bank.  I happened to look down an alley to the right of me.  It was there that I saw Oscar with another woman.  It wasn’t just any woman either; it was my very own sister.  My heart instantly sank and I was so furious.  Although I was a proper wife, I was not one to be taken advantage of or made to look like a fool.  Thankfully my son missed seeing his father in a compromising situation.  I acted like nothing happened and went to the bank.   They said Oscar was gone for lunch.  My son was so disappointed, but was okay after I took him to eat.  I topped it all off with a big sundae.  Proud to say I didn’t crack my composure a single time either.  That’s the way it should be too.

Oscar didn’t get home until late that night and I was waiting for him.  I wanted to scare him good and proper so he’d keep that pecker in his pants and not embarrass me.  I’d deal with my sister later.  He came in and I could smell the spirits on him.  I was sitting at the kitchen table with the pistol next to me—for effect, you know.  I confronted him and he started to yell.  He certainly wasn’t the Oscar I’d fallen so madly in love with at that moment.  He grabbed my arm and I panicked, picking up the gun without hesitation.  Since I didn’t know how to fire it he easily grabbed it from me and slammed it back onto the table.

Our son must have heard us fighting.  He snuck down and neither of us noticed it.  The last thing I recall hearing was him screaming to not hurt mommy over and over.  I can still hear that voice in my head today, nearly 80 years later.  There was a loud bang and something whizzed by me.  I turned around to see my son holding that gun and felt Oscar’s hand fall off my shoulder as he slid to the ground.

Do you think I looked to Oscar?  No.   I ran over to my son and gently took the gun away.  He was shaking and quivering, unsure about what he’d done.  I hugged him and said that was okay.  I took him up to his bed and lay with him until he calmed down and fell asleep.  I’ll admit, gave him a nipper of whiskey to help calm him down too.

Afterwards, I went downstairs and called the police to tell them that I’d shot Oscar.  I told them he was good and dead too.  When they questioned my son he tried to say he’d accidentally done it.  I told them he was just trying to protect me.  It was me.  They believed me too because I made sure of it.  Told them just how and why I did it too.  Well, murder was a big deal back then, more so than now.  A woman murdering somebody was even more so.  I made quite the amount of headlines and received the wrath of many a woman, man, and child who’d all adored Oscar.  My family took my son away and as fate would have it, he was sent to live with my sister—the one who’d been loving up his daddy.

As for me, I got forty years in a woman’s state prison.  The time went slow and the days were long.  I certainly came out a different woman than the one I went in as; not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.  Been out over twenty years now, living right here in my parents old house.  They left it to me when they passed on…I was locked up then.  Never was able to keep it up good, not that it matters.  So, that’s my story.”

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.  It was so full of courage, strength, and the kind of thing that movies were made of.  I asked, “So, why don’t you let your son into your life?  He wants to be a part of it.  I don’t get it.”

“He’s been through enough and I’m a bitter old woman.  As much as I loved him those six years I got kind of used to not being around him the next forty.  It’s a habit of convenience to keep him at a distance, I guess.”

I nodded.  “Thank you for sharing that with me, Amelia.  I mean it.”

“I know you do.  Well, you’d better get going.  Monday then?”

“Monday then…for sure.”

Amelia’s story haunted me the next days.  It was so powerful and she told it so directly.  I knew that I’d never meet another woman like her again.  There was a reason that I’d been connected to visit her for my community service.  I didn’t question why because it didn’t matter and hearing Amelia talk made me a better person, a more aware person.

On Monday, I headed back out to Amelia’s and saw a few cars in the driveway.  I walked up and was greeted at the porch.  I noticed the rocking chair was moved and everything felt different.  I asked, “Where’s Amelia?”

“I’m sorry to say my mom’s passed on.  Just happened yesterday.  She died right there in that rocking chair.  Just didn’t wake up from a nap.”

My eyes filled with tears.  Amelia wasn’t in my life long, but she was a true friend in every sense of the word.  “I’m sorry to hear that.  I admired her greatly.”  He looked at me curiously.  I realized that he had no clue who I was.  “I’m Stella.”

“Well, that solves one mystery.  This is for you, I believe, Stella.”  He handed me a hand written note on an old piece of paper.  I opened it and just knew I needed to sit down to read it.  I went to Amelia’s chair, wanting to feel her presence as I did so.  It said:

Stella,

You’ll get those kids of yours back and they’re already giving you all the love they can.  Never forget that or I’ll clunk you on the head if I’m above ,or kick you in the ass if I’m below. Heh..heh…heh.

Your friend,

Amelia

PS:  I think you’ll do just fine with your new start

Two days later, I attended the funeral of my friend, Amelia.  There were only five of us there, including the preacher.  As she was laid to rest, I put a big pile of beautiful sunflowers on her grave and whispered, “I will rise up like these sun flowers and meet you there when the time comes, Miss Amelia.”

By Jill McKellan

My next three days were surprisingly fantastic.  I got to talk to my kids every day and there were no harsh exchanges between my ex and me.  That was better than the usual results.  Maybe I was growing or maybe he was getting more relaxed.  I wouldn’t hold my breath for the latter, but the thought of me growing—I liked that.  When Monday came around I had a spring in my step.  Things had been good and I even got a job interview lined up.  It was just for cashiering at one of those dollar stores, but I didn’t mind one bit.  A job was a part of what I needed to do to put Walford County Jail and all my woes in the past for good!

Once again, I found myself going up the long sandy driveway.  This time it was kicking up dust from a lack of rain.  It even came through the air vents in my car.  I saw them pepper my white pants.  I couldn’t possibly have had any explanation as to what made me decide to wear white pants to this old country home.  Of course, Amelia noticed instantly.

“White pants…where your brains at?”

“Not present today.  I absolutely agree.”

“What you smilin’ at?”

“I got to talk to my kids three days in a row.  It was fantastic.”

“Good for you, good for you.”

“Yah, my ex is not a fan of mine after everything I’ve put them through.  We were at least civil and that made a big difference.”

“Ex’s,” Amelia said.  She snorted and while I couldn’t be sure, I think a large chunk of flem went flying down her throat as a result.  My stomach did a little flip.  Flem was one thing that I was squeamish about for some reason.  Fairly ridiculous phobia since I had never been afraid to put used needles in my arm or do whatever I needed to do in order to get a fix when I was a full swing meth head, shooter, and alcoholic.

“Were you once married?” I asked.

“Yep.”

“Did he pass on?”

“You could say that.  Not in the mood to talk about that old rooster though.  Puts me in a bad mood to this very day.”

“Funny how that can happen, huh?”

“Funny?” Amelia questioned.  She shrugged her shoulders as if she was stating ‘whatever’.  “So, how did you get so messed up that you wound up in Walford County Jail, losing your children, and having an ex that’s out to get you any chance he gets?”

“Well, that’s a direct question.”

“What’s the point of beating around the bush, Stella?  That’s a waste of time and at my age, time is limited.”  Amelia laughed at her joke and I laughed with her.  Nothing seemed to faze this woman.

I hadn’t spoken about any of my problems to anybody I didn’t have to.  That meant that I only discussed them with my rehab group when I was locked up and my probation officer in the past two weeks.  I couldn’t stand talking about it and it made me angry.  All of the babble about talking things out to move on didn’t seem to apply to me.  Forgetting and moving on was more my style.  Still, there was this old woman who was completely isolated.  What would it hurt to talk about it?

“Well, okay then.  This is kind of new for me.  Be gentle.”  I looked at Amelia with a faint smile, noticing she had a look that was as close to kindness and understanding as she could possibly get.  She nodded.

I took a deep breath and started to tell my story. “I’d always been an attractive enough woman and received lots of attention.  It was something I thrived on since I didn’t get much at home.  As I got older and started to develop, I discovered that I could really get whatever I wanted if I just learned how to use my assets properly.  The problem was that I thought I wanted to be the girl who was known for having fun and being glamorous—kind of like a movie star.

One day I met a guy, the one who’s an ex now, and he introduced me to something brand new.  Said it would make me want to party on like there’s no tomorrow.  I was feeling a bit sluggish so I agreed.  It was meth.  I gotta’ say, he didn’t lie.  I did party like there was no tomorrow because I woke up two days later.  I’d missed an entire day passed out on this guys couch.  I didn’t remember what happened, but had my suspicions.  I was naked when I came to.  I got dressed and snuck out the door.  He wasn’t home.

The next night I went back over to his apartment because I wanted some more of that meth.  I just couldn’t get it out of my mind.  He gave it to me and said that if I wanted more I’d have to help him out because he was broke.  I didn’t have any money so I agreed to sleep with his dealer to get some.  A month later, I found out that I was pregnant.  The problem was that my ex didn’t think it was his and the dealers didn’t think it was his.  I didn’t know whose it was either.  So, after my oldest was born I had a paternity test done.  When my ex found out it was his he asked me to marry him.  I jumped all over that; after all, I didn’t know how to take care of myself.

He cleaned up his act and took to being a father very seriously.  I tried and went a period of four years where I was clean from drugs, alcohol—everything.  My other two kids were born then.  As luck would have it, my husband got a great job and had to travel more.  I got so bored and lonely since I didn’t work or anything.  One day, when he forgot about our anniversary, I just snapped.  The kids were at sitters and he was at some business meeting.  I jumped in the car and went back to the old roaming grounds.  Some of the same people were there and others had moved on from overdosing and whatnot.

The second that meth entered my system again I was hooked and there was no turning back.  I started to leave the kids with the sitter more frequently, lie about where I was going, and get tweaked every chance I could.  I just didn’t care.  After six months of this it couldn’t be hidden any longer—financially or physically.  You see, I’m a picker and when I get nervous on a come down, I pick at my face and pick hard.  My once beautiful face is now a face similar to what you’d see in a horror movie.  I’ll never be able to change that.

The final straw happened when I went over to my dealer’s house and he started to make advances on me.  I screamed loudly and some neighbor heard.  They called the cops.  When the cops swarmed in they found a bunch of meth and I got arrested for being an accessory to selling meth.  When my husband came to bail me out of jail that was the last time I talked to him alone.  He wouldn’t have anything to do with me afterward.  He paid for a good attorney and did his best to keep things quiet.  That’s why I got two years in Walford County Jail and the other guy got twenty years at the state pen.

Now, I am trying to get a new start and that will start with having a relationship with my kids again.”

I realized that I’d been talking for a good while and looked over to Amelia.  It almost looked like she was dozing off, but I couldn’t be sure.  “Amelia?”

“You done, Stella?”

I smiled.  “I’m done.”

“Did you learn anything from all that besides the fact that you’re a druggie?”

“I sure hope so.  I’m a work in progress.”

“At least you’re working.  Feel good to let it all out?”

“You know, it did feel good.  Not sure why I chose you to do it, but I’m glad I did.”

“Well, who the hell am I gonna’ tell?”

“Good point.”

“You’d better get going.  Thursday then?”

“Thursday it is.  Same time.”

“See you then,” Amelia said.

“See you then,” I answered.  I walked to my car and as I drove off I realized that she seemed to have confidence that I’d show up.  It was nice to feel like somebody knew they could rely on me.

By Jill McKellan

You can click on Part One from the website.  Part Three will be coming out on Wednesday, August 29.

There was a fresh set of tire tracks on Amelia’s dirt driveway as I made my way up it.  It had rained the night before and I hoped my rusty old heaper wouldn’t get stuck in the mud.  The tires were balding and it was rear wheel drive.  Even a city girl knew that didn’t make for a good country driving car.  I got out of the car and my foot squished into the red muddy driveway.  I looked down and saw half of my old white Reebok stuck in the mud.  Oh well, not much I could do.

Amelia was sitting on the porch watching me, cigarette in hand.  She called out, “Careful, there’s mud.”

I looked at her.  It was difficult to tell if she was just stating the obvious or being sarcastic.  I chose to ignore it because there was no need for our visit to be quieter than the first one was a few days back.  Amelia nodded for me to sit down and I took a seat and saw my track of red muddy footprints follow me to where I was at.  I commented.  “I can clean that up.”

“No need, this isn’t no fancy place now, is it?”

“I guess not, but that’s the polite thing to do.”

“Not if you really wouldn’t do it.”

“True.  You got me there.  Not my first choice of something to do, Amelia; probably not my last either.  So, who was here to visit you?”

“Why?”

“Just making small talk.”

“It was my son.  He dropped off my weekly supply of smokes and groceries,” Amelia grunted.  You would have thought she’d be happy about that.  I could clearly tell that she didn’t seem to think it was much of anything.

“That’s nice that you have a son that takes great care of you.”

“Yah, I told him that he shouldn’t do that.  They have county workers that can do the same thing.  No need for him to be around me.”

“That’s an odd thing to say.  I can’t imagine a mother not wanting to be around her child.”

“Humph…just ‘cause it seems odd to you doesn’t mean it is to me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on.”

“You don’t seem to want to talk about anything too much, do you?  Why the hell should I?”

“Well Amelia, you got me there.”

“Well Stella, it’s not too tough to get you, I’d imagine.”

“You remind me of my mother, the way you talk.”

“She didn’t treat you all special?”

“Hardly,” I said.  I laughed at the thought of it.  My mother and I’s relationship was anything besides special.  I’d always had a big goal to be just the opposite of her.  I guess I succeeded; she was never in jail like me.  “You know, I could bring things out for you when I visit, if you needed them.”

“Now how can I rely on you?”

“Just an option if you don’t want to see your son for whatever crazy reason.”

“You godin’ me?”

No more than you’re godin’ me.”

“Maybe you’re not as foolish as I thought you were, girl.”

“Maybe not,” I said.

Then the silence ensued for the next half hour.  The awkwardness of it made me do the one weapon that can stop all silence.  I asked about the weather.  Apparently Amelia had grown immune to that one because she snorted at me and lit another smoke.  Can’t be positive about it, but I think she intentionally blew the smoke toward me.

“Well, I’ll see you again on Monday, Amelia.  Need me to bring anything?”

“I’ll believe you’re here when I see you; don’t look too reliable to me.”

“Are you going to say that every time I’m leaving?” I asked.

“If I feel like it.  Does that bug ‘ya, Stella?”

“Not really, I’ve had many unreliable years in the past.  The new me is reliable so it’s old news now.”

“What, the new you?  How long’s that been going?  The two weeks you’ve been out of that physical prison.”

“Longer.”

“I look at you and I can still see you’re still in prison; it’s just a mental one.”

“How would you know?”

“I recognize these things.  I’m an old woman who’s seen a lot.  Let’s just leave it at that.”

I smiled and walked to the car, wondering what that meant exactly.  Maybe that tough old bird would do more than ruffle her feathers at me.  She might actually tell me something about her.  That’d only be right since she made herself pretty intriguing.  How many recluses did you know that were ninety something year old filterless Camel smokers that lived all alone in a decrepit house in the middle of nowhere?

By Jill McKellan

*Part two will be posted on August 22, 2012

Wheat fields gently rustled in the breeze as the winds picked up.  In the distance, the sun slowly drifted below the horizon, hiding from the day.  I was sitting on the porch with Amelia and we gently rocked; neither of us saying much of anything.  It wasn’t that I didn’t try to have a conversation, or even a casual exchange for that matter.  Amelia just chose not to respond to idle chatter, despite that being the very reason I was there.

The lack of conversation forced me to reflect about all my choices in life.  They had brought me to this rickety old porch with a cranky old lady who had no desire to talk, so it seemed.  I was so far out in the country that I couldn’t even believe I lived within driving distance of such a place.  It didn’t resemble any part of the hustle and bustle of Jefferson, where I lived.

“Need a light?” I asked Amelia.

“No, I can light this with my matches.  Don’t need that damn lighter to get this going.”  Amelia grunted and flicked the match across the strip, sending a spark flying through the air.

I chuckled softly.  Aside from Amelia’s old age everything about her was a throwback from a generation long gone.  I’d never met anybody like her, in my family anyways.  A waft of smoke came towards me.  It had taken me every ounce of energy to quit smoking and that smell was so tempting.  To be honest, I was forced to quit.  All of these new laws made smoking when you were incarcerated unacceptable; unless you were set to get some more time on your sentence because you lost good time credit.  No cigarette could give me comfort enough to spend an extra day in the rat infested damp cement walls that I called home in Walford County Jail for the past two years.  As for carrying a lighter still; well, it was just habit, I guess.

Amelia’s voice crackled as she coughed out a question with billows of smoke coming out of her mouth from the filterless Camel.  “So, you’re here to keep me company as part of some community service crap for getting into trouble.  What’d ya’ do anyway?”

“Not very proud of it; rather not talk about it.”

“Fair enough.  I don’t really give a crap anyways.”

“I think my time is up,” I said.  “I’ll see you on Thursday.  Same time?”

“Yah, sounds good.  Won’t count on you showing up.  Don’t look like you got much moxie in you.”

“I’ll be here, no worries there.”

“What was your name again?”

“Stella.”

“Okay, get out of here and watch out for deer.  You city folks are clueless when it comes to keeping yourselves intact out in the country.  Nothing out here to get you back home, except your two feet if your car breaks down.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Amelia.  See you tomorrow.”  I heard her grunt at me as I walked down the steps.  She mumbled something about no need to pretend she’s a lady when she ain’t no lady at all.  I believed her too, but then again, I wasn’t feeling too much like a lady myself as of late.

On my drive home I reflected about the emptiness and quiet surroundings of Amelia’s porch.  From what I gathered, she sat there every night just rocking until sleep came upon her.  There were grooves from her chair on the floor boards of the porch.  I doubted that Amelia would really care if she never woke up from one of her rocking chair naps.  It was evident by her demeanor.  Her white hair was as unkempt as it could be and her house dress was a throwback from decades ago, patched where it started to fray.  She didn’t care.  It should be sad, yet I found something kind of liberating about living that way.  If I didn’t care so much about superficial garbage I wouldn’t be in the situation I was in right now.  I couldn’t help to wonder what Amelia’s story was.

The three days it took for Thursday to arrive were mundane enough for me.  I had to try and find a job, report to my probation officer, do one drug test, and then I got surprised with another one—so much for confidence in my rehabilitation.  I’d been trying to get the real world back under control and some of it was going okay; certainly not all of it.  I wasn’t able to see my children yet and got word that it would be another four weeks before I would be able to get a supervised visit.

Every ounce of me wanted to scream at my ex-husband that he was such a jerk for doing that.  Never mind the fact that it was me that had messed up.  So, like many people do when they don’t know what to do with their emotions, I got so angry I just started to shake and cry.  My babies were now 8, 6, and 4.  I missed them so badly and hadn’t seen them for two plus years, 838 days to be exact.  Did they still recognize me?  Did they look the same?  I know I didn’t look the same.  I was a scrawny woman with pock marks all over my once beautiful face.  Think I would have paid attention to the possibilities when I took that first bit of meth.  No, not me, I just wanted to stay thin and find a way to escape whatever monster was living in me at the time.  To this day, I can’t say for certainty that I even know what had me so unhappy back then.  I just was.

I called my probation officer to let her know that I was heading out to Amelia’s for my visit.  Checking in with these people was the first time I’d had to be so accountable for anything.  Perhaps if I’d had to be accountable before I’d not be in this mess…perhaps.  My husband has always been on the go too much to worry about my accountability; he just assumed it was there.  Luckily for the kids, they had one fantastic babysitter that stepped into the mom role whenever I was too jonesing to care.

By Jill McKellan

I am a woman who absolutely loves the Olympics and everything they entail.  The opening ceremonies usually amaze me and I really enjoy seeing some of the world’s best athletes compete on an international level.  Overall, there is not one aspect of the games that I find blasé.  Regardless if it is the Winter Games or Summer Games—count me in.

Over the next weeks my family will get plenty of opportunities to remember why they love me and why I’m easy to tease.  Why is that?  Everything about “the games” makes me cry.  I cry because I’m happy the USA won, I cry when someone’s Olympic dream gets crushed, and I cry when I get to see something so cool that it cannot be described.

I Love the USA

Our National Anthem has always created a big emotional rush which is followed by a waterfall of tears.  I cannot sing it without swelling up.  When the USA gets a gold metal during the games they play our National Anthem.  If I get so overwhelmed with emotion, I cannot even imagine how that athlete must feel.  I am so proud of all Olympians and really admire all the hard work and dedication they put into their passion.  I appreciate each and every one of their families and support networks too.  Without them, most of these people would have never had the opportunity to make an Olympic pursuit.

I Love Cringing at the “Oh No’s”

Can’t you just feel the pain when you see someone take an unexpected digger during their Olympic experience?  I sure can.  My entire body tenses up when an athlete falters.  Thinking about how one faltering second can rip away a dream and years of preparation is intense.  What makes it worse is that the Olympian will have to wait another four years to try for redemption.  The mental toughness they show is found in far too few people.  These guys are able to put the blunder out of their mind and move forward—impressive!

I Love Seeing the History Making Moment

Witnessing something for the first time is incredible.  Think back to those who were fortunate enough to witness Neil Armstrong on the moon when it was aired for the first time.  What a powerful moment.  I get to experience those moments when athletes break world records, attempt new dives or moves that are not being done by anyone else, and really do something phenomenal—something never seen before.  Even if you are not an expert on what is considered great in the sport, the announcers always give it away with their wow’s and other excitable sounds.  I don’t have either the courage or physical ability to do an amazing athletic feat, but I am so thankful that I get to live the experience just a little bit through people who are fearless in giving it their all.

So….

All my Olympic style crying makes my nose stuffy and my eyes puffy, but it is worth it.  The Olympics are one fantastic way to celebrate being human and not holding back on showing some serious emotion.  When I hear my daughter announcing, Daddy, Momma’s crying again, I don’t mind.  It’s just what I do and I do it effortlessly.  If crying was an Olympic sport I’d be a contender for the gold.

Wow…that’s the only word that comes to mind, yet a highly inadequate word when it comes to describing the harsh reality of Camp 14 and how North Korea values human life.  It’s appalling and heart wrenching.  Yet, when you read Escape from Camp 14 by Blaine Harden you can hardly cry.

If you haven’t heard about this one—it’s a real story and it’s a raw story.  The entire piece documents the story of Shin In Geun, an innocent child who was born into a North Korean labor camp for prisoners who’s families had wronged the regime.  If anybody thinks they’ve had a less than ideal start to life, they won’t feel that way after they read this.  The start of the book actually sums up the mentality of North Korea best with this quote:

“There is no ‘human rights issue’ in this country, as everyone leads the most dignified and happy life.”

~North Korean Central News Agency, March 6, 2009

Have you ever heard of a propaganda machine?  That type of quote is what they exemplify—“No, no, that is wrong.  Everything is peachy keen here.”  Guess what?  Nothing is peachy keen there unless you are one of the 100,000ish people of nearly 40 million that have managed to remain among the everlasting butt kissers to the North Korean government clan.  It’s big enough that you can best compare it to this:  If you had a brother who took an ear of corn from a rice field you’d be condemned for life for being from bad stock.  Okay, maybe not for life, but for three generations minimum until the tainted blood was diffused.

Out of the massive amounts of people that are sent to or born in one of the these camps they learn nothing about the real world and what it is all about.  They don’t even know that China borders them or another Korea that is considerably more compassionate when it comes to valuing them at all.

Can you imagine a young boy sending their mother and older brother to the executioner without feeling any remorse or even having a doubt about it?  That’s what happened to Shin In Geun.  He’d been raised to know no differently—fend for your own, survival of the fittest, and all of those mentalities that make people justify that whatever they do to get what they want is okay.  After all, that’s just the way it is.

I cry a lot when I read stories and this story, as intensely emotional and sad as it was, didn’t make me cry at all.  Why?  Certainly not because it’s not heart wrenching.  I didn’t cry because I was able to dive into the lack of emotion that Shin In Geun had to live his life in.  I think that his author, Blain Harden, is one of the strongest men I’ve ever read.  He had to work for this story and to get real information so he could tell it in its true light.  That surely was no easy endeavor.  For a woman who loves fantasy, fiction, and action/adventure, this story is almost too much to mention; not because I doubt its reality, but because it makes me angry that North Korea isn’t a bigger cause for places such as the United Nations.  I know what they’re doing, but what are they thinking?

The last thing I want to do is give away the ending, but the title implies it so I don’t feel bad doing so.  The best news about this dire real life story is that Shin In Geun was gutsy, brave, and completely smart, despite the efforts to suppress him.  That allowed him to break away from Camp 14 and slowly make his way to a truly amazing country—The United States of America.  This is important for one reason:  If you think you have it bad it’s time to stop the whining and realize what other people go through each and every given day.

If you’re feeling like your life lacks some appreciation, I hope that you’ll all give a few hours of your life to reading Escape from Camp 14. If this story doesn’t touch your heart, as well as your humanity, then you are living in your own version of North Korea’s disgusting and vile Camp 14.

It’s not often that a story with a theme centered on experimenting with a little bit of bondage, boundaries, and pleasure through pain makes the big time for sales.  E L James finds herself in that situation with her first novel, 50 Shades of Grey.  I went from never hearing of the story to receiving three emails about it, a few requests for my thoughts on it, and even seeing its cover staring me in the face when I picked up my Entertainment magazine.  That was it, I had to read it.  Now I can say that I’m intimately familiar with Anastasia Steele and Christian Grey, the two main characters in the colorful tale of Grey.

The overall premise of this book seems very risky and something that “respectable” women would scoff at, chalking it up to being trashy or soft porn, according to some of the preliminary messages out there on the internet.  I downloaded the book on my Kindle Fire expecting some fire and to be honest, I’m not quite sure I found it.  There were parts of the book that I absolutely loved and then there were some parts that were more syrupy than a Cinderella type story.  Just replace happy singing with startled yelps from an unexpected whack with a paddle.

The one thing that really perplexed me during the sordid tale of experimentation and exploring ones sexual limits was the insanely high emphasis on making the story so romantic.  Truthfully, I thought it took away from a great story.  Why can’t a woman really learn something by not being afraid to explore the depths of her sexuality and do so without guilt, excuses, or convincing herself it’s all for love?  Perhaps that was the way it had to be written in order to attract a publisher willing to expose themselves to some versatile opinions regarding the content.  Anastasia and Christian could have still been part of a complicated, intense, and perplex courtship without all the romantic aspects.  It would have been more intriguing that way.  At minimum, the romance could have been more subtle in its expression.

Another part of the story that I found distracting (and not in a good way) was the high number of open endings in it.  There is a plethora of clues in the content that display too boldly that the book is the first in a series, even if you didn’t know that two sequels exist.  Have you ever had that feeling that you just didn’t get the satisfaction you desired out of something, whether it was a gourmet meal or even a night out on the town?  This story gives you a bit of that feeling, leaving you feeling more frustrated than eager to read on to book two.  With that being said, there are still some completely tantalizing and delectable scenes in this book.

One of my favorite aspects of this story is that Anastasia is a sweet and virtuous young woman until she submits to the dominant Christian Grey.  As a side note I feel I should do a public service announcement to all virgins out there.  When you decide to give your “once in a lifetime” gift to somebody, it likely isn’t going to be so incredible like it was in 50 Shades of Grey.  The scene, although “vanilla” by Christian’s standards, is incredibly erotic and what most women would be completely thrilled with in their most intimate moments for their entire life.  Ana is so ready to get it on with Christian that she isn’t hesitant about giving herself to him and it makes you truly believe that she really did enjoy every succulent second of her de-flowering.  That’s good; after all, that’s the way it should be if at all possible.  She waited until she was ready and that would make a huge difference in the experience.

The way that E L James created Christian and Ana is quite fascinating and I thought it made the story easy to get absorbed in despite the over-emphasis on romance in a bondage and discipline tale.  Ana wasn’t descriptive enough physically, allowing for every woman who reads the story to be able to place themselves in her spot and dare to imagine how they’d handle requests from possibly the sexiest character ever created for a book.  Yes, I said it; I have a literary crush on Christian Grey.  Although he’s only 27, he’s mature and wealthy enough that a woman in her 50’s could easily say, “Oh yah!”  Likewise, he appears to be a dreamy catch for any woman who thinks fondly of a young, hot, sexy, and authoritative millionaire.  After all, they say it’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one!  And the habits of Mr. Grey certainly wouldn’t be acceptable to any respectable submissive if he didn’t come with some bucco bucks.

As the story wound down and wrapped itself up I was left with a few parting thoughts and reflections.  These are the things that really stood out to me as I read the book and they can all be applied to a person’s life in a better way than merely escaping reality by reading a novel that transports you to the Red Room of Torture, as Ana calls it.

First, the conclusion was easy to tell; with that being said, it was still different and that was fantastic.

Second, this story truly is a tame tale and not the super sexual book some may believe it is, but it has opened the doors to some exciting dialogue for women and couples.  There is nothing taboo about a little exploration.  Try it, you may like it!  Okay, maybe that’s not what your mom was talking about when you were younger; however, it still applies.

Third, if you see somebody or something you want try looking at it directly.  Ana had this thing about looking at Christian Grey through her eyelashes at the beginning of the story.  That tells me that she either has very thin eyelashes or she was trying to be too demure, even luring Christian in by acting submissive if you really want to get deep with it.  That’s not necessary though; the beauty of this story is that you’ll get more out of it if you look at it as an interesting story that explores something new and definitely a topic not often found in mainstream literature.

Overall, it’s worth taking the good with the bad to read this book.  It inspires you to make your life more exciting, even if you decide that you are a strictly “vanilla” person!

By Jill McKellan

You could hear the deep sigh echo through the entire house when Ava stepped on that scale, ready to find out the numbers that could only be revealed.  It was a courageous act by Ava’s standards and she had no idea what to expect.

The scale that was in front of Ava wasn’t your average scale.  It told you your body’s age, body fat, muscle percentage, good fat levels, body mass index, and a few other things.  Ava knew that she wouldn’t be particularly delighted with any of the numbers; however she had no clue that she’d react the way she did.

Quinn read off the numbers and looked through the corner of his eyes, ready to do what he must to help Ava with her reaction, which he definitely knew would not be happy and lighthearted.  “Are you okay?”

“No,” Ava said.  She couldn’t stop it from happening; before she knew it, tears were streaming down her face and her bottom lip was quivering, reminding her of how playing cards used to look on her bicycle spokes as she went as fast as she could down the road.

“It’s okay.  Now we know and I’ll help you do whatever you want.  It’s all up to you.”

Ava looked at Quinn, completely thankful for him, and dove in for a big hug.  “At least your arms still fit around me.”  Yes, she knew that was dramatic, but she said it anyways.  “I cannot believe my body age.  That makes me want to puke.”

“That is a shocking number, isn’t it?  Everybody’s been shocked by it,” Quinn said.

“Well, I am not going to be content being physically 16 years older than I actually am.  That’s a load of crap,” Ava said.  Now she was ticked off and her arms were crossed and there was some fire in her eyes.

That day, Ava devoted a ton of time to creating a new work-out schedule that added an additional 8 minutes a day for Camp90X and a few other things.  She was obsesses with taking care of business and stopping the madness.  She lovingly termed her agenda, “The Dechunkification Process”.  The game was on and Ava wasn’t about to lose.

As with all major changes, you have to do them for yourself, but your family also goes along for the ride, whether they like it or not.  Gracie and Quinn didn’t mind.  Ava had no problem adjusting what she ate and did while feeding them a grand meal that didn’t have to be measured and proportioned.  Actually, it didn’t look all too different from what she usually ate for supper.  The big changes came in other forms.

That night, after her perfectly proportioned meal, Ava did her first Camp90X.  She huffed, puffed, and panted without giving up.  Sweat was pouring down her face and she was amazed that eight minutes could do all that, but it did.

The next week was spent continuing her Zumba, doing Camp90X, and throwing in some push-ups.  Ava couldn’t wait to do her weigh-in; which she’d designated for Friday’s.  Why Friday?  It was the end of the week and if Ava didn’t reach her goals for the week, the weekends would not be a time to splurge a bit.

Friday morning came all too quickly that week.  Ava made sure she didn’t eat or drink a single thing before her weigh in.  Why not give yourself all the help you can to like what you see?  She lay in bed, wide awake, for about an hour, waiting for Quinn to wake up.  He barely had a chance to stretch and she was urging him to get going for the big weigh-in.

“Are you ready, hon?” Ava asked.

“I think so,” Quinn replied.  He smiled.  “Okay, now are you ready?”

“I am,” Ava said.  She breathed in, waiting to hear the efforts of her first week of super hard work.

“You’re one year younger today.  Congratulations!”

Ava smiled and jumped up.  “Yahoo!  Now it’s time to be two years younger next week.”

The spark was still going strong inside Ava.  She was going to do it!

By Jill McKellan

It was time to Zumba.  Ava made sure that everybody had every possible thing they needed to kick their days off taken care of.  No interruption Zumba was one of her goals.  The other one was to make it through her cardio revolution DVD without having anybody in the family find an opportunity to get a good chuckle at her.

Ava’s husband Quinn was taking care of some work on his computer.  Her daughter Grace had finished taking care of everything to get ready for school and was playing a game on her iPad.  All was well and it was time to work it, work it—according to Tanya on the DVD anyways.

All was going pretty well and Ava was in her groove.  Every time she’d turn she’d look through the corner of her eyes and see if she had an audience.  So far, no audience and that was a guuud thing, as Beto would say.

The warm-up was done and it was time for Ava to crank the fan on her so she didn’t overheat and collapse in a clumpy heap on the floor.  Instructions to put your pelvic bone forward and start swiveling your hips came.  “Remember to focus on keeping your abs tight,” Tanya shouted out.

“I will,” Ava thought.

“Okay everybody.  Bootie circle, bootie circle, bootie circle,” Tanya kept repeating as she circled her considerably smaller bootie around.

Ava was following along the best she could and was bootie circling away when she heard the sweet tender voice of her little Grace.  “What are you doing?”

“Bootie circling, Grace.”

“That is very awkward,” Grace said.  She walked out of the room, looking like she’d just seen something more disturbing than the goriest thing one could think of.

Ava couldn’t help it.  She laughed and bootie circled harder.  She’d found a secret weapon to force her daughter into cooperation when necessary.  The threat of a bootie circle in public or even at home by Grace’s friends was a definite possibility.  It would be worth the personal risk of humiliation to try it in an extreme situation where an immediate change of attitude just might be necessary.

By this time, Quinn was observing keenly.  “I think your bootie circle looks just fine, darling.”  He smiled and started to go about his business again.  He understood that involvement was not wise.  Ava smiled too, knowing that she was married to a brilliantly smart and insightful man.  He understood, as he should.  After all, he was a fitness guru married to a lady whose fitness had taken a little vacation and was slowly making its way back home.

Thirty minutes of cardio craze ended and Ava’s entire family survived the incident virtually unscathed, except for Grace having a vision seared into her mind of her mother doing the bootie circle.

Over the next days, Ava kept offering her family an invitation to join her in her fitness revolution.  She didn’t get any takers, but it was pretty awesome to give them visual evidence that she was working her bootie off.

Everybody loves a sincere compliment, whether they’ll admit it or not.  One day, Ava received one of those coveted sincere compliments from Grace, who was still a bit stunned and thinking that Zumba was “awkward”.  She smiled pretty and sweetly said, “Momma, I think you could be a professional Zumba person in Wisconsin.”

Ava gave a big smile and wiped the sweat out of her eyes.  “Thank you.  That is so nice.”  Grace would never realize what a big favor she did herself that day.  Her sweet and kind words gave her life time immunity from the bootie circle behavior tactic she’d thought of a few days ago.

The time came where Ava wanted to add a bit more to her fitness revolution.  Zumba was grand, but she wanted something more to go with it.  She called up her go-to fitness guru, Quinn, and said, “It’s time for me to do some Camp90X.”

“You know you’ll have to do all the measurements,” Quinn said.  Ava sensed his hesitation, as those sorts of things can be rather emotional for some women; including Ava.

“I know it’ll be a bigger deal to me than you.  I’ll be fine,” Ava said.  Fine—we all know what that usually means.  “We just have to wait until Friday before we do it.”

Quinn paused briefly before asking, “It won’t ruin the weekend, will it?”

“Not yours,” Ava said.  She was about to find out the vital stats on her body, something she’d avoided for a good year—okay fine—a good two years.  What an experience that was going to be.

By Jill McKellan

Ava got sweaty enough in twenty minutes to lose twenty pounds, or so she felt.  The 20 minute Zumba express work-out made sure you really moved it for those twenty minutes.  Although it didn’t jive with the sultry and sassy Zumba songs on the disc, Ava found herself thinking of the song, “I Like to Move It,” by Will-I-Am.  It was begrudgingly that Ava was forced to acknowledge that even when she was done moving it, parts of her were still moving.  They had a little struggle to catch up with her stationary body.  She laughed out loud, but kept moving on, thinking Ava-I-Am.

When Ava had been learning the moves of Zumba she didn’t get the chance to meet Beto, the founder of the Zumba dance and fitness revolution.  Tanya, Gina, and Asta spoke pretty clearly and Ava had been able to get their gist so she could learn and follow their moves.  Beto brought a new challenge to something that was already challenging enough.

“You’re doing guuud.  Guuud job,” Beto encouraged.  He smiled at Ava from the video, winked, and pointed to her.

“Thank you, Beto.  Now, if you don’t mind.  I cannot do that little move you just did so I need to watch Tanya,” Ava replied.  She realized that she’d stopped what she was doing right in the middle of the work-out because she got herself all messed up.  It could best be described as a classic case of not being able to do two things at once.  In this case, Ava couldn’t move her feet and focus on Beto’s encouraging words at the same time.

Twenty minutes later, Ava realized that twenty minutes of motion could definitely be counted for some major activity.  She committed to the fact that she definitely had twenty minutes a day to give to Zumba.  If anything, she’d cut out her Twitter activity to do it because there was no way she was going to stop Facebooking.  Facebook activity was work related, of course.

The rest of the day, Ava felt fantastic.  She’d done a nifty little Zumba express work-out and made it through.  Tomorrow it would only be easier and that was a good thing!

Tomorrow came.  Easier did not come with it.  Ava realized that her less than perfect knees were a bit sore, swollen, and stiff from her hippity hoppin’ Zumba stompin’.  She took two Aleve and put the disc in.  It took her a bit to loosen up, but once she did it felt considerably better than it had before she’d done it.

Finally, after a week and a half of doing Zumba express work-outs, Ava was proud to report that she’d made some awesome strides, including:

• Not stopping every time Beto talked
• Having her knees feel better every day
• Sleeping like a baby at night
• Dancing like a Polish rock star during the day

Those were all good things and Ava was officially hooked.  Maybe someday she’d even make the cut for one of the infomercials praising the success of Zumba in her life.

There was one problem that Ava realized was happening.  She didn’t have as much time during her day as she needed to take care of all the business she wanted to and exercise as much as she wanted to.  Adjustments would have to be made.  They would require some big time confidence though.  The family was going to have to witness Ava’s fitness revolution.  Would her family be as dazzled with her dancing queen-like qualities as she was?  It was time to find out.