Since there was a 6 year gap between my sister and I, there is not a lot to tell about her as a child. As far back as I can remember she was 'attached' to one of those wooden stick horses and a stuffed rabbit. The rabbit went everywhere with her and she 'rode' her stick horse for hours. After she learned to ride the real thing, she was in 4-H because of her all consuming love for horses. She won a couple ribbons and rode in a couple parades. Her priorities changed when she hit 11 years old...she got into drugs and prostitution. I know this part isn't pretty but it was who she was and still is. She ran away at 13 years old, my parents couldn't find her but I did so I took her home with me. I was married at that point and had two babies and pregnant with a third. The conditions of her living with me was that she got off drugs, stopped her monetary lifestyle and went back to school. To try to get her to move back home, my parents bought her a brand new GTO...big mistake! She went home long enough to get the keys to the car and then she took off to parts unknown. When I left my husband a few years later, I moved to Seattle, it was pure luck that I ran across her and once again took her in with the hopes of getting her life back to normal but it was to late. So I saw her sometimes but it was few and far between. When I was 27 she came to me asking for help, I again allowed her into my home with her promise to get off the drugs. That promise lasted 2 weeks and she was off to Alaska to 'earn' some big money. She was there a month and flew back with $10,000.00 in cash on her. But she was on methadone at that time and she 'nodded' off on the plane and someone stole her money. Her life continued that way tho she also worked in a flea market selling antique jewelery and had a steady boyfriend, also on methadone. Hers was a very sad life, she continues her ways to this day but I put her completely out of my life shortly after my mother died. She was staying with me again for a brief time just before my mother died, but started bringing her friends around and started stealing from me. Prescription drugs, my antiques, whatever she could get her hands on she took. Her methadone habit had become so out of control that she would fall asleep while smoking. I had to keep everything under lock and key and still she managed to steal from me, I just could not put up with the stress of her lifestyle. The people she hung with had murdered a woman for her antiques and furs and she was a witness to it...she had to go! I told her that if ever she straightened her life out I would be glad to see her again but that hasn't happened. She was a broken child, I don't know why but I suspect child abuse of a sexual nature from her father, my stepfather. He tried to abuse me that way and that was one reason I ran away. I kept a journal about him and my mother in a metal box that I buried in the ground on the farm, in the woods, I wonder if it was ever found... These years were during the Vietnam War. Seattle was filled with war protesters, the Hippie Movement was well underway with sit in's, make love not war, flower children, drugs, music and the famous Woodstock. Was I, am I, a hippie?...no, but my beliefs were the same. Did I try drugs? Of course I did...marijuana, acid and speed. But because I am one who does not like being 'out of control' on a personal level, the drugs were a very short period in my life, more on that later. Those who know me, know that I am not a prejudice person, except for a person's actions. I don't see color of skin, unless you want me to...In 1966 and part of 1967 I lived in Flint, Michigan, during the race riots, I had already seen one race riot in Seattle. I remember the police coming to the restaurant I worked in, Mama's Trail Cafe, and they told us to stay inside and lock the door. It was obvious to me that they were prejudice and acting out of fear. The march in Seattle was very peaceful, the one in Michigan a bit rougher. Detroit was the major riot but Flint and other cities across the US of course followed. I lived in the heart of the Negro District (as it was called then) and was one of only two white families on the whole street. I didn't fear anything from the riots because I was known as a peace loving person. On a much lighter note, my brother was a joy in my life...12 years younger than I, he was 'mine' from his birth. He was so full of life and love, he was loved by everyone except my grandmother and my sister. I still do not know why but they hated him, why they treated him very badly, yet he loved them. I wasn't around for much of his childhood but the things I did see stay strong in my memories. He loved fixing things...we owned an antique shop for 22 years and he could be found working on the antique cars, lawnmowers and bicycles in the back of the shop there. He was a strong Christian from early on, he glowed with his love of God, he didn't 'preach' but he was matter of fact in anything he said regarding his faith, he knew right from wrong and would give gentle reminders to those who acted badly. In some ways I think he was an earth angel...he was digging for antique bottles along the Snohomish River bank when the sand caved in on him, he was 14, he was trapped for approximately 45 minutes but miraculously he came out of that with only a very minor brain damage. The details escape me at the moment so I could be a little off on the time. It didn't at all change his life, he kept digging in that same bank and anywhere else from Washington state to Montana and was not at all afraid. He died at the age of 39 from alcoholism, such a waste of a beautiful human. His passing hit me very hard, he died in a different state, without warning, so I was unable to see him before he died. He went in the hospital and was gone the next day, Thanksgiving Day. I was angry with my family because he moved to a different state to get away in part, from their mean and cold ways. I'm not angry anymore because I know he was taken early in life for a purpose only known to his God. But I still miss him terribly, he was my one solid connection, the thing I remember about him the most was the twinkle in his eye. Ever present, even when he was upset, that mischievous twinkle stayed strong and you just knew it was a sign of his love for life and everything in it. I believe in the presence of spirits, ghosts if you prefer, and I can feel him around me. The one thing that he nagged me about was smoking, that started when he was about 7 years old and continued thru his whole life. Shortly after he passed I had gone to the store and came home with a carton of cigarettes. I put them on the ironing board and went to my room, when I came out the cigarettes were gone...I looked and looked for those cigarettes but couldn't find them. I had a closet that I had put all my Christmas things in and it was blocked by an entertainment center. At Christmas, I rearranged the furniture so I could get in that closet. Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and there sat my carton of cigarettes...now I know you will think me crazy, but I know it was him, hiding cigarettes from me was something I had put up with for many years when he was around and in my minds eye when I found that carton I saw the twinkle in his eye, saw his smile and I heard his laughter. There is no way anyone could have got into that closet until I moved that entertainment center and I have no clue how the cigarettes got in there so it had to be with his help! His way of telling me that he was still around and still going to nag me *smile* Because of his love of bottle digging on the Snohomish riverbanks, his ashes were scattered into the river from the railroad trestle. I like to think he is there sometimes, digging for that ever elusive unbroken antique bottle, and perhaps when they have the parades that include the antique cars, he is riding with someone. Another of his favorite things was to collect bugs and snakes...there were jars in the porch that had black widow spiders, scorpions and rattlesnakes. Mixed in with those were the glass and porcelain insulators from telephone poles, he had hundreds of them. When I left Washington I brought one of the insulators with me and the pillowcase that he had as a baby. Not much to remember someone by but I have so many memories of him that they are just keepsakes that he touched. My children knew him when they were babies, but only saw him a couple times after they grew to be teens. Really sad because he loved them and they had already forgotten him before he passed. So I hope in writing this that he is honored and that they will understand something of him. The pic above is my sister and brother. To be continued... I thank each and every one of you for your continued support. I know there are many of you that I have not gotten to yet and I apologize for that...I will get to you but its slow going so thank you for your patience! I tagged this for language because of the sensitive issues with my sister.