“Why I have the kind of vivid
Technicolor memory I do has always been a mystery to me and to the few who knew
of it.”
The
above quote is the first sentence of my memoir and for the next 327 pages I
explain in detail what I meant by that and the reason I believe I was
blessed/cursed with so many colorful and distinct memories, both good and bad,
funny and sad. Two of the worst memories drove me straight to mental hell in
agony that refused to relinquish. The first time it happened in 1967 during the
Viet Nam War and I chose to have six shock treatments to cure me, they did in
two weeks. The second time was seven weeks after my beloved mother’s agonizing
July death from Alzheimer’s. That inspiration struck on 9/11/2001 when the
horror I was watching on T.V. reminded me of my Great Grandmother Fox, my
mother’s grandmother I only met once when I was very young, but she instilled
in me a memory that had haunted me many times throughout my life. In 2001 I chose to cure myself by writing
about why I was so distressed. That cure worked also, after a decade of edits,
though it did raise a few eyebrows from family members. Oh well, not the first
time I messed with their brows or the grey matter behind them.
I was
born with a Pisces artistic nature I couldn’t ignore. I took piano lessens from
second grade through twelfth. The initial inspiration for that musical
obsession I got from a religious picture of St. Cecelia in my parents bedroom.
I decided when I was four or five years old I wanted to play a piano in heaven when
I died so I insisted mamma buy me one to practice on. Actually, my first piano
became a bribe she used to get me to do something I really didn’t want
to do, go to first grade at a Catholic school. I finally caved in after a lot
of family persuasion and several other bribes I required, daddy’s paint quarter
horse, a puppy, and five new chicken feed sack dresses. I’m sure some of those
nuns wished I had not allowed myself to be bribed to go to that awful
“purgatory” in 1944-45. Old unjust ladies in black I was forced to give a
little piece of my mind to every once in a while. If something doesn’t make
sense to me, I can become an instant rebel.
My
unique childhood logic was always considered rather strange by adults but that
never deterred me. When I made my mind up, there were few on earth who could
change it, and that stubborn quirk still haunts me to this day. Oh well, after
I ordered my natal horoscope in the 1970’s I found I could blame all my
idiosyncrasies on the alignment of the stars above my head on the day I was
born…so I still do. It’s easy to blame it on those professional astrologers who
claimed my star alignment was rather strange and unusual who gave me a detailed
opinion of why I was so “different.” It’s not my fault…it’s my Gods. At least that’s
the excuse I’m going to use in the afterlife, if I ever get the chance.
At
various times in my life I also became obsessed with learning how to cook, sew,
paint, sculpt, and conquer fast horses. I’m a Texas native with a few drops of
Apache blood flowing in my veins. When I was six, I insisted on learning how to
shoot a rifle and hit the bull’s-eye, so my legend of a superman Daddy took me
out in the pasture with a Winchester 30-30 and taught me. I realized that was a
handy thing to know when I was seven years old guarding German POW’s on a big
horse with a Federal rifle still in its saddle holster on my grandpa’s cotton
farm in 1945. The “official” guards allowed me to do that while they took naps
on the back porch because they didn’t think the prisoners would run off and I
didn’t think they would harm me. I was their favorite entertainment on their
lunch break. The guards explained to grandpa, “Where would they go, they can’t
find a big enough boat to get back home on, and besides, they like earning enough
to buy cigarettes and cokes and candy.” My singing and dancing was the most
torture those lucky POW’s ever had to endure in America…but I would peel their
oranges for them.
See?
My logic isn’t all that “crazy” compared to some adults I have known in my
lifetime.
My
adult logic hasn’t been much different than my childhood, except that I know a
whole lot more about how the world works now than I did back then. After I was
forced out of my church by a couple of bad apples, I decided to launch my own
religion that consisted of the Creator of all that exists, with Jesus and my
“spirit” as my mentors, and me as the pastor. For over two decades I researched
religion until it jelled into a creed I could accept and I’m still happy with
it. I doubt the T.V. evangelists would be because I quit believing in Hellfire
and Damnation they charge for telling you how not to get there.
Motherhood
was the only vocation I ever lusted for and I did accomplish that. I have five
wonderful children who blessed me with eleven grandkids and they are now the
focus of my senior years. I live on the outskirts of San Antonio and stay
involved with my three youngest grandchildren’s projects. I still love to write, paint, cook, and still
drag out my sewing machine when they want new patches on their jeans they
consider badges of honor, usually required because of another pain in their
butt that rips denim and skin.
I
never intended to become a writer or an author but destiny had plans I felt I
couldn’t alter. When I chose to publish my life story, I wanted it to be as
honest as I could remember and knew I was going to have to confess all my sins
if I was going to write about anyone else’s…so I did. I do hope I don’t make
your eyebrows too uncomfortable if you choose to read Confessions Of A
Crazy Fox.
Confessions
Of A Crazy Fox is available on Amazon in soft cover and for Kindles
And
in print on my Publishers Website
It is also available as an
E-book at Barnes & Nobles Nook Book Site
Readers expect honesty from authors and that's what they get from Anna Mullins!
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