The more I mature, the less I allow ugliness from my past to invade my present. Instead, I block-out the ugliness with memorable moments.
My Great Wall remembrances are never far away—they find me when I’m sitting in traffic, walking by the fast-moving river, or watching smoke-trails from a highflying jet. The Wall is with me when I smell wetness on mossy rocks, or jog through frost-covered grass. My memories often consume me and, like stepping into cold rain on a scorching hot day, my body shivers with anticipation.
I close my eyes and--in an instant--I’m back on The Great Wall. Those are the times I can touch the wind, hear the silence, and share aloneness—all under a brilliantly blue, open-parasol sky—that speaks only Chinese.
I share those moments with tears filling my eyes, running down my face, dripping from my chin....and I don’t stop them. Tears are my evidence. Tears are my emotional reminders that… Yes, I was really there.
The magic comes from knowing my“Once upon a time” began long ago--- with a nine year old girl--a teacher-- a geography book--and a dream.
Someday---only God knows when--- I’ll reunite with my old friend, The Great Wall of China. This time.... I’ll never leave.
The First Woman To Travel The Length Of THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA, 1990.
A Dominatrix----Did I spell it correctly?!?!?
Four years ago, I found this chapter among my journals and considered it for My Book. In the final cut, only two encounters made it between-the-covers. No, my life hasn’t been dull, boring, or normal and sometimes it bothers me that I attract men who are “different”.
You can read all—some--or none of my revelations. They aren’t for everyone. I don’t write for shock-value. I simply write the truth.
Raised in the South, I read Gone with the Wind multiple times. With each reading I marveled that Scarlett, so pretty, confident, and strong, wanted to win the affections of Ashley, an insipidly weak man. Unlike Scarlett, I never wanted weak men in my life yet somehow… they find me. Invariably, they find me where I live, play, work, and shop. My life is non-fiction. I am not creative enough to make up the "sexy" scenarios you are about to read:
I was living in Atlanta, Georgia at the time of this particular incident:
"While browsing for shoes in one of Atlanta’s most popular Atlanta department store, I was approached by a man wanting to help me try on shoes. Dressed in an American Airlines uniform, it was apparent this man was no shoe salesman. When I questioned his uniform, he explained he was an airline pilot. Feeling uncomfortable, I quickly sat down to try on the shoes I’d pulled from the sale rack. The pilot immediately moved into the empty seat beside me.
Removing the shoes I was wearing, I glanced at my seat mate. He wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he was seriously-studying my feet. He appeared mesmerized as I stood in front of the mirror, trying to decide if I liked the sale shoes well enough to buy them. The uniformed stranger began making comments like, “your feet are very slender”….. “You have delicately curved ankles”…. and “I’m in love with how your arches look in those heels.”
Perhaps, in the beginning, I was flattered by all his attention…but the Pilot’s submissive behavior and his weird comments made me extremely nervous. Muttering something about another appointment, I hurried away. I’m usually attracted to men in uniform but, not this one."
THIS NEXT INCIDENT APPEARED IN MY BOOK:
"Running every morning near the Arkansas River, I began receiving mysterious calls from a man who had, apparently, been following me. From the first phone call, the mysterious caller described my legs and what I was wearing the last time he saw me running on the bike trail. His voice sounded angry as he described his need for me to stand on his chest, kick him, urinate on him, and strangle his neck with my “powerful long legs”! I taped some of his phone calls and, after playing the tapes for the Little Rock police department, I followed the Police Chief’s request to meet the strange caller.
Based on the caller's conversations, I perceived him to be a very sick, unstable individual. Sensing my fear, the chief of police assured me that undercover police driving unmarked cars, would follow me to the meeting spot. The police planned to arrest the caller and end the abusive, possibly-dangerous phone calls.
I arrived at the designated meeting spot. The mystery man pulled up in a late-model Mercedes convertible, got out and walked to my car. Glancing inside to make certain it was me—the mystery man opened the passenger side of my car and climbed in. Immediately six policemen--guns ready--surrounded my car and took control. When I looked into the face of the mysterious caller, I was shocked. I knew his name, his identity---in fact--- I knew the man and his wife. He was a wealthy Little Rock businessman who was married to another Miss Arkansas.”
And, I can’t forget my student at a Virginia High School:
“The school day was almost over when the student asked to stay after class to talk with me. Everyone had left the room and this normally-shy young boy blurted out that he dreamed of me pulling down his pants and spanking him until he cried. The more he talked—fantasized--the more excited he became. Fearful of what might happen, I hurriedly-ended our talk saying I was late for teachers’ conference. At the time, I was a teacher who was over-sixty and he was a 16 year-old student. It was a scary situation that could have easily been out-of-control. I had no desire to make “Headlines".
So I ask a fundamental question: What ever happened to romance, courtship, and traditional love-making? I’ve never be attracted to passive males yet… regardless of my age… there are always males who fantasize that I'm a dominatrix who dresses in black stiletto boots, a tight black-body suit, and uses a black leather-fringed whip on my male footboys, my "slaves."
Apparently, there are many who don’t know that my life has been a fight-to-the-finish. I've had no choice but appear confident, strong, and independent. I learned long-ago to never appear weak so yes, I’ve chosen to be seen as a strong woman. I find it interesting that the most valuable part of me is, for the most part, over-looked.
My heart is larger and more loving than ever-before. Ever the romantic-- I wait for a real man who will love me in a “classic, old-fashion-way.”
Yes, I enjoy wearing black tights and black boots but---I have no interesting in owning or using a black whip.
Inflicting pain on others is not my idea of ROMANCE and...it's certainly not my style.
DO I THINK Webb Hubbell could be Chelsea Clinton’s Real Daddy? Absolutely.
I KNOW Webb Hubbell. I know him well-enough to despise his super ego, his controlling attitude, and his “big-man-on-campus” arrogance.
In my book “THE BEAUTY QUEEN”---I revealed how Webb Hubbell tried to get me fired in the early eighties when I hosted a radio talk show.
Webb was a Football “Star” at the University of Arkansas who married into a wealthy Arkansas family. I doubt any woman would have looked at him twice--- had it not been for his claim-to-fame as a Razorback Football Player.
His big ego matched his big butt. In spite of not being good-looking--or a popular attorney--Webb thought of himself as a VIP. His father-in-law, Seth Ward, who had deep pockets and impressive connections, made sure Webb received an invitation to join the state’s most prestigious group of lawyers…The Rose Law Firm. And that’s where Webb met Hillary.
None of the above is memorable or important until you fast-forward to the late eighties, after I lost the 1984 Mayor’s race in Pine Bluff, and moved to Atlanta. In the meantime, my daughter, Rosemond, had attracted the attention of a lawyer in Little Rock named Tim. Despite the fact he was more than twenty years older, the handsome and single attorney was determined to win Rosemond’s heart.
As you know, timing is everything. Rosemond was too young to appreciate Tim’s excellent mind and promising future. She wasn’t the least impressed that Tim was a partner in the Rose Law Firm. Remember, this was late in the eighties. At that time, no one knew about my three month “encounter” with Bill Clinton…the terrible mistake I made before becoming a Mayoral Candidate.
One evening when I casually asked Tim what it was like having Hillary in the office next to him, he rolled his eyes and said “Hillary is really lazy and doesn’t know much about being a lawyer. She likes the prestige and the title but despises the work.
What’s really embarrassing is when she comes in my office and tries to flirt….hoping I’ll agree to finish her paperwork. Several times she’s perched on the corner of my desk, trying to look sexy…and suggesting she would “reward” me….if I’d help with her workload.”
On another occasion, Tim volunteered that Hillary and Bill spent little time together. It seems they stayed busy promoting themselves. Hillary liked serving on the Boards of Corporations like Walmart-- while Bill enjoyed entertaining celebrities and making speeches. Both were heavily-involved with politics and long-term fundraising.
Later, when I asked if Hillary had finally convinced him to be her “secretary”... Tim laughed and said, NO, but she persuaded Webb to help her and now….he’s making Hillary “look” legally-legitimate. Tim indicated that Webb enjoyed spending time with Hillary.
So, there you have it. Do I believe that Webb could have fathered a child with Hillary? Absolutely. Do I believe Hillary would have sex with Webb so he would do her paper work? Absolutely.
As adults, we know when a man and a woman have sex, there’s always the possibility that a pregnancy will result. In my opinion--Chelsea Clinton is living-proof of Hillary’s “payback” to Webb Hubbell.
PS. Soon after they married, Bill Clinton experienced the Real Hillary. Their sex life became non-existent but--- that created a serious problem. Political experts agreed that the Bill's political future depended on Hillary Rodham accepting "Clinton" as her last name and--- having a child. The Clinton twosome must appear to be a family.
With an eye on their Political Future... Hillary, quite possibly, merged "work and play" to create her very-own political manifesto.
PS. I "redesigned" a classic old saying to fit this particular occasion: "Oh, what a tangled "Web" we weave… when we allow a Jackass to impregnate us to thus…. deceive.”
An easy life is impossible for some. My grandmother never smiled much. She always looked serious and I attribute that to the fact that-- for her-- life was a serious matter and not to be taken lightly.
My grandmother was one of two daughters born to parents who were poor but….during the mid to late eighteen hundred…it would be accurate to say most everyone-everywhere was poor.
My grandmother, Bertha Mae Owen and her sister, Celestial Belle Owen, realized early that—like most born in that era-- everyone worked to support the family.
Because my grandmother refused to talk about her sister in great detail, I never learned about her desires; her talents; her ambition. I only know Belle married early and…even before her only child, Marceil, was born, Belle’s husband was found to have Tuberculosis and moved to a Sanatorium. Belle died soon after her baby girl was born. Several years later, Belle’s husband died in the Sanatorium--without ever seeing his daughter.
By this time, my grandmother was working fulltime as a telephone operator. Barely in her teens, she began taking care of her parents when both became physically-ill. With the death of Belle, my grandmother “inherited” her sister’s baby. Not only was my grandmother taking care of herself and her parents….she now had full responsibility of a baby-- her niece. Assuming her role as “head of the house”, my grandmother took a mail order-secretarial course--- knowing she would need more professional skills to make more money.
Somewhere along the way, she met a typewriter salesman named Arnold Joseph Heist from St. Louis, Missouri and...Judging from his picture... he was a nice-looking man. My grandmother wouldn’t talk about him but once, she did mentioned Arnold could play the violin.
I’ll never know if my grandmother married him for love or because she needed help in shouldering her very-heavy load of responsibility. Remember: many years ago people didn’t elaborate on their past. Those were the days when people stayed silent about their feelings and about their love life. In those days… no one talked about their family skeletons or family secrets. I only know that Arnold Joseph Heist left Bertha Mae Owen-Heist one afternoon. He was seen leaving town and…he never came home again.
My grandmother was pregnant when her husband left her. Within a few months, her responsibilities were not only her parents and her niece—but now--- her new daughter (my mother) and her full-time secretary’s job at The Cotton Belt Railroad.
My grandmother never made much money. I remember her living in a duplex near the Cotton Belt Railroad and walking almost one mile to work each day-- then walking the same mile home in the afternoon. But, I never heard her complain. If it was raining, she carried an umbrella; if it was cold, she wore a coat. Nothing stopped her from going to work. Working was part of her life...her only means of survival.
When my father moved our family to Pine Bluff’s West Side of Town…thinking my brother and I would have more opportunities…he added a garage apartment in the backyard for my grandmother. He believed it was time for her to also have a better life. She was still working but she was able to take the city bus to and from her job.
Years later, when my father built our family a larger and nicer house, he designed a separate wing of the house especially for my grandmother. That’s when she retired from her many years with the Cotton Belt Railroad.
For as long as I can remember-- my grandmother attended church regularly. For years, she was my Sunday School Teacher. As she got older, she sat in the same pew, alone, while I sang in the choir. She always wore the same hat, the same dress pinned with a gold and ivory cameo pin (a gift from the Cotton Belt), her railroad watch, and her very-sensible black-laced Dickerson shoes.
Nothing about her life was frivolous, impromptu, or reckless. My grandmother was not affectionate---either physically or verbally. Yet, I knew she was there for me when I needed to talk, listen, or simply visit.
One night, alone, she fell in her small apartment. She lay on the floor—in serious pain from a broken hip-- until early the next morning when my father, not seeing her outside feeding the squirrels, opened her door.
She never gained her mobility after the hip replacement. In a short period of time, her eyesight diminished and my parents moved her out of her apartment to my old bedroom. My father hired a fulltime caregiver named Minnie who had a lot of energy which pleased my grandmother. Minnie enjoyed wheeling my grandmother everywhere…both inside the house and out.
The day Minnie called me ..I stopped everything to address her serious concern. My grandmother couldn’t get out of bed. She couldn’t bear for anyone to touch her right leg. Observing the leg, I noted that the area behind her knee was swollen and dark green in color.
Those were the days when a few Doctors still thought enough of people and friendships to make house call. It probably took Doctor George Roberson only fifteen minutes to get to my parents’ house after I called him. One look at my grandmother’s leg and he pulled me aside. My grandmother had a blood clot in her right leg. Because of her age (82 yrs.) and her fragile condition, amputation was not a consideration. The leg was already “dying” and the dark green color was gangrene. My grandmother must be hospitalized immediately; death was imminent.
I rode beside my grandmother in the ambulance. By this time, she was barely conscious. The few times she tried to talk, she called my mother’s name then--just once-- said:”Rosemond”…where are you? Oh, Rosemond….I hurt so much!” She also cried out for her own Mother…like a small child.
Doctor Roberson advised me he would give my grandmother a shot at exactly 6pm. He cautioned me that any remarks or signs of affection directed at my grandmother must be made before she received that shot. When I called my brother and my mother (my father was working out-of-town) to share that information, I heard their tears and their personal reasons for not coming to the hospital.
Realizing I was alone, Minnie agreed to stay with me through the endless night. We didn’t sleep; we only sat on either side of my grandmother’s bed and watched her die. We watched her leg turn completely black as the gangrene traveled from my grandmother’s foot-- upward--to capture her lungs and finally her heart.
At 10 am that morning…after having been admitted at 4pm the day before…my grandmother—her eyes clenched tightly—took two very deep breaths then expelled them with one huge shudder. During the shudder, her body seemed to collapse-- like a helium-filled balloon-- then slowly deflated into the mattress until she was almost hidden beneath the covers. Standing beside her, holding her hand, I will always believe I saw my grandmother's spirit--along with her breath--visibly-leave her now "empty" body. I rang for the nurse.
My grandmother died like she'd lived...plain, simple, and with a dedicated commitment. For some, EASY will never be a part of their Living or their Dying.
THIS IS A MORE-RECENT PHOTO OF ME-- DRESSED UP AND WALKING DOWN MY STREET WEARING HI-HEELS. AFTER MY PROFESSIONAL LIFE ENDED, I SPENT LESS TIME PLAYING "DRESS-UP" EACH DAY AND MORE TIME WEARING TIGHTS AND WORKOUT SHOES.
IF YOU'VE READ MY BOOK OR ANY OF MY WRITINGS THEN YOU KNOW I'VE WORKED ALMOST-ALL OF MY LIFE. I NEVER MADE BIG MONEY; I NEVER HAD MUCH MONEY TO SAVE. BUT, MY NEEDS WERE REALISTIC AND I NEVER FELT "DEPRIVED". OF COURSE I WOULD HAVE PREFERRED NOT TO WORK BUT INSTEAD--TO BE A FULL-TIME MOTHER BUT-- THAT WAS NEVER A CHOICE.
TODAY...I RESENT WHAT'S HAPPENING IN OUR GOVERNMENT. POLITICIANS ARE ROBBING TAXPAYERS EVERY DAY....SUCKING THE LIFE OUT OF OUR HARD-EARNED DOLLARS....AND GETTING RICH. EVERYONE IN CONGRESS AND OTHER HIGH-RANKING AREAS OF GOVERNMENT IS "ON THE TAKE" AND THEY ANSWER TO NO ONE!!!!!
TODAY, I AM EXPRESSING MY ANGER. TOO BAD I DIDN'T ASPIRE TO HAVE A CAREER IN POLITICS.
IF SO....I COULD BE "ALL DRESSED UP" AND LIVING/WALKING ON "EASY STREET".