POWERLESS

"Powerless children learn to shut down and comply with whatever is asked of them." 

Bessel van der Kolk, PhD, The Body Keeps the Score

 

 

The Spider with a Message (One week before my memory returned)

 

 

 

 The Snapping Arm (Six weeks after my memory returned}

 

A Spider attacks Me (One year before my memory returned)

Hello, My Lovely (Two months after my memory returned)

My dream mentions that the flipper on the seal are like a pair of wire cutters.

The dreams that go with these images are in my book. I put them here to show that my unconscious is preoccupied with the trauma represented in these dreams.

 

My First Vacation

In 1961 I moved to New York to study to become an opera singer. My job at United Airlines entitled me to a vacation after one year on the job. Miami was my vacation choice and staying at the Algiers Hotel, which provided an airline discount, is where I decided to stay. No one was available to travel with me, so I took the plunge and traveled alone. Checking into the hotel was a challenge and how much to tip the bell boy made me anxious. I did manage to sign up for water skiing lessons and tours of Miami beach and local night clubs.  

 

The Algiers showcased a Moroccan theme, and was decorated in bright reds, yellows, and oranges.  Morris Lapidus designed the hotel. His style was described as "Neo-Baroque Miami Modern,"  and was considered to be "gaudy kitsch." The hotel was torn down in 2004, unable to compete with the Fontainebleau.

 

My room looked out over the ocean, the enormous swimming pool and entertainment area below. On a later walk, as the waves lulled quietly to the shore and tickled my feet, I understood why Miami was a great vacation spot. 

Shortly, the hotel social director called me to the front desk via the PA system. She asked me to fill out a questionnaire about my hobbies and talents. "I'm studying to be an opera singer," I responded.   

We're having a party tonight for hotel quests in the restaurant bar. Will you sing?"

"Yes," I responded nervously, "But I have no music."

Don't worry, the piano player knows everything."

 

Later, down at the swimming pool, the movie star, Jayne Mansfield, famous for her beauty and enormous breasts, and also a guest, arrived at the pool. She pranced around in her revealing pink bikini. This caused a riot. Six men scrambled after her clicking their cameras as she posed around the pool, ending up on the diving board on toes with her breasts thrust forward. Her peroxided pink-bowed hair was so white it looked like cotton. A miniature white poodle pranced around with her and enjoyed being photographed too. The whole performance was quite a spectacle. 

In the afternoon I searched out the piano player and we settled on a song from Carousel, and pitched it high so I could show off my high notes. 

In the evening, I sat in the cafe with two other singles from New York. To my surprise, Jayne Mansfield wiggled in and sat at the table next to mine. She was with her poodle, Catholic priest, and body building and actor husband, Mickey Hargitay, Mr. Universe of 1955. 

The program began. First up, I sang a very straight version of, "If I Loved You." The audience responded enthusiastically. John Gary, another guest, then performed. He had just gotten married and was on his honeymoon. A professional performer, he knew how to work the room. 

Jayne Mansfield was next. She jiggled up to the stage and squeaked a few words into the mic using her blond bombshsell voice and sexy Marilyn Monroe knock off. Her performance in the 1957 movie with Tony Randell was a classic and very funny. I think she would have been fun to know.

 

The water-skiing lesson was noteworthy. Three instructors helped launch twelve students on skis, and accompanied them around the bay. My instructor, who showcased a thin mustache above his upper lip, looked like a very tan and fit young version of Errol Flynn. "Errol" held me up for the entire round trip, gripping me tightly. I developed an enormous and painful bruise that didn't heal for three months. But he asked me out for a date.

 

"I rushed clients before you so that I could be the one to accompany you," he said. 

We went to a local fish and chips bar on the wharf and sat in the cool breeze and drank beer. The cafe light reflected off the water and cast a romantic ambiance over the entire area. He fascinated me. A vagabond surfer bum, he lived a carefree life with no restrictions.

As he drove me back to the hotel, the conversation turned to sex. When he heard I was a "virgin," he slumped over his truck steering wheel and expressed his disappointment.

"I don't want to be the one to take your virginity" he said, as he dropped me off at the Algiers.

It was the perfect evening for a twenty-two-year-old on her first vacation.  

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This self-portrait was taken in 1985 while I was on Long Beach, in Oregon. I am with my newly purchased Toyota station wagon. Shortly after I took this picture, the car sunk into the sand as the ocean engulfed it. Panicked, I ran across the beach to a nearby housing complex and located a bar.  Several drunken patrons came to my rescue. They piled into their four wheel drive truck, drove to the beach, tied the rear bumper to a rope, and yanked my car out of the ocean. It was an adventure, but it took several days to get the sand out of the wheels. 

 

I've received my first book rejection letter for Abducted. It is from Stephen Barr's assistant, Erica McGrath. She writes, "I've reviewed your submission with Stephen and I'm sorry to report that we just aren't wholeheartedly connecting with your work, despite its many charms. So, we should step aside. We truly appreciate the book though, and hope you find someone who is passionate about your project and confident in their ability to position it. We wish you nothing but the best of luck."    

 

 

Onward and upward.