Dear friends,

First, what's up with Gabe today?  He and I were out feeding cats and cows and taking care of my little garden.  I had let several cucumbers get gigantic, so I picked them and tossed them to the calves, who love everything I toss out of the garden, even rotten tomatoes.  Gabe is a "dog in the manger" type, though:  So when the calves lower their heads to get a cucumber, he jumps in their faces growling.  It surprises them, and they drop the cucumber and back away, and Gabe drags it under the fence to the yard.  

When I was done with chores today, I ordered him to the house.  He started to come, then put his nose in the grass, frantically running in circles.  I knew he was searching for a rotten apple, perhaps, or a stick, to sneak inside with him.  Finally he struck pay dirt:  He kept at it until he got the whole whatever-it-was in his mouth.  Had I not seen him doing this I'd have let him right in, but in this case, when he got near the door, I grabbed him and pried his mouth open to discover a dead mole, so big that I wondered how he managed to conceal the whole thing in his mouth.  It's funny, watching a dog try to be sneaky.  

Here's a story Cliff doesn't remember when I relate it (men and their selective memory):  Ricky Skaggs was coming to Kansas City, I wanted to go.  I didn't have a job at the time, but I asked Cliff about it, whined a little, and he consented to take me and his mom, who was always up for some country music.  This was weeks before the event happened.  The time approached.  I had been wanting to see the movie "Tender Mercies", so on a Friday night I got Cliff to take me.  The movie is in a rather religious vein.  The next night we went to see Ricky.  Between songs he spent a lot of time testifying about his Christian faith, among other things.  Right at the beginning, I remember him saying, "They told me this place is haunted, but I haven't seen any ghost; the only ghost I've met is the Holy Ghost."  Cliff's mom and I enjoyed the music, and Cliff wasn't complaining.  

The next day, Sunday, was Mother's Day, so that had elicited an invitation from me for Cliff to attend.  His mother attended the same church, and he sat between us.  All this in one weekend.

When we got home from church, Cliff said, "I feel like I've been in church for three days."  I asked him why, and he explained that everywhere we went for three days, it was as though he was being preached to.  He likes his religion and his church in very tiny doses, you see.   

I hate politics and try to stay out of that mess completely.  On Facebook I have friends of all stripes, and it's interesting to see their opinions, because all it boils down to is "Republicans are horrible, crazy criminals" from all the left-wingers and "Democrats are two-faced liars and Republicans are always right" from the other side.    

I've never been raped.  I'm having trouble making a decision about who is right in this Kavanaugh thing.  I know that high-school boys don't always think with their brains, and I believe if everyone in Congress had to face this kind of trial, not many (if any) of them would be left standing.  Most mature adults have very little similarity to their teenage selves.  So I don't know.  

I will say I relate to the feelings of those who have been raped or molested, because I was touched inappropriately twice in my life, and I was around seven years old.  Oh, you're thinking, she was molested.  Well, not really... Do you call it "molested" if a little boy your own age (7) tries to forcibly pull your panties down because you wouldn't pull them down when he asked?  He just wanted to look, he said.  Children are curious.  The family across the road from us in Guss had two boys near my age.  I went over often to play with them and their little sister.  But I think that might be the last time I played with them.  I escaped across the road and told Momma and that was the end of it.  Why am I telling this?  Because I still get a terrible feeling I can't describe when I think about it; it's like I'm a seven-year-old little girl again, horrified by this action.  I can't imagine what it would be like to remember any sort of rape or attempted rape.  

The next time, I was a year or two older, still in Iowa.  There was a boy who sometimes rode his pony to the one-room country school.  Before school that morning after he tied up the pony, he was allowing other kids to sit in the saddle but ignoring me, the most horse-crazy child anywhere.  My deepest desire was to have a horse of my own.  I wanted to sit in that saddle, but unlike the others, I had to ask.  As I put my foot in the stirrup, he decided to assist me up by grabbing my crotch.  He was probably 13, so his hormones had started kicking in, I suppose.  Here's an interesting thing, though.  I was so ashamed, I never told my mother.

So when people ask the accusers "Why didn't you say something back then", I don't know why I told Momma the first time, but I didn't, the second... maybe because it was a  bigger boy?  I know I felt ashamed, once again.

I doubt if I'm the only one having mixed feelings about this.  I can tell you it brought back a couple of childhood memories I'd rather have left alone.  And these were just children who in no way should be held accountable now.

Yours VERY sincerely, Donna