Another Tale Of The Brown Recluse... My Mother

When I was in fifth grade of elementary school we had been living here for almost three years, just two houses down from my two best friends. Life was as good as it could possibly get when seen through my 12-year-old eyes. Summers were filled with swimming at the Elks Club, going to YMCA Day Camp, and giggling as we let *Fizzies* dissolve in our mouths. We'd have lemonade stands, ride our bikes with reckless abandon throughout the neighborhood, playing *Kick-The-Can*, swinging until dark at the park across the street from our houses and partaking in the famous *Water Balloon Wars* we used have against all the boys in the neighborhood.

The year was 1963 and the top musical hits of that year were:
Surfin' U.S.A. and Surfer Girl by the Beach Boys
Blue Velvet by Bobby Vinton
It's My Party by Leslie Gore
Rhythm Of The Rain by The Cascades
Puff The Magic Dragon and Blowing In The Wind by Peter, Paul & Mary
Wipeout by the Surfaris
Pipeline by the Chantays
Up On The Roof by The Drifters
Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah (A Letter From Camp) by Allan Sherman
He's So Fine by The Chiffons.

Those were truly the best few years of my childhood. I loved the school I went to and I adored my teacher. For the first time in my life, I was making passing grades because we seemed to have finally settled down somewhere. Being young, I had no idea what was coming. I was sure that we'd finally found someplace we could be happy as a family, but The Brown Recluse had other plans and schemes in mind. She was always scheming and my brother and I were seldom on her mind when it came to her big plans.

In January of my fifth grade year at school, The Brown Recluse awakened my brother and me in the middle of the night, telling us both to hurry and get dressed. She instructed us to pack up all of our clothes and a few favorite toys. I remember being confused and sleepy and not wanting to pack anything. I had school in the morning. However, TBR was frantic and I was old enough to recognize when she was in a total panic and smart enough to keep my mouth shut. I did as I was told with great reluctance. There was never any arguing with The World's Greatest Guilt Maker and Drama Queen.

It was only a few weeks past Christmas and my ever elusive father (probably bought by Mimi, my Grandmother) sent me a Madame Alexander doll for Christmas. Mother wouldn't let me play it with so I would spend lots of time just looking at her... in her lovely outfit... in her lovely box. It was an Ana McGuffey doll and I adored her. So, it was only natural that I chose her as one of my toys to take along.

The Brown Recluse told me a flat out "No!" and said that it would be going into storage with our other belongings. She assured me that we would have them sent when we arrived, wherever we were going. I was devastated. I did not want to leave her behind because I knew I was going to lose her like so many other things over the years.

I knew it was happening again. We were running away from something, in the middle of the night. Again. I should explain here that TBR was always running away from failed love affairs as well as bills. I can't remember ever leaving a forwarding address whenever we escaped in the middle of the night and I was never allowed to write my former friends. That says a lot in itself. I was beginning to see a pattern in her crazy behavior, even though I was still unaware of what it really meant. I did know that it meant another new school and having to make new friends. Again. I was beginning to really hate having to go to a new school and it was getting harder and harder to make new friends. I never saw Ana or any of my other toys again.

Fast-forward to the year 2004. I was driving home from a doctor's appointment one day and noticed an estate sale that looked interesting, so I went around the block to get back to it, and parked. The deceased woman who had owned the house had been a local seamstress for like 40 years. She never had any children but she collected dolls. I felt as if I was Alice In Wonderland falling into a dream. I spent somewhere around two hours there and wound up buying 8 Madame Alexander dolls, that were all in mint condition. Ana McGuffey was among them. Then I began to worry about how I would explain this to Mr. Snoots, because I had spent $400.00.

When I told him what I'd done, I assured him I could get every penny back (and then some), but there was a catch. I told him I just wanted to keep them for a little while. I wanted to just enjoy them for a while before I sold them. I relayed the Ana story to him and he agreed to let me keep them for a while as long as I eventually sold them, profit or no profit.

Since then, I have sold four of the dolls in my online shop (for a modest, fair profit), but I'm rather reluctant to sell the last four and I just cannot understand why. Admittedly, I will NEVER sell Ana McGuffey. She is so perfect and lovely. Something leftover from childhood, within my psyche just won't allow me to part with her. I'm having a great deal of trouble parting with Alice In Wonderland as well. Hopefully, I can make enough profit on Snow White and Scarlett O'Hara to somewhat make up the difference. Well, if I hold onto them long enough. Maybe. Or not.

Yes, this would be considered another addiction collection. So sue me.

More Tales Of My Mother, The Brown Recluse....

Mr. Snooty and I were scheduled to walk down the aisle (just over 31 years ago) and TBR announced that she was going to invite her new boyfriend, whom we had never met. I'm quite serious. Apparently, they had been living together (at her house, of course) and she said she was bringing him no matter what we said about it. Fine. Especially since she wasn't paying for my wedding. Mr. Snooty's parents paid for everything from flowers and the rehearsal dinner to the reception at the Petroleum Club and our honeymoon. They also paid for the best photographer in town so that we'd have wonderful pictures to remember our day. So, of course, we would allow her to bring anyone she pleased. Frankly, this was just the beginning of the end of our relationship with her.

Of course, she was there for all of the pictures that were taken before hand. She was there for the Rehearsal Dinner. She was there for the wedding and the reception, none of which she helped with, in any way. Oh, she had the money. She just didn't think she should pay for me to get married a second time. You know. Since she wasn't there or paid for the first wedding either. In her mind, it wasn't her responsibility since she didn't have a husband. Forget the fact that he (my first husband) was killed in a freak car accident. She has never been one to care much about other people.




The Brown Recluse also made me have a girl in my wedding that was the daughter of her best friend (they had been in each other's weddings years ago). This girl had stolen my previous boyfriend, which I didn't find out about for a month. Oh Yeah. I can't tell you how excited I was about this development.

Trust me when I tell you I got over being embarrassed by her actions long, long ago. It just happened so often, I suppose I eventually became immune to it.

So, the night of our Rehearsal Dinner (which was also at The Petroleum Club), she tapped her glass to make a toast and proceeded to tell everyone how I'd been in love with Mr. Snooty since second grade and she once discovered my best friend and I in the backyard kissing a board. When she inquired as to what we were doing, we told her we were practicing to kiss Mr. Snoots at school which I thought was rather sweet, for her. Next, she said "What a shame he didn't remember you when next you met, even though it worked out in the end". Thanks a bunch, Mom. Great Toast!

Then, the next night, after our wedding ceremony at the church, we proceeded to the Petroleum Club for the reception. The Brown Recluse brought her latest boyfriend, John. Throughout the evening I was amazed to see John working the crowd, speaking with hundreds of people he didn't know. (There were 600 + people at our wedding and reception.) I was thinking he must really be a great guy and wondering why he was with my mother if he was such a great guy.

I soon found out. At one point during the reception Mr. Snooty's fraternity brothers made a circle around me and sang their fraternity song to me, where I promptly cried. It was so sweet and I thought the world of those guys. There were something like twenty of of his brothers in attendance. As soon as they were finished singing one of the groomsmen came up to me and asked if John was on the up and up. "About what?" I asked. "Well, he asked me to invest in one of his oil deals" replied our friend. Major sirens began going off in my head. It was like hearing the gong from the old "Gong Show". Big Time. Huge. I told him to never invest in an oil deal with someone he didn't know well and trust. I was absolutely livid, I assure you.

Before I was able to find Mr. Snooty and tell him, The Brown Recluse cornered me to tell me that she and John were going to get married the next day and they planned to go to Mexico with us on our honeymoon. Honestly, I almost lost it and started to go completely postal on her ass. Just as I was really going to let her have it, my new M-I-L came up to tell me it was time to go upstairs and change into my Going Away Outfit, thus, it was time to throw the bouquet. So, I held my tongue.

From the stairway, I threw my gorgeous bouquet of Chinese Lillies and roses to the large crowd of single women who waited below. To my complete and utter joy, a good friend caught the bouquet. The next thing was my new hubby taking off my garter and flinging it at all his single guy friends.

My friends finally ushered me upstairs to change into my Going-Away-Outfit. We raced down the stairs, had a few more pictures, then ran through a rainstorm of rice (yes, they still used rice back then), and into our awaiting getaway car. We sped back to our apartment, changed into jeans and sped off to the Hilton Hotel. Since we weren't leaving until the next day and the reception was over, we adjourned to the Hilton Hotel, where our out-of-town friends were staying, to party. And, par-tay we did!

I eventually saw the friend who had caught my lovely bouquet and she quickly pulled me aside. She proceeded to tell me that The Brown Recluse had asked if she could have my flowers since she was getting married the next day. Being put on the spot, she gave it up with reluctance. I really had difficulty believing what I was hearing. Well, not really. However, I was pissed off to the Nth degree. I went out to the hall and used the house phone to call The Brown Recluse, so that none of hubby's friends would hear this conversation. I informed her that she was not going with us on our honeymoon and if I heard that John hit up any more of our friends to invest in his questionable *oil deals*, she would be cut off forever. She told me what a selfish person I'd always been and I told her she had been an excellent teacher. A few more words passed between us, but she knew I meant business.

So as not to make this story any longer, we left the next day for Mexico where we enjoyed a blissful two weeks WITHOUT The Brown Recluse. Or her boyfriend John.

When we returned from our honeymoon, we discovered that good old John had married her then swiftly proceeded to take her for everything he could before making his timely exit and ultimate disappearance. He had cleaned out her checking account, maxed out her credit cards, and took some loose gemstones before doing his vanishing act. Hmmm... I guess what goes around, really does come around.

When I called her and asked for my bouquet back, she told me she threw it away. Uh-Huh.

Tales Of My Mother, The Brown Recluse...

Before moving to Aspen, we lived in Oklahoma City for a time, although we constantly moved from one school district to another. There are lots of Oklahoma City School Districts within their school system. We managed to chalk up 5 just in Okie City,within three years.



TBR could never understand why I made such bad grades and constantly called me stupid because of it. Hmmm... Let's see. We were constantly moving, even in the middle of a semester and she never once even tried to help me with homework. TBR, who has a BA from Tulsa University. My brother The Prince apparently didn't need any help because his grades were outstanding. It was entirely evident that I did need some help outside of the home, which was ultimately one of the reasons she sent me off to boarding school. I thank God every day that she did send me off, since I probably would have otherwise turned out just like her. Still, it was many years before I learned that most kids my age grew up in loving, caring families where their lives were carefully planned out with parents that cared about the future of their children.


My brother and I both knew how to play every card game known to Americans and could both mix a mean Bloody Mary by the time we were each eight years old. We were also often sent to the neighborhood grocery on foot, to buy her Vogue cigarettes. We honestly had no idea that all other children in our world... were not doing these things. Neither one of us ever stayed anywhere long enough to have really close friends, so we didn't see how a lot of other people lived. Except, of course, the TBR's constantly changing array of friends.



Her friends consisted mostly of people of questionable professions, bookies, hit men, Oklahoma Senators, restaurant/bar owners, sports writers, oil men, pro golfers, stockbrokers, Jr. Leaguers, hairdressers, lawyers, pro football players and the list goes on. Mostly, they were people who liked The Night Life with Martinis and Jazz, like TBR. These people really went to Vegas a lot, and I had plenty of silver dollars that she'd brought back to us after her trips. As long as the friends were fun, they stayed around. Otherwise TBR dumped them and moved on to more entertaining new friends. No one else was allowed to have as much drama in their lives as she did, so she needed lots of good listeners. Sort of like how I always felt. She wished she could have moved on to another daughter when I turned out to be such a disappointment. Can you imagine? How can anyone wind up so completely shallow?


Anyway, she and her friends had lots of after hours places they haunted as well, so we were often awakened to come out of our rooms to meet so-and-so at the oddest hours... into the wee hours of the morning. This was also totally condusive to to all those excellent grades I wasn't making. I didn't realize it at the time I went off to Ursuline, but those nuns saved my life. They taught me so many more of the important things in life that I would never have learned at home.


Back in the 1960's in Oklahoma, gambling was illegal. It might still be illegal, I don't have a clue. Anyway, it was hot as a firecracker back then and I know there were many times when her friends were running numbers out of our house. They had to move around a lot. You know, when I saw the movie Casino with DeNiro and Sharon Stone, it reminded me a lot of those days.


One of the guys that used to drive me to school was a Harvard educated lawyer and another was a hit man (actually, I believe that he wore many hats in his business) for certain organizations. TBR always liked to make sure that we met a wide variety of people from a colorful array of professions. Maybe she thought it made us more well rounded than Sunday School. In a way, it did have an impact on us both. I'm a very cautious gambler to this day. I also hate sloppy drunks who insist on telling tasteless jokes. I can spot a *tell* or a *con* a mile away. I can usually tell when a person is lying. I learned to never give a sucker an even break and to never play the numbers. Unfortunately, during all of this education I was receiving at home, I have a funny feeling I was supposed to be learning fractions and how to conjugate verbs at school.


When we lived in Tulsa briefly, I did make the swim team, but we moved away before I could ever get to compete. Until Aspen, we had never lived long enough in any one place that I was ever able to learn a sport, so I always thought I was not a sporty girl. Until I was introduced to skiing, at any rate. Snow skiing remains the love (sport) of my life (with water skiing coming in at a red hot second) and will be until I take my last breath. It still makes me feel so free when I'm screaming down the slopes like a teenager.


I realize that some of the tales of TBR are difficult to believe by those of you who grew up in *normal* families, but I assure you that every bit of it is true. Some of it is so bizarre that I won't even be able to tell you. However, I will shock and amaze you from time to time with some of the more interesting stories about her. She was always a real piece of work. At least I can't say that I didn't have an interesting life.

The Definition Of A Brown Recluse...

Brown Recluse Spider n. A venomous spider (Loxosceles reclusa) having an hourglass-shaped mark on the cephalothorax, introduced into the southern United States from South America. (I could swear my brown recluse has an hour glass shape too. Hmmmmm.....)

Recluse spiders build irregular webs that frequently include a shelter consisting of disorderly threads (AKA a dysfunctional home). These spiders frequently build their webs in woodpiles and sheds, closets, garages, cellars (Yup, lived in places like these) and other places that are dry and generally undisturbed. They seem to favor cardboard when dwelling in human residences, possibly because it mimics the rotting tree bark which they naturally inhabit. (Does this mean that my mother will eventually become a Bark Bag Lady?) Highly doubtful & probable all at once. Somewhat of a paradox.

They also go into shoes, inside dressers, in bed sheets of infrequently used beds, in stacks of clothes, behind baseboards, behind pictures and near furnaces. (Sounds like my mother to me.) The common source of human-recluse contact is during the cleaning of these spaces, when their isolated spaces suddenly are disturbed and the spider feels threatened. Unlike most web weavers, they leave these webs at night to hunt. Males will move around more when hunting while females don't usually stray far from their web.

Most bites are minor with no necrosis. However, a small number of bites produce severe dermonecrotic lesions, and, sometimes, severe systemic symptoms, including organ damage. Rarely, the bite may also produce a systemic condition with occasional fatalities. (This fits my mother to a T. She hurts you then proceeds to kill you... bit by little bit)