Looking Past the Cruelty

 

My Mom said, "Francie, a lot of the nuns were mean, but SHE just seemed to enjoy it more than the others."  

My Mom and I had our struggles, for sure.  I think that is why it is easy for me to remember those times when she showed me her support.

I mentioned this particular nun by name in the "It Just Gets Worse" post.  I am not going to mention it here.  Those who read this that shared in my experience will, for sure, know who I am talking about.

She entered the convent not long after my Mom had taken us to Idaho.  She had come from Pennsylvania.  She was the only girl in a large family of boys.  I think that is why they put her in the boys' school as a teacher.  

In the early years, when we were bussed from Coeur d'Alene to the "City of Mary" for school, she was most often the bus monitor.  The bus monitor was there to make sure that everyone followed the rules.  They would walk up and down the aisle of the bus,  checking.  The boys were seated in the front of the bus, the girls in the back.  It was not uncommon to have 4 people in one seat.  She carried a ruler and did not hesitate to smack anyone she thought was breaking the rules.

The rules were:   

Absolutely NO looking out the window. 

Eyes closed, hands folded perfectly together.

No talking to each other.  The Rosary was prayed coming and going. 

The lunacy of these rules does not escape me now.  Nor does the cruelty inflicted if one were caught taking a peak out the window.  Numerous sets of blinders were made for those who violated that rule.  Humiliation.  Fear.  Control.

 I distinctly remember her saying to Scott South:  "Mr. South, wipe that smile off your face before I wipe it off for you!"  What were you thinking, Scott?  

Another time,  she approached me, and after I got done trembling, I looked up at her.  She very sweetly said, 'Would you do me a favor?"  I was so thrilled that she was being nice to me.  Then, she sarcastically said, "Would you please find me a picture of Mary folding her hands like you are?  Sloppy."  Bam!  There it was!  Well, after we got back to the boarding house, I was telling my friend, Lucy, about it.  And, leave it to her to go and find a holy card picture of the Blessed Virgin folding her hands in prayer in an imperfect manner.  On the back of it, Lucy had written, "Our Lady of the School bus".   I never showed it to the nun, though I really wanted to.  

So, years passed and I left the convent.  More years passed, and lo and behold, this nun left the convent.  If only that were the end of this tale.

In 1999, we were getting ready to attend a family Thanksgiving dinner with Bernie's family.  His Mom mentioned that she was bringing a "lovely young woman" (her exact words) to dinner.  Bernie asked who it was.  And, when she told him the name, he said, "Oh no!   Mom, Francie hates her!"   When I heard that she was going to be at our Thanksgiving dinner, I was devastated.  I cried and I cried - and, this was one of those times when MY Mom supported me.  She knew how mean this woman had been to me, and she told me that she would stay home with me, if I didn't want to go.  I told her that we would go, I would just buy a very large bottle of wine.   

Bernie's Mom showed up a bit later with her "lovely young woman" guest.  I spent the better portion of the day avoiding her, dodging her.  I could have sworn that she was determined to interact with me.  However, I was MORE determined that that was not going to happen, and I succeeded.  It was probably the worst Thanksgiving dinner of my life. 

She had moved from Pennsylvania - again - back to the Spokane area.  She was single and working on her own doing taxes for folks.

Some time down the road, a letter arrived at our house.  It was for me, and it was from HER.  She said that she wanted to apologize for how mean she had been to me.  I thought that was all fine and good, and I wrote her back.  I told her that I accepted her apology, but that I still hated her.  I know that sounds childish and petty.  But, it is exactly how I felt.  She was just a horribly mean human being.

And that was pretty much the last I ever heard of her.  Until yesterday.  Bernie was looking through the obituaries from Spokane and saw that she had passed away in May.  He called out to me that she was dead.   My only reaction was this:  "God, have mercy on her soul."  

The memories of her cruelty live on.  In mentioning to various friends that she had passed, the response was universal:  She was so mean. Who knows what brought this out in her.  It really doesn't matter, does it?  She touched many little lives in such a negative and harsh way.  

And, she was not alone.  As my Mom said,  "Francie, a lot of the nuns were mean, but SHE just seemed to enjoy it more than the others."  

God, give peace to all who shared my experiences.  Amen.
 

 

Anxious

 

                                                                         Anxiety

Where does it come from, this thing called 'anxiety'?  Have you felt it at times during your life?  What brings it on?  What chases it away?

In the late 1960's, when I was 9 or 10 years old, I had a lot of anxiety.  My sister had joined the group of women who would follow Francis Schuckardt.  From her letters home, there was much to be afraid of:  One World Government, 3 days of darkness (Biblical reference, supposedly.), and of course - the Communists.  We were going to be persecuted like none before us in history.  The devil was unleashed from Hell to wreak havoc on the world, and in 1976, in the person of Jimmy Carter, the anti-Christ would arrive.  Wow!  That was a lot of crap for a 9 or 10 year old girl to take in.  I didn't worry about those things too often.  They scared me.  From our farm in the country hills outside Kalispell, Montana, I would hear a group of motorcycles pass by on the highway, and it would scare me:  Hells' Angels, for sure.  

There was a lot anarchy and chaos in our country at that time.  Protests against the Viet Nam war; Civil Rights riots; Countercultural movements; political assasinations; the Beatles; and the emerging generation gap.  For some, it was a scary time.  Others lived through it as just a phase in history.

And then, there was my mother.  I believe that she was probably in the throes of a mid-life crisis at the time the changes in the Catholic church were introduced in our parish.  She had already been ultra conservative politically.  Then, Francis Schuckardt was introduced into her life - and, to her, the end of the world was imminent.  

 

And so, as her way of dealing with all this strife in the world and in her church, my mother would disappear for hours and hours of the day.  Dad was working, and she was just gone.   This caused me a lot of anxiety.  I had no idea what was going on when all of a sudden, she was gone.  From the way I remember it, it was usually on a Sunday that she'd would just leave.  I attribute that to the fact that we had completely stopped attending Mass at our local parish, and Mom was probably trying to process it all.  My sister wrote extremely strong-worded letters to Mom about attending that diabolical service, the new Mass.  In this new world of hers, the powers that be told her that it would be better for her to stay home and read the prayers herself instead of going to Mass.  And so, Sunday after Sunday, when she hadn't wandered off, Mom would sit my sister & me at the kitchen table and read the prayers out of her prayer book.  

When my Mom first started this behavior, I was scared.  I didn't know if anything had happened to her or what.  When she came home, she would say to me in a quiet, but threatening voice:  "Someday I just might not come home."   A.N.X.I.E.T.Y.  In spite of the difficult relationship that we already shared, she was my Mom and it scared me when she said that.  This happened several times.  Finally, something flipped the switch in my brain and in my heart.  The next time that she said those words to me, I distinctly remember thinking, "Good!  Then don't come home."  It seemed a game that she was playing with my head, because I never heard her saying that to my sister. At 10 years old, I had had enough.    Part of me felt guilty for feeling that way, but a larger part was proud of the fact that I wasn't going to let her mess with my head or feelings any more.

As the months passed, I got used to being left alone.  I would make my Dad french toast for breakfast.  If he got tired of it, he never said so.  He always made me feel like a million bucks for doing it.

I began this post by asking if you have experienced anxiety in your life, what caused it, how did you get over it.  I am sure that we all process it differently.  But, what are the lingering effects?  Anxiety continued to riddle my life for years.  First, it was the fear of being abandoned.  Then, so many other fears were pounded into my head, that every day was an anxious one.  Why wouldn't it be?  Every day could be the day that the communists showed up at the door and drug us off to a prison camp where they would yank our fingernails out with pliers?  WOULDN'T THAT MAKE EVEN THE CALMEST PERSON A LITTLE ANXIOUS?  Of course, rational people wouldn't fall for it.  But, unfairly, as a child, I didn't have the wisdom to understand that it was all a bunch of crap.

For a long time, I used medication to help with my anxiety.  But, as life moved on, I found that I could rid myself of that feeling by taking advantage of things that make me happy:  Nature's beauty, a cozy fire in the backyard, visiting with a friend, deep breaths, petting my kitty, but the most therapeutic of all:  my family.  Bernie and the boys, and in more recent years, Sully and Cassidy.

My life is good.  I cannot complain.  When anxiety raises its ugly head, I think of all the positive things that I have, and it dissipates those worrisome feelings.

"Peace of mind:  The contentment of the man who is too busy to worry by day, and too sleepy to worry at night."  Woodrow Wilson

 

 

MY MOTHER MADE ME A QUILT

When I was a little girl, my parents didn't have much money.  There were 7 of us kids.  Mom had a huge garden.  She baked her own bread - sometimes 20 loaves at a time.  From the garden, she either canned or froze fruits and vegies.

When Christmas came, Mom would make a dress for my sister and one for me.  She would blindfold us so we couldn't see what they looked like.  I don't remember any of those dresses.  I only remember standing, blindfolded, on a chair while she pinned and measured.  I wonder how she felt when she was doing that.  Was she excited to be making a surprise for me?  Did she have to sacrifice somewhere in her limited budget to be able to afford the patterns and material?  I don't remember it as being a fun or silly event - standing there blindfolded - she had a job to do and there was no messing around.  I remember trying to imagine the dress by running my hands over it, trying to figure out what the pattern was.  Then, when Christmas came, I don't even remember unwrapping the dress.

On the flip side, I remember my Dad either giving me mittens or slippers.  Once I got a set of Lincoln Logs.  I sit here and I picture my dear Dad going into Woolworth's or Penneys or Montgomery Ward to pick something out for me.  I can see him standing there, choosing something for me and my sister.  My eyes start to fill with tears.  Everything about my Dad was good.  He was so kind, so patient.  The love he made me feel with his "good night" whisker rub still moves me.  Dad wasn't outwardly expressive with his affection, but, boy, did I feel it.  I wish I could have known him as an adult.  He has been gone 41 1/2 years - and I still cry when I write about missing him.  I am so lucky and I am so grateful for him.  I just wish it didn't have to end when I was so young.

I married a man very much like my Dad.  Bernie is patient to a fault.  He is kind.  He doesn't express his love in big, demonstrative ways, but what he does leaves no doubt about it.

And so, when I got married, my  Mom gave me a quilt she had made.  She embroidered the date and "Mom" in the bottom corner. It was really a patchwork of many scraps of material she had saved over the years.  I suppose if I spent some time, I could go through each pattern and try to remember what she had made with that piece of material.  But, I haven't done that in 41 years, and so I don't see myself doing it now.

 Sometimes, when I want to grab a quick nap on my already made bed, I take that quilt out of the guest room closet and wrap myself in it.  For a long time now, I have noticed that I snuggle it up around my nose and inhale. After 41 years, I swear I can still smell the smell of the home farm house.  Being wrapped in that quilt and being drawn back home - could it be that the little girl in me imagines herself sitting on her Mommy's lap, wrapped in her love and that quilt?  Or, could it be that that is just what that little girl in me wishes when she breathes in "home"?  It is hard to imagine, because I can't recall once sitting on her lap with her arms snuggling me and smelling my hair and letting me know that she really, really loves me.  

I see little Francie, teeth brushed and pajamas on, standing next to Dad in his big, green chair, telling him good night, and feeling him draw me close and giving me his 5 o'clock shadow 'whisker rub'.  I giggle and run upstairs to bed.  It is my last memory of the day.  And, it is good.  And, it makes my heart happy.  "Good night, Daddy.  I love you."  "I love you, too, sis."

But, my Mom made me a quilt. It is very ragged and thin after all these years.  But, I just can't get rid of it.

Nomad/Wanderer

And so, September 15, 1978, I met Bernie outside the Coeur d'Alene library.  He had his dog, Nicky, with him, and we walked around the city for a few hours.  I was 20 and he was almost 19.  We were already breaking the rules, and it was fun!  Dangerously fun.

This was a long time ago, and I cannot even remember how we got in touch with each other.  But, somehow, we managed to get messages back and forth.  We had to be very discreet.  The rules under schuckardt were that "young men and women" were not allowed to see each other unless they had permission from him to "court".  (Oh, gads!  It gags me to use that term!)  So, first of all, you would join the group Cana Cell.  That was for individuals who were interested in finding a marriage partner.  It all seems so ludicrous now.  Most of the couples that I know who were part of it, had already met and were just jumping through the proverbial hoops.  There were some who joined without any idea who they would meet and possibly marry.  Bernie and I were not among them.

In spite of the fact that I had fallen hard for Bernie, it was a difficult time in my young life.  I had no place that I called my home.  Again, I moved from one friend to another.  When I got a job as a nurse's aide in Spokane, I  moved into an apartment with my friend, Kelly and her brother, Mike.  They had left the religion some time before.  Now, I had technically left it, too, because we were forbidden from living on our own until we were 25.  But, again, my head hadn't left it.  I did a lot of crazy, stupid, and fun things, but always felt the guilt weighing on my mind.  Bernie lived at home with his Mom in Post Falls, Idaho.  He was still actively involved in the religion.  He would get counseled that we had to stop seeing each other, and maybe we did for a couple of weeks, and then we'd find ourselves on a date.  We couldn't help it.  We liked being together.  We went to movies, dinner, and Christmas parties that year.  It was so fun, and my heart was so full. Within a couple of months, I had moved into my own apartment. But.... remember the phone call that I got while in New York, visiting my sister?  Not from my Dad, but from my best friend's Mom convincing me that I must return to the church for the sake of my soul?  Well, she reached out again.  This time, she sent her daughter, another of my friends to my apartment to try to talk me into coming to dinner.  One of the priests was there, and he wanted to talk to me.  I liked this one, and so I said I'd go.  What's the worst that could happen?  He told me that there was going to be a retreat in Phoenix, AZ., and I really should go.  It would be good for me.  Bam!  I was sucked right back in.  I called my Mom and asked her for the money to go.  She got it for me.  Kelly helped me empty out my apartment and I got on a bus to Phoenix.  She must have thought I had lost my mind.  

Without even getting in touch with Bernie to let him know that I was leaving, I was bound for Phoenix. Once I arrived, someone from the church picked me up and drove me to the hotel where the retreat was being held.  I remember attending one lecture.  That was all I could handle. Once again, schuckardt was on a rant about the end of the world.  I called friends in Colorado Springs and asked if I could come there.  And so, once again the wanderer, I was on my way to Colorado.

I stayed in the Black Forest with the Toussaint family.  There were two other girls there that I knew from Coeur d'Alene and the convent.  I got a job as a nurse's aide again.  But, I just couldn't wear the long dresses to work anymore.  I bought myself a uniform for work - and it was pants.  I would leave the house in a skirt and change in the car and then back again before going home.  Now, I was a 21 year old young woman trying to kind of sort of break free from some of the idiotic rules of the cult and their standards.  

When the school year had finished in Black Forest, Joyce, my friend from Coeur d'Alene, and I took a bus trip back to New York.  We visited my sister, Sue. Then, we took the train down to "the City"!  It was so exciting and frightening at the same time.  I LOVED the thrill of so many people all crammed into this small, but huge, area.  We went to Times Square, took a boat out around the Statue of Liberty, and saw a small play production.  (I don't think it was on Broadway.  We couldn't have afforded that.)  We also visited an aunt of Joyce's in the area.  And then, without much of a plan, we headed west on Greyhound.  I remember going through Toledo, Ohio, Bernie's birthplace, and being so excited.  (It was the middle of the night and there wasn't much to see.)  We ended up in Los Angeles, and I don't remember anything about that except that we were more terrified walking down the streets there than we were in New York City.  We parted ways after that trip.

Now, not knowing what I was going to do with myself once again, I returned to Montana.  My sister, Pauline, was living in a home on a hill just west of town.  I moved in with her.  She was sharing custody of the kids with her ex-husband.  I loved it when they would all come for their time with her.  By now, there was also a new niece in the area, and that was fun, too.  This time, I got a job working at a small factory that made sticks of incense.  It was called Campfire Memories. I worked there for a few months.  But, in November, I couldn't stand being away from Bernie, and I moved myself back to Spokane.  I was staying in a hotel, paying by the week.  One night, one of Kelly's sisters came to visit and I asked her to ask her parents if I could stay with them.  It was agreed.  I would pay rent to them and help out.  Once again, I found a job as a nurse's aide, bought a car from a friend, and settled in.  Bernie was only 20 miles away in Idaho.  I had confessed my "sins" of leaving the church, living on my own, putting myself in numerous occasions of sin by being alone with Bernie.  (I smile writing that.) So, being in compliance, I could now ask permission to join the group of young adults looking for a marriage partner.  I didn't have to look for long.  Soon, Bernie joined, too....now, we were "legal".  Well, kind of legal.  The rules of our courtship will be another chapter.

 

 

Life Outside the Walls

 May, 1977

 I had finally convinced my 'superiors' that I must leave the Convent.  They used every tactic to try to convince me to stay.  Above everything else, they used FEAR.  I talked about that incredible fear permeating my life in a previous blog post.

I WAS scared.  I was convinced that the world was out go get my soul and drag it to the depths of hell.  The power of the devil was everywhere, and my name was at the top of his list.  Our President at the time, Jimmy Carter, was most likely the anti-Christ.  After all, how could a man whom so few had ever heard of, win the Presidency?  Every facet of government was out to indoctrinate us into the One World Order.  We couldn't even trust the leader of the Catholic Church, or any of its priests or bishops.  They had all succumbed to the temptations of Satan.  I wasn't sure how I was going to survive all these onslaughts, but I knew I had to go give it my best.

To say that I floundered would be an understatement!  I left Coeur d'Alene and flew to Colorado Springs where there was a small group of "remnant faithful" who would take care of me.  They had a small chapel in the community of Black Forest, and a small school for their grade school children.  I found them to be wonderful people.  Theirs was a close knit group and they all wanted to help me.  I stayed there for a few months before returning to Montana.  My sister, Pauline, needed help with her children that summer, and hired me for babysitting.  At the end of that summer, I did odd jobs - mostly babysitting - and then, was summoned by schuckardt.  He had a plan for me.  I was still so immersed in the mentality of his cult, that I felt really honored to be called to meet with him.  He had such an incredible power to make me shake in my boots.  While honored, I was also terrified.  When he told me that the little school in Colorado Springs was in need of a teacher, I accepted that as what I was supposed to do next.  I would live with 1 if the families and get a small stipend for my work.  Note here that I did NOT have any teaching experience, much less an actual degree in education.  That didn't matter.  

I spent the school year of '77 -'78 with those families, doing my best to teach their children.  I was provided with the same books that the cult used in Coeur d'Alene while I was in school.  It was challenging - since there were approximately 7 children in 4 or 5 different grades.  Thinking back, I just shake my head.  I know those kids learned to read and write and basic math.  That is about it.  We took some field trips and had some good times.  But, also, looking back, I regret that I wasn't more fun.  I definitely towed the line of strict obedience that was demanded of me when I was in school.  Ugh!  I was  TRUE believer still.  I just wasn't in a habit.

After the school year was finished, I went back to Montana.  I took a job as a NAC at the county home for the elderly and disabled.  Ironically, it was the same facility where my mother would take my sister and I, dressed in matching dresses, to cheer up the old folks at Christmas time.  I worked the "graveyard" shift.  I was good to those folks.  I still remember some of their names.  I remember Emma, whom I had to get up to poop during the night.  She was probably in the early stages of dimentia.  She told me to be sure to "mark it in the book" that she had an 'extra large bowel movement'..... some things just stay with you forever!  

At the end of the summer, 1978, I again went back to Coeur d'Alene.  I was so lost.  Girls were not allowed to go to college under francis schuckardt.  Even boys were highly discouraged.  The objection was that the classes were co-ed, something completely forbidden under our dictator.  Of course, he never claimed it be his idea - he convinced those of us under his thumb that it had always been against the teachings of the Catholic Church.  And so, I did what I could to make a little money.  I did what would now be called "couch surfing".  So many friends were so good to me and let me stay with them.  It was during one of these stays that Bernie and I met on the sly.  I was staying with my friend, Dru.  While I was gone one evening, Bernie his best friend, Dennis, walked by the house.  Dru told me that they threw pebbles at her window.  When she opened it, Bernie asked if Francie was there.  I was not.  So, Dru told me that he said, "Well, tell her hi and give her my love."  Of course, when I returned a few days later, she told me this.  I didn't believe her.  I didn't even know Bernie.  What I remembered of him was when he was 13 years old, and hiding out at my parents' farm in Montana -- hiding from his Dad, who wanted to take him back to Ohio so that he could get a good education.

A couple of weeks later, Dru and I were walking up 7th Street, heading for Modern Drug.  Dennis, Bernie's friend, just happened to be walking his dog down the street. We stopped and talked.  Dru asked Dennis to confirm what had happened a couple of weeks earlier.  He did.  And, he told us that he was on his way to the library to meet Bernie, did we want to go?  I said no.  Dru said yes.  We went.  Dennis left us outside the library with his dog while he went in to get Bernie.  As soon as Dennis was out of sight, I kicked Dru and said, "I do NOT want to be here."  Well, then Bernie and Dennis came out and we spent a few hours walking around Coeur d'Alene.  You have to understand that, in spite of the fact that I was 20 years old, this was completely forbidden.  Young men and women must belong to a group called 'Cana Cell'.  (Note - wedding at Cana, where Jesus performed his first miracle:  turning water into wine.  Thus, this name was chosen for those who wanted to get married.)   None of us belonged.  If we had been seen together, there literally would have been hell to pay.  So, we snuck around the dark side streets, Dru with Dennis, me with Bernie.  The only thing that I remember from our hours of conversation was this:  Me: "How old are you anyway?"  Bernie: "Love doesn't ask for an I.D. card."  (I can barely type the corniness!)  Late that night, Dru and I snuck back into their house and went to sleep in the basement.  The next morning, when we woke up she asked me what I thought of Bernie.  I said, "I am going to marry him."  Thus began our unofficial, totally forbidden, unapproved 'courtship'.

FEAR is the path to the Dark Side

 Fear.

It is paralyzing.  It is controlling.  It holds you back. 

I knew a lot of fear when I was a child.   I was afraid of the dark.  I was afraid to be by myself. I was afraid of the Hells Angels.  I was afraid of people who were different then me.  I was sure that there were "bad guys" around every corner.   They were just waiting to get me.  

I am now 62 years old and I have so. much. fear.  I don't want it.  But, it's there. 

I am in Rockaway Beach, Oregon, a place that I am so in love with.  Last night, I was here by myself.  Bernie had gone back home because he couldn't get today off.  I was alone in the house by the ocean.   No one was in the rental next door.  The owner wasn't downstairs.  I was looking all around for implements to put in the slider to keep the "bad guys" out.  (You do know they're out there, right?  Just waiting.)  I woke up during the night because I heard a "noise".  

When I was a child, I was afraid of so many things.  My mother, in the throws of menopause, would take off for the woods.  She would be gone for hours and hours, working through her personal demons.  When she would eventually come home, she would say to me, in a whispery, scary voice:  "Some day I am never coming back."  I was scared.  Did I cause it?

One time, my sister and I were with friends at the Fairgrounds in Kalispell, Montana.  We were running up and down the steps in the grandstand.  I don't know what caused me to say it, but I yelled to my sister, "You fool!"  When we got home, she told me that I had called her a fool.  Mom called me in and told that in the Bible it says that anyone who calls another a fool is bound for the fires of Gehenna.  Whoa!  That was pretty scary.  And yet, at the same time, I thought she was just a little crazy.  I was probably 8 years old.

When I would answer my mother with what she considered a "malicious" remark, she would tell me that there was a young child who was going to be in Purgatory until the end of time.  Why?  Because she had shown malice towards her mother.  I had no idea what that meant.  (I think she made it up.)

At this point, we had not even joined the cult of francis schuckardt.  So, really, I didn't even know what FEAR was coming. I was afraid of my mother.  I was afraid of the dark.  I was afraid of hell.  I was afraid of the Black Panthers (in Kalispell, Montana!!).  I was afraid of Communists.  I was afraid of Democrats!  (Isn't that hilarious?)  And, the Hell's Angels - whenever I heard a motorcycle go by on the Highway, I would be so scared.  For sure, they were coming for us.  And yet, this fear was infantile compared to what was coming my way.

When my mother joined the cult of francis schuckardt in 1968, fear took on a whole new dimension.  It was our EVERYTHING.  If you research cults, you will see that this is one of their major tools to keep their members under their control.

When I attended the annual Espiritu Seminar at Twin Lakes, Idaho, we had 7 solid days of indoctrination by schuckardt and his minions.  schuckardt was the BEST at instilling this fear into us.  He would stand at the blackboard and dissect the United States into 8 sections.  He would assign a different nationality to each section.  They were the ones who were going to come in and torture us, because of our Faith.  Our section was #8.  We would get the Manchurians - and they, he told us, were by FAR the harshest in torture.  F.E.A.R.

We had lecture after lecture about living our Faith in the "latter days".  (This was 1973-1974.)  References were made to various Christians/Catholics who were martyred for their beliefs.  Again, we were promised that the tortures WE would experience would be far greater than any other Christian in all time.  There were examples given of how Christians had died through the years.  The tortures were awful.  The one that sticks with me to this day a5nd caused me to shiver just now is the ones who had wooden spikes hammered under their fingernails.  

And, on and on it went from 1973 to the time that I finally left the cult and Mt. St. Michael's in 2005.  It is embarrassing to admit that it took me that long to free myself from those chains of fear.  

It was all brought vividly back to my mind tonight when I walked from our little place here in Rockaway Beach to Dos Rocas to pick up dinner.  Bernie will be here soon and I walked down to get our dinner.  It was dark outside.  I can't even tell you how my heart was pounding.  Surely, there was someone just waiting to jump out and assault me.  My mind knows that this is totally insane.  I am safe.  Rockaway is a wonderfully beautiful and safe place.  But, the memories of all the fears were right there.  I was so relieved when I arrived safely back inside the apartment and locked the door.  

Is it ridiculous?  Yes, it is.  Am I in danger?  No, I am not.  I am 62 years old.  I have never been assaulted.  I have never even been remotely in danger.

And, so ..... I pull myself together and tell myself that there is nothing to fear "but fear itself".  

I live in a beautiful world.  I am cared for by my loving Father, God.  I have the love of my husband, Bernie, and my sons, Matt, Kevin, and Nathan.  I have more love than I can describe with my wonderful Sullivan Bernard and Cassidy Rae.  There's Max and Fella - and my siblings who care for me, and I for them.   And friends ---- there are so many that are so wonderfully amazing.  I am grateful.

How do I rid myself of fear?   Surround myself with love.  I love you all!

Tears Make Rainbows in your Soul

I am not even sure that I remember how to do this blog thing.  It has been so long.

I last wrote in October of 2018.

Bernie & I had just moved to Portland.  We were living with our son and his then wife and our beautiful grandchildren, Sullivan Bernard and Cassidy Rae.  Oh, and Baxter, the dog.  And tons of chickens.

Our first 2 houses fell through.  That was difficult.  But, looking back, I am so glad they did.  The house that we ended up in in Beaverton is EXACTLY what we wanted.  God was watching over us along the way.

We moved into our home right before Christmas 2018. 

At that time, Bernie was still working nights at Providence East Portland.  The commute from our new home was ONLY 1 hour vs. the 90 minutes it took him to get to work from Kevin's home in Hillsboro.  Life was pretty good.  However, Bernie's real desire was to find employment at St. Vincent's Hospital in Beaverton.  The commute would only be 10 minutes each way.  In March, he was accepted to join a new unit there.  It was a step-down from ICU.  There would be weeks and weeks of training and learning new things.  For 12 years, Bernie had been a cardiac nurse.  Now, he would be expanding his field to whatever patient came from the ICU to the IMCU.  From the start, something was wrong.  He was not eating.  I would make him breakfast, and he'd take a couple bites.  He usually brought home most of his lunch, uneaten.  As soon as he finished trying to eat dinner, he would hit the computer and study till he went to bed.  The next morning, the routine began again.  This went on for 2 months.  I was worried about him.  On May 2, 2019, our 38th wedding anniversary, I came home from a meeting to find him just standing in the garage, staring.  He had worked with a new mentor that day and she called into question the order in which he visited his patients at the beginning of shift.  After his shift was over, the charge spoke to him about the way he prioritized his patients that day.  He vehemently defended why he chose to see whom when.  It was not a big thing.  The charge just wanted to discuss it with him.  By the time he got home, during that 10 minute drive, he had lost all confidence in his ability to function as an effective nurse any longer.  He was overwhelmed.   There was no anniversary celebration that night. 
The next day, I suggested that we go somewhere for a walk.  It was a beautiful day.  We walked through beautiful forests and wetlands.  School children, out on outings, passed us on the trails.  All the while, Bernie's eyes were on the ground, his hands in his pockets.  I wanted to shout:  LOOK UP!  See the beautiful trees?  Hear the birds?  But, something kept me from doing that.  At the end of our walk, his charge nurse called and they talked for a long time.  I went walking on my own while they spoke.  Whenever I was within hearing range, I would hear Bernie again trying to explain why he chose to treat his patients the previous day in the order that he did.  His charge was very kind, but didn't back down a bit.   It was Friday.  Bernie had invited a co-worker from Providence East Portland over for dinner that night.  He was in no shape to entertain, but he tried.  Houston was a real friend, understanding, offering support where he thought appropriate.
Bernie went in the following week and informed the charge that he would not be returning to that unit.  She told him to look into taking medical leave, which he did.  The following weekend, I booked an Airbnb in Rockaway.  I thought some beach time would really help him.  I invited Kevin & the kids to come down, too.  I will just say that it was the saddest weekends of my life with Bernie.

His condition would be a classic catatonic state.  He could not enjoy the ocean.  He could barely get out of bed.  What had happened to this man of mine?  What had happened to the guy with the endless quips and deadly sense of humor?  How was I going to get him back?  Kevin and the kids went home on Sunday morning, and Bernie & I stayed one more night.  I packed us up as he wandered around aimlessly.  My heart hurt, but I loved him so much.  What was I going to do?
Kevin, who, at the time was seeing a counselor of his own, really, really encouraged Bernie to find a counselor.  It took a few days, but he got in to see Dr. Brunstein fairly quickly.  The first few visits were pretty uneventful.  Bernie was just telling him about his childhood and our life.  He filled him in on our years in the cult. 
One of the issues that Bernie discussed with Dr. Brunstein was something at work called "competencies".  There were 25 -30 areas in which each nurse was supposed to show their manager that they were COMPETENT in these areas.  Bernie took it very seriously.  Periodically, the unit manager would ask him how he was coming with his competencies.  He had, by this time, maybe got ONE checked off by his manager.  First of all, he was busy taking care of his patients.  Secondly, when he did have his manager observe, he said she took about 90  minutes to do it, because she wanted to go through everything and not just observe him doing it for her.  That was discouraging.  He asked his friend, Houston, if he had completed his competency check list.  Houston had been there for about 18 months.  He laughed and told Bernie that he had just taken them home and thrown them under his bed. 
After one session with Dr. Brunstein, Bernie came home just a little annoyed and said that the Doctor was trying to tie all this into his past with the cult, and Bernie thought that was ridiculous.  I suggested that he not push back, but go with it.  So, the next week, he and the Doctor pursued this avenue.  After much discussion, Bernie discovered that because of how we were taught that everything we did had to be 100% perfect, he had applied that to this list of competencies in his adult life.  Sounds insane, doesn't it?  And yet, it was very real for him.
And, so the months wore on.  Bernie was on medical leave from May through August.  I can't tell you how many days there were that he could not even get out of bed.  He kept the shades drawn in our room, and a pillow over his head.  I could not do anything for him - except be there.  On Memorial Day weekend, I bought him some plants and bushes, knowing how he loves to work in the yard.  When I brought them home, he was very sad.  I couldn't understand it.  He loved working in the yard.  He told me weeks later, that when he looked at them all he saw was WORK and he had no energy to take care of them.  Eventually, they got planted.  Every single one of them will always remind me of this time that we came through - together.  
Bernie continued to see his counselor over the next several months.  His other Doctor tried various medications with him.  None of them helped.  He was jittery, anxious, void of any energy or direction.  Finally, in December, he was able to see a psychiatrist.  She tried a few different medications, and they have worked well.
In late summer, Bernie decided that he would start looking for work again.  He was feeling a bit better and was not ready to quit nursing yet.  And still, he questioned his abilities as a nurse.  He put out dozens of resumes and endured some pretty awful interviews on the phone.  Imagine how hard it was to watch this man, a brilliant cardiac nurse, endure rejection after rejection after rejection.  Each time, he would try to be positive.  It just made me so sad.
Without dragging this on too long, I am happy to tell you that he applied for and has been hired as a cardiac nurse in Tuality Hospital - the same hospital where Sully and Cassidy were born.  The commute is about 20 minutes each way.  But, the best thing is that he is finding his purpose again.  He is so excited to begin this next chapter in his career.    March 9th is his starting date.
We should never underestimate what stress can do to our lives.  This move to Portland was a BIG thing.  Bernie had been happy and in his job for 12 years at Sacred Heart hospital in Spokane.  Life was really, really good.  The years went by, but he didn't really notice that whole aging thing, because life just WAS.  The newness of Portland brought that state of zen to a screeching halt! 
*Big city  "I hate big cities."
*Traffic  "I hate the traffic."
I sit here in Rockaway Beach today, February 25, 2020.  I ponder the things that have taken place since my post of October, 2018:
We moved into our beautiful little home in Beaverton.  Christmas.  Early 2019, the extreme, gut-wrenching heart ache of our daughter in law choosing to end her marriage to our son, Kevin.  My heart screamed:  WHY DID WE MOVE HERE?  WHY DID WE DISRUPT OUR COZY LIFE?  When I saw the pain my son went through, is still going through, the answer is clear:  God put us here for him and those 2 beautiful children of his.  And, our son was here for his Dad during Bernie's time of crises.  Family.  All of our family has just been amazing through all of this.  When his brothers heard of Kevin's situation, they were both here immediately in support of him.  It was beautiful.  We raised good sons. 
For those of you that have been with me through the past year, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of your love and support.  I have felt it.  I don't know how I could have done this without you.  I love you all.

Shame. On. You.

As I ran my hand under the automated towel dispenser in the cafe's bathroom FOR THE THIRD TIME, I could hear Sr. Catherine in my head.  I heard Mother Teresa.  (No, not SAINT Mother Teresa, a different one -a bipolar freak who was placed in the position of Sister Superior.)  I don't like these voices in my head.
If you've ever read about or been exposed to destructive cults, you know the tricks they use to keep their members in compliance.  Shame is one of their most effective tools.  It was used to try to bring me into submission time and time again.
Shame on you, Miss Urban, for using to much tape to hold together your May crown.  Kneel for class.
Shame on you, Miss Urban, for chewing gum.  Put that gum on your nose and leave it there till I say you can take it off.
Shame on you, Sr. Frances, for using too much water to rinse that lettuce.
Shame on you, Sr. Frances, for not being more vigilant and watching that garlic bread.  Now, it's all burned.  You will eat nothing else until you have finished it all by yourself.
Shame on you, Sr. Frances, for not using that kleenex until the entire thing is saturated with the discharge from your nose. 

I got a nasty cold a week ago, right after arriving in Hillsboro.  The final shame that I mentioned above has come back to me again and again.  As I blow my nose into the kleenex one time and pitch it into the garbage, it's kind of like flipping off all those voices in my head trying to shame me for being so wasteful.  I smile every single time. The young girl that was subjected to it didn't have the strength to react that way.  Fifty years later, I can.

It has taken a lot of work to get beyond the shame. It is interesting, because I no longer have anyone shaming me.  They did a good job.  For years & years, I could do it all by myself.  Shame on me for not being the perfect body type society expects.  Shame on me for not being perfectly put together every time I left the house.  Shame on me if the house wasn't perfect every day all day.  So.  Much.  Shame.

Thanks to a wonderful counselor that I met 2 years ago, I am shedding the shame, one incident at a time.

So, going forward, I will use as damn much water as I want to rinse my lettuce.  I probably won't burn the garlic bread, because that just makes the house smell bad.  And, with flourish, I will blow my snotty nose into a kleenex once and pitch it into the garbage while grabbing another.  And, tape?  Tape?  Just ask any of my family how damn much tape I use on their Christmas presents.

Things, they are a-changin!

Wow....... I am having a moment......
In 48 hours, I will be leaving Spokane to start a new chapter in my life in the Portland area.
I am so excited for all the new and exciting things to come.  I am totally in love with the new
home that Bernie bought, even though I haven't yet passed through its front door.
I am looking forward to lots of Meemaw time with Sullivan and Cassidy. 
I am looking forward to being so close to the ocean.

I have lived in this area for the last 49 years of my life.  That is a long time.  Many of those years
were not happy years.  I suffered a lot of physical and mental abuse.   These thoughts and memories still haunt me.  I have spent the last two years working through that with a therapist.  I have made great progress, but I am not yet where I want to be.  I am hoping that a complete change of venue will help.  This place brings up so many memories that I would rather forget.  I can't even tell you how many nights a week my sleep is disturbed by haunting dreams from the past.  It is not fun.  So many characters from THAT past.  Is it too late, at 60, to create enough wonderful memories to drown out the nasty ones?  I am going to give it a shot. 

But then, ...... there are a LOT of great memories here, too.   Meeting and marrying the love of my life, Bernie.  Giving birth to 3 of the most amazing sons ever!  And, on & on with our little family. The homes we shared.  The yards that Bernie turned into little paradises for us.  The vacations we took with the kids....

And, then, there are so many of you who have become dear, dear friends.  You don't make it easy to say good-bye.  I've spent the last 3 weeks saying goodbye to many.  I always have a huge lump in my throat when I leave another of you.  So many fun memories of times together.  So many laughs.  SO.  MUCH.  WINE!!!

So, to all of you who have traveled this journey with me:  THANK YOU!  Thank you for your love and your friendship.  Thank you for the ears you gave me.  Thank you for the shoulders to cry on.  Thank you for the hands that reached out to help me back up.  I love you all....
stay tuned for the next chapter.  It's going to be a doozy!!!

It Is Odd

It is odd.
Sometimes, I sit and wonder how things might have been so different.
What if my mother had never had the misfortune of meeting francis schuckardt?
What if?
How would my life have been different?  Would I have gone to college?  What would I have studied?  What would I have become?
I wonder about these things from time to time.
Tonight, June 11, 2018:  I am sitting on the patio of my son's home in Hillsboro, Oregon.  The family is fast asleep.  Traffic is buzzing by on the highway out front.  I am situated on a gliding bench in the rear of the house.  2 acres of land stretches behind me.  There is a river back there somewhere.  I hear the sounds of the evening birds and insects.  I don't want to go to sleep.  I am enjoying the beauty of all of this.  Somehow, right now, I don't want to remember where I've come from.  Life is good right now. I am cherishing this moment.
Would it have been different if I had gone to college?  What would I have become?  When I was a little girl, I wanted to be one of two things.  Promise not to laugh?  I wanted to either be a waitress or a librarian.  I loved how the librarians back in the 60's used those really cool stamps to indicate when my book was due.  And, I loved fantasizing about taking an order from someone who was hungry.  Hey!  Give me a break!  I was little and innocent and had not yet been exposed to the cruelties of the world!
When I got older, I thought it would be so cool to study psychology.  What is it that makes people do the things they do?  This was not meant to be, because in the cult of francis schuckardt, women had either one of two roles:  a religious sister, or a wife & mother ---women did not need education.
And so - I am grateful for the life that I have.  I am not going to look back with any regrets.  My gosh!  I met Bernie, the love of my life.  We had both come through the same horrific experiences of growing up in a destructive cult.  Together, we had three amazing, wonderful, loving sons.  They, together with their dad and their significant others, are the reasons I love life.  And, then there are Sullivan and Cassidy.  My heart can barely contain the love they generate within me.
So, what would I change for what I have now?  Absolutely nothing.  God is great.  My family is everything to me.

Trying to break through the chains...

"Lost and alone on some forgotten highway
Traveled by many, remembered by few
Lookin' for something that I can believe in
Lookin' for something that I'd like to do with my life
There's nothin' behind me and nothin' that ties me to
Something that might have been true yesterday
Tomorrow is open, right now it seems to be more than enough
To just be here today, and I don't know
What the future is holdin' in store
I don't know where I'm goin' I'm not sure where I've been
There's a spirit that guides me, a light that shines for me
My life is worth livin', I don't need to see the end
Sweet, sweet surrender, live, live without care....."

I am going to go back a bit in time and tell you how I tried to break through the chains of mind control.  After my graduation from 'high school' in June 1976, I stayed in Coeur d'Alene.  I could live at the Villa Maria until I figured out what I was going to do.  Since I was a graduate, I was allowed to go places by myself now.  I don't remember much about the month or so after graduation, but I do remember that I was frustrated and lost and had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.
So, one day, I wrote a letter to my sister, Sue, back in Endicott, N.Y.  To say that I asked her if I could come stay with her would most likely be an understatement.  I am pretty sure that I begged.  I had no money, so I was depending on her to provide me the means of getting there.  I had written the letter in secret.  Only one friend knew that I had reached out.  The Villa Maria did not have a telephone, so I gave my sister the phone number of this friend.  (Isn't it convenient that there was no phone for the girls at the boarding house to call home and beg to get out of there?  Any phone calls that were made were made from the little book store where they sold all their schuckardt publications, etc.  And, every phone call was monitored.)   Within a week, I believe, I heard back from my sister.  She had made the reservations and sent me the ticket.  I was going to New York!
Oh my gosh!  It was so exciting to be flying across the country.  But, remember, I was still in the full garb of the cult.  I remember being SO proud of myself for navigating my way through O'Hare airport.  And, for all the years that I had been warned about the evils of the outside world, I wasn't afraid. 

People were nice.  They smiled.  I smiled back.  It felt so good.
From Chicago, we flew to Binghamton, N.Y..... I think.  I remember the fellow sitting next to me asked me where I was from.  When I told him Montana, he said, "Oh, your dad must be a sheep farmer."  What?  I was just glad that he didn't ask me about my outfit!
I loved, loved, loved being at my sister's house.  It was a beautiful little neighborhood, with lots of young families.  Sue & Doug had 3 little boys and there was always activity of one sort or another.  The boys kept me entertained with their hilarious personalities.  I believe her son, Matt, was 3 or 4 at the time.  One time in the car, he asked his mom:  "Mom, how do you spell relief?"  I was expecting to hear the Rolaids commercial, and then little Matt said, "G-A-S!"  (Uproarious laughter followed.)  I was living in such a different world.  I was away from all the eyes watching to make sure I didn't step out of line.  I took off the clothes I came in and wore my sister's pants.  I wish that I could say I was fearless doing this, but that would be a lie.  Even though I dressed like the rest of society now, part of me hoped and prayed that I wouldn't die in those clothes.  For surely, if I did, God would send me straight to hell.
I have wonderful memories from that time.  My sister and her husband were so kind to me.  Sue took me to Philadelphia to visit her inlaws and to see the sites.  They took me to dinner at a fabulous restaurant downtown.  We ate on the 26th floor.  I felt like I was on top of the world.
One evening, Doug broke out his motorcycle and took me on a ride in the incredibly beautiful hills of  upstate New York.  I recall that it felt surreal.  I wanted to embrace this new way of life, the wind blowing in my face, the sun setting over the gorgeous rolling hills.  But, there was that part of me that kept nagging that this was not right.  The turmoil in my soul was immense.  I tried to ignore it.  Before we headed back home, Doug stopped somewhere and bought me a drink.  Looking back now, I laugh.  I wonder what we talked about.  He had always been my favorite brother in law of the two I had.  I had absolutely no idea what to order.  So, Doug ordered me a Singapore Sling.  I'm pretty sure I haven't had one since.  I might just have to give that a shot again after all these years.
And, this is where it gets difficult to write.  Tears begin to fall.  Soft sobs become a little more than soft.  I remember exactly where I was standing when the phone rang in Sue's house.  It was my Dad! He told Sue that he had gone to the Thompson's house to use their phone so that Mom wouldn't know he was calling.  He wanted to talk to me.  Sue handed me the phone.  I don't remember much of the conversation.  What I do remember is this:  "Sis, you take as much time as you need back there.  There's no need to rush back."  I listened and I agreed.  After hanging up, I really believed that I could do that.  I even thought that I could learn to live back there.  There would be so many opportunities.  I knew that Sue & Doug would help me any way they could.  I was on the verge.  (I honestly cannot remember if I got any correspondence from my mom while I was in Endicott.  It is hard to imagine that she would have passed up the opportunity to warn me of the dangers to my soul.)
I was so close to deciding to stay.  It felt a little rebellious, and that felt good! 
From Billy Joel's  'Goodnight, My Angel':

"Goodnight my angel, now it's time to dream
And dream how wonderful your life will be
Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me
Someday we'll all be gone
But lullabies go on and on
They never die
That's how you and I will be."

 My Dad was never overly sentimental or verbose.  But, I can imagine those words coming through to his little girl in New York that day.

And, then, the phone at Sue's house rang again, a different day.  Remember the friend who had persuaded me to enter the convent in the first place?  It was her mother.  A full-fledged believer of all things schuckardt, she was on a mission.  I have no doubt that numerous minds got together and decided that she should be the one to call me.  I really liked this woman and valued her advice. Again, I don't remember the exact conversation, just the theme.  And it was this:  You absolutely cannot stay back there.  You have to get back out here, or you WILL lose your soul in that environment.  In THAT moment, a switch flipped.  I went straight into mind-control-mode.  I had an urgency.  I had to get back to Coeur d'Alene.  My poor sister.  She just did not understand.  How could she?  I was completely unreasonable.  I had to go!  She reminded me of Dad's call.  She assured me she would be there for me. There were some angry words.  There were a lot of tears.  In the end, she drove me to catch a flight to California.  There, I would join my friend, Lucy and her family, and then return to Idaho. 
I have no words to express the guilt I felt for years for asking for help from Sue, then turning around and going back.  I understand it now.  I know that is how destructive cults work.  She had exposed me to the real world.  It wasn't as scary as I had been told.  She loved me more than I knew.  But,in the end, her love and support were no match for the hold of the cult and the tremendous fear of losing my soul. 
Sue had every John Denver album there was, and I really loved his music and the words resonated with what I wanted but was afraid to pursue.  I will close with just a few from his song, It's Up To You:  "

You can do whatever you want to do
Wherever you want to go it's up to you
And wouldn't it be fine
Following your heart, playing your own part."

 

Yes, it would have been fine.  It would have been fine.

 

Another Trip to the Funny Farm, aka: Convent

I was a lost soul. After 9 years in the cult of francis schuckardt, I had no mind of my own.  I was 18 years old and doing what they would now refer to as "couch surfing".  I had no home in the Coeur d'Alene area.  I had no family living there.  When I entered the convent in 1975, Mom had returned to live with Dad in Montana, so if I was going to live in Idaho, I had to depend on the kindness of friends.
In the early months of 1977, I was living with a lovely family in Dalton Gardens, just north of Coeur d'Alene.  It was a lovely, large, and growing family.  The husband was an electrician, and the wife stayed home and took care of the children.  I did what I could to help them out.  The children were normal little kids - full of energy and pranks.  Looking back now, this was a happy time for me.    A friend of the family was employed by the Washington State Department of Employment, and mentioned there was a position open for a clerk.  He thought that I might be interested.  I got the job.  I remember that my friends were jealous of the $4.15/hour I was getting.  Now, looking back, I wonder how much different my life might have been had I stayed with this job.  But, I was SO unprepared for the outside world.  I was so afraid of breaking the rules that I dressed in full garb:  skirt to my ankles, sleeves to my wrist, a sweater or vest to hide the fact that there were breasts on my chest, and a headscarf to cover up most of my hair.  (schuckardt told us that a woman's hair was her vanity and her downfall. It should always be covered outside the home.)  I stayed with this job for several weeks, and then went back to Montana to try to figure things out.  Where was my life going?  I was a lost soul.  I was an 18 year old girl who had spent the last 9 years in a destructive cult.  I had no marketable skills. I could eat burnt toast for days in a row.  But, that wasn't going to get me very far.
Returning home to my mother, who was still 100% in line with the Community in Coeur d'Alene, was a mistake I soon realized.  Everything I did, she scrutinized.  I remember her asking me one time why I was taking so long in the bath.  I told her I was shaving my legs.  She shouted, "I am sure you didn't shave your legs in the convent!"  Um, no, Mom. In the convent, we braided the hair on our legs during recreation.  (Sarcasm here.)  Dad was working long hours at the Laundry/Convenience store that he co-owned.  I was sad that I didn't get to see him much.
I stayed with my parents for a bit, then returned to Idaho.
I landed with Carol, a friend who was originally from Kalispell.  She was a lot of fun.  I hadn't even been there more than a couple days when I was "summoned" to the convent by one of my good friends.  She was a year older than I was.  She had entered the year prior to me.  In fact, she is majorly responsible for me entering the convent in the first place.  She hounded me about the fact that I had a very big heart, and I should give it entirely to God, not try to split my love between God and a man.  Hmm.... but, I didn't WANT to be a nun.  So, here I am in early 1977, meeting her for a chat, I thought.  It turns out she pretty much had an ultimatum for me:  You aren't doing well out there on your own, so you either return to the convent or join the youth group for people who wanted to find a "mate" to marry for life.  Well, I didn't have to give that much thought.  In my mind, I was thinking of the guys that I knew of at that time who were part of the group.  Nope.  Not a single one was the least attractive to me in any way.  So, then and there, I said I would return to the convent.
She wasted no time setting things up for me.  (She was an excellent organizer and leader.  I wonder what she is doing these days.  She stayed for many years more than I, but eventually left as well.)   So, the following day, I reported back to her.  I had assumed, incorrectly, that I would be entering from the bottom level just like I did the first time.  Oh, no.... not!  She had it arranged for me to go and put on the whole habit just like I wore when I left.  I was horrified - but I had no recourse.  So, I went along - on the outside.  Inside, from that very first day, I was stewing, trying to figure out how in the world I was going to get out of there.  I remember that the day after I returned, one of the sisters walked with me to Carol's to get my suitcases.  Walking back down 3rd street, Sr. Laboure asked me if I was going to take vows in September.  I told her, "I'm not going to be here in September."  I will never forget it.  It felt so good to say it out loud!  I had no idea how I was going to get out.  I just knew that I would.  Little did I know what schuckardt had in mind for this lost soul.
At the point where I returned, I was no longer in school.  So, I worked around the convent.  I helped with putting out mailings written and directed by schuckardt.  I was so unhappy.  And then, just when I was adjusting to this mundane routine, my superior called me in.  She knew that I wanted to leave.  She had talked to schuckardt about it.  He had listened and decided that I had not yet experienced TRUE religious life.  So, under his direction, I was sent to the part of the convent called the cloister.  In the cloister, you get absolutely NO contact with the outside world at all.  You don't see your family for a year.  It is intense training in how to be a good nun - I guess.  I cried and cried.  All I wanted to do was leave.  I didn't know what I would do once I left, but I just wanted out.  The headaches returned with a vengeance.  I wanted out.  I was given 3 very large books to read on the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.   I never read them.  To condense this part of my blog, I will just tell you that it took me 3 months to get out.  Every fear tactic imaginable was put before me.  schuckardt went so far as to tell my superior that if I were to leave, I would surely lose my soul to hell.  The night before I left, we sat and watched the film "Anarchy USA".  It was terrifying, but I wasn't afraid anymore.  Not really.  My friend leaned over and asked me, "Are you prepared for that?"  The film depicted the race riots of the 1960's.  It was 1977!!  Yes, I was ready.  I had had enough.  I was a lost girl.  I had no idea what I was going to do.  But, I was no longer afraid.  I was intrepid.

Memories In The Habit

It is fascinating to me how events, memories from our past don't simply go away, no matter how much we wish they would.

It was dark when I got up this morning.  As I left the bedroom and headed down the steps, I remembered:  "It's a rule.  schuckardt said you cannot go down the steps without turning on the light."  I turned on the light.  I didn't turn it on because HE said I had to, but I turned it on so I could SEE!  And, then I got to thinking about all his rules.  SO.  MANY.  RULES.  Why?  If you look into cults and how its members are manipulated, BINGO!  It is only common sense to turn the light on when you go down steps in the dark.  But, by making it a rule, he controlled one more little aspect of our lives.  Sometimes, I am quite rebellious, even now, and I just hold onto the hand rail and go down without turning on a light!  I'll show him!

I didn't have a regular task that was assigned to me while in the convent in 1975 - 1976.  Occasionally, I would be asked to help out in the kitchen.  On one occasion, I was in the process of rinsing the lettuce for salad at lunchtime.  The big cheese, Reverend Mother, happened to come through the kitchen and noticed that I was running the lettuce under a small stream of water from the faucet.  She raised her voice and told me that I was wasting water.  Of course, when scolded, you were to get on your knees before them and take it and then apologize.
On another occasion, I was making garlic toast to go with dinner.  Since it was quite the task of getting dinner ready for so many nuns, I forgot about the garlic toast that was under the broiler.  It was only the matter of a minute or so, but it burned.  Again, the Reverend Mother came through just at that time and told me how wasteful I was being, and that I would eat nothing but that burnt toast till it was all gone.  That took me a few days.  On top of being punished like this, there was always the humiliation that went along with it.  Everyone could see that all I had to eat was burnt toast.  You didn't talk about it.  You just did it.  You deserved it.  I don't really remember feeling sorry for myself, because on any given day, it would be some other poor nun who "transgressed" and felt the wrath of the Reverend Mother.
There were others who were, shall I say, less compliant than I.  I won't mention any names.  I know they read my blog, and I absolutely love them.  I wonder why I was so full of fear, and they weren't. It wasn't until years down the road that I learned how some of them would sneak off into the garage, where all the goodies were stored, and have themselves a party.  I applaud them now.  What balls they had!  I was so terrified of doing one wrong thing and thus suffering for eternity in Hell.  You guys know who you are, and I just love your spirit.  If you are so inclined, share a few of your stories.  I would love it.
Someone asked me yesterday if I was still finding it helpful to write this blog.  I said yes.  Some of the memories stir up feelings of intense anger at the way we were treated.  Others make me smile at the friendships that were formed back then that have never been broken after all these years.  I am saddened to think of the cruelty some of my friends and fellow nuns endured by being subjected to humiliation and ridicule by their superiors.  And, when I am done, I am proud of how far I have come, and the woman that I am today.
It seems surreal that in a short while, Bernie and I will fly back east, join my sister and her husband, and board a cruise ship for a 12 day cruise out of Baltimore.  Back in the day, I would never live to see this phase of my life.  I was sure of it.  Not a doubt about it.  And, so, yeah, I get a little emotional at what a wonderful life I have had in spite of the experiences of life in a very crazy cult.

Sister Frances

January 23, 1975
Jackie, Renee, and Francie enter the convent.  Renee had wanted to be a religious forever, and couldn't get in the door fast enough.  I was only 16.  Renee might have been 14 or 15.  She was really smart, but so young.  Jackie - I am not sure what was Jackie's reason for becoming a nun.  She was from a very large family, but had lost her Dad to drowning only a couple years earlier.  She was (is) really funny, and I am so glad she went with me.  Me?  Why?  I have asked myself that question a million times over the years.  Why on earth did I become a nun?  I had NEVER wanted that vocation.  I wanted to be a mom and have kids.  But, in 1975, the options for girls in the cult of francis schuckardt were very limited.  College was seriously forbidden, because it was co-ed, among other things.  If you had a particularly good reason for NEEDING to attend college, you could submit a request to his royal narcissist, and see if he would grant your request.  I suppose he'd grant the occasional request for someone to go to nursing school.  But, if a girl wanted to become something like an engineer, uh, no.  And, so, with that being the case, what was I going to do?  The previous August of 1974 about 10 of my good friends had entered the convent.  I missed them.  And, there, I think is where I find the answer to my question WHY?  I wanted to be with my friends.

IF ONLY SOMEONE HAD SLAPPED ME SILLY AND TOLD ME NOT TO DO IT!!!  But, you know how that would have turned out.  And, so - off I went.  It was not the best part of Francie's Excellent Adventure.

So, what is the first thing that happened when I joined the nuns?  The very first thing that you have to do is get EVERYTHING that you brought with you APPROVED for YOUR use by your superior.  I remember that the first thing I took for approval was my pillow.  It seemed kind of funny to kneel in front of Sr. Agnes and say something to this effect:  "In the spirit of humility and holy poverty, I have need of this pillow, and for the love of God, I beg the use of it."   A pillow.  A toothbrush.  A bra.  Underwear.  Shoes.  Comb.  Pens.  The list goes on and on.  We entered in the evening, and I sure as heck wanted to have MY pillow to sleep with that night.  How bad could this life be?

I was a Junior in the "high school" at the time I entered the convent.  So, every morning, we would get up, get dressed in absolute silence of the tongue and the eyes.  No looking around whatsoever.  To make eye contact was communicating.  We had a bit of time to dress and then the bell would ring, and we would all shuffle to the chapel for morning prayers and meditation.  I am guessing that between our prayers and meditation, it would average about 30 minutes.  Breakfast was next.  No one spoke during breakfast.  Instead, someone was chosen to read to all of us while we ate.  The only thing that I remember for that first breakfast was canned cherries.  I love cherries, and so I took a healthy serving.  Whoops.  These cherries still had the pits in them.  What is a brand new nun to do?  I couldn't ask.  We couldn't talk.  I bowed my head, and looked as best I could out of the corner of my eye to see what others were doing.  I didn't see anyone removing the pits.  So, I swallowed them.

Since I Jackie, Renee, and I were still students, we didn't get assigned jobs around the convent during the week.  We did all help with the dishes after dinner.  Then, study time, maybe some recreation where we were actually allowed to talk, then night prayers and off to bed in GRAND silence.  (That kind of meant that unless you were dying, there was no excuse for talking.)  Part of the rule in this convent was that we get EIGHT hours of sleep every night.  You can imagine how many times over the years, when I was up with a fussy baby, I thought about those nuns and their damned EIGHT hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Sr. Lucia was in charge of a lot of what went on in the kitchen.  During the week, she would pack lunch for all the nun-students.  There aren't many things I remember about those lunches.  But, I learned quickly that I better enjoy the hamburgers and cheeseburgers that were given to the nuns by McDonald's, instead of being discarded.  They really were a treat.  This poor nun had very little to work with as far as groceries, so she had to get creative for us.  Her worst creation that I remember was when she ground up sunfower seeds, mixed them with pickles and something else and created a sandwich for each of us.  In spite of the fact that I had swallowed cherry pits at my first convent-breakfast, I really, really gagged getting these sandwiches down.

Jackie was occasionally the cook on special occasions or weekends, I can't remember which.  But, to this day, I remember vividly the delicious jello salad she made with jello, coconut, dates, and walnuts.  I have wanted to replicate it over the years, but have not done so.  Might have something to do with seeing worms in the dates every now and then..... sorry, Jackie.  You know I love you.


The school year of 1975 progressed and came to an end.  Most of my friends who had entered the convent the previous August graduated.  I was now a Senior.  Various groups of nuns went to different places that summer for a week of 'vacation'.  I was in the group that went to Portland and Cannon Beach.  We really did have a lot of fun and good times.  In Portland, we stayed at the home of one of our Sister's parents, the Earps.  Mrs. Earp made sandwiches for all of us to take to the ocean.  This was the very first time that I had seen the ocean.  I was terrified.  It was so powerful and endless and strong.  But, all in all, it was a lot of fun.  I was with friends, and we did a lot of stupid stuff that made us laugh.  We were so innocent.  When we got back to Coeur d'Alene, our 2 superiors got in trouble because of the fun we had.  Apparently, because Mr. Earp had seen some of us not in our habits, it was a horrible scandal.  (head shaking)

That August, schuckardt once again conducted a rigid retreat for those of us in the religious life.  It was a week of much prayer and self-reflection.  It was also a week of endless lectures by schuckardt himself about what awful sinners we all were.  Barely any of us would make it to heaven.   When it was over, those of us who had entered in the past year became Novices.  We did not take vows, but we promised to live the life of the religious and prepare ourselves for that step of vowing to give our lives to God through vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.  As Novices, we were now wearing a whole new garb - THE HABIT.  We also gave up our birth-names.  We had chosen three names, and schuckardt would tell us which one he had chosen for us during our ceremony of induction into our habit.  I was given the name Sr. Maria Perpetua of the Motherly Heart of Mary.  When I heard that last part, I thought inside myself - see?  see?  I am not supposed to be a nun.  I am supposed to be a mother.  And yet, I stayed.

After a few months in the convent, I began to experience incredible, debilitating headaches.  I saw numerous Doctors.  No one could put a finger on why I was experiencing such pain.  I saw neurologists and naturopaths.  I tried various diets.  Nothing helped.  I missed a lot of school.  Days and days would go by where I could not get out of bed and put that habit on, wrapping my head up in that veil.  The pain was real.  In March of 1976, schuckardt and my nun superiors decided that I should leave.  To say that I was sad to go would be a lie.  My headaches had been my ticket out.  I was a little grateful for those headaches.  I was greeted by my Dad at the bus station in Montana.  I felt his love and empathy, without him saying a word.  His embrace said it all.  I stayed for a while, then returned to Coeur d'Alene to finish my Senior year of high school.  June 4, 1976, I graduated from our faux high school.

That summer, I returned to Montana to help my sister, PeeWee, with her family.  She and Jerry were living in the same house, though not permitted by schuckardt to live as husband and wife.  It was such an awkward situation, to say the least.  Both my sister and Jerry had jobs, so I got to spend the summer babysitting my nieces and nephew.  I enjoyed it so much.  They were so special to me.  They still are.

After graduation, I stayed in Coeur d'Alene for awhile.  Then, I was instructed by schuckardt to go to Colorado Springs to assist there wherever I was needed.  I flew down and went to live with the Toussaints.  Phyllis was a young mom with a plethora of little ones.  We got along very well.  She introduced me first to Taco Bell, and then to authentic Mexican food.  The love affair continues to this day!


It has been difficult to write about this phase of my life in the cult.  It brings back the feelings and memories of how absolutely lost I felt at such a young age.  I was only 17 years old when I went back to Montana.  Friends and the powers that be put such fear in me that there was no way I could save my soul if I were to leave the convent.  I so didn't want to be there.


I returned to the Coeur d'Alene area in the summer, and schuckardt asked me if I would go back to Colorado Springs in the Fall to run their 'school'.  What was I to say?  I did as he asked.

The adventure continued......