I M Perfect lady

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  • They speak in Lies.

    Don Miguel Ruiz said “There are two kinds of Angels, the angel of lies and the angel of truth.”

    Isn’t it odd to look at the two different kinds of angels?

    I know that my family does not like to see me as an Angel of Truth; they would love me much better as the Angel of Lies, and the way I used to be. 

    Oh was I a good angel of lies.  I was the best, I would tell you anything you wanted to hear, but never, not ever the truth…for I wouldn’t want to hurt you.

    I was a good angel of lies and my self suffered greatly. 

    For in order to be a wonderful angel of lies, you lose your self.  You turn away from your own feelings, and choose not to see others in their true colors.

    The Angel of Truth speaks with impeccable words, her actions match and she says what she has to say, no matter how they land upon your world.  

    I have lived both ways and as the Angel of Lies, I seen the world through glasses that lied to me.  I lied and it lied back.

    I pretended many things, overlooked much, and didn’t see life as it was in its naked rawness and beauty.

     While my journey has been horrific in many places, where the truth is exposed like a monster, I have also seen great beauty, love, peace and joy, that my lying angel refused to see.

    When I first began to see without my lying eyes, I saw things that brought me to my knees, okay flat in bed. But those same eyes bathed my body in nature’s beauty.

    I seen the sunrise and felt God looking upon me.  The night sky was filled with loving angels, the moon another loving presence.

    I watched the flow of the river and knew that same energy flowed through me.

    My truthful eyes saw God everywhere.

    So, while it was hard to get used to my truthful eyes, especially seeing that which prior I covered with lies, it was also the biggest blessing in my world.

    I love that I can see now as God sees.

    I love that there are angels of lies and angels of truth.

    I love that I have been able to be both in this lifetime.

    What I know is that many in my family are loving their roles as Angels of Lies, and they are being rewarded by staying close to their mother, their siblings, a family of lying Angels, all resuming life after a bit of truth blew in, they quickly got back to life as it was before.

    And it is very different when you begin to see truth; you are set aside from the liars. Our words and actions don’t match; our wings clash.

    I flew alone for a while and slowly I am finding Angels of Truth to hang with.  We are a rare bunch, seen as mental by some, cold and bitter by others…(hey, isn’t it said that truth is often times a bitter pill to swallow.)  We are often depicted as home wreckers, spoil sports, insane, crazy, mad…

    What I know to be true for me is that life as an Angel of Truth is magnificent, easy, peaceful, wise, perfect, and it walks hand and hand with God.

    I do recognize that when I speak as the Angel of Truth, I will get feedback that isn’t kind or supportive or loving from the Angels of Lies.  They are first to spread lies about me, that is their role.  They are only doing what Angels of Lies do…they speak in lies. 

    Don Miguel says there is only one conflict in the human experience; the conflict between truth and lies.

  • Total Contradictions…

    There is a difference between suspecting something and actually knowing or reading in plain English what you feared or intuitively felt…but once you read it it doesn’t go away.

    It nestles up closely with the feelings and they become one.

    The truths click together like a magnet and you can’t force them apart. 

    What I now know is that the Christian neighbors who toot their high moral and high value ways are not able to walk the walk of morals and values. 

    Adults in my childhood world crumbled and their character turned to ash…this I felt about 6 years ago… without proof I had felt deep to my bones that they knew and did nothing.  They were no better than my mother.

    Jim Torola’s blog, has an interesting view of the members of the FALC and child sexual abuse, and he shows that my family and neighbors are not unusual, but perhaps this is an ongoing practice, handed down from generation to generation whose legacy are tainted with abuse. http://jimtorola.typepad.com/blog/

    What I too find so telling is the longevity and the multiple families who happened to all deal the same way, like there is an unwritten or unspoken rule, just a knowing…keep it quiet and away from the hands of the police.

    Detective Tom Rosemurgy speaks of what makes his job of getting the pedophiles off the street so difficult.

    “…without somebody with first hand knowledge (a victim) stepping up first, my hands are tied.  Most folks in (or out) of the church aren't too willing or eager to speak on such matters.  And If I try to start there, more often than not, the victims are taken care of with threats before I can speak with them.  I am always more satisfied with results when I can speak to a victim before the predator or the predator's family knows I am out and about.”

    The last line is so haunting…

    It seems literally a miracle that a child would step up and speak out when the whole family and church are trying to keep this away from the police.

    Hear that, they are trying to keep this info away from the law.  And in my case, oh my, did they do a good job.  For forty year they dodged the law.

    Now tell me who all should be sitting in jail???

    The law is simply not the normal course of action for sexual abuse within the FALC.  And it hasn’t been for years and years…. 

    I know this, for No one called the police.  NO One….come on people what is up with that???

    They will use the law for car wrecks, breaking and entering of their homes, but no report is written up when the children are broken into and wrecked, NO one calls the police.

    Am I the only one who can see the insanity of this?

    In my little corner of the world, I would have presumed many things about the good people of my church, I had them with a rock solid moral compasses, with values that were of a higher standard than the run of the mill criminal, now I am no longer sure as to who they are.

    What does it say about you if you are not sharing information about criminal sexual conduct against a child, be it your child or the neighbor’s child, be it a Christian or non believer?  What does it say about your moral compass if you willingly keep this away from the hands of the law???

    Are you not aiding and abetting criminals?

    I have made a general sweep of the congregation of the FALC as being co-conspirators for pedophiles. How they are knowingly hiding them among their pews…by NOT going to the police.  And it wasn't just my family, it is many families through the ages. 

    I do know and have known that the major factor in these sex rings is that the predator is a family member and the families are ‘in good standing’ among the church members and the church is one of ‘high morals and high values’ and this would not sit well to uncover pedophiles within.

    What I had said in the very beginning of this was that I trusted a whore.  She didn’t act or portray anything else.  She was a whore, charged for sex as whore does, but she wasn’t sitting in church on Sunday proclaiming her piety.

    What totally blows my mind is that people who sit in church on Sundays, and then act like criminals.  Who are you? 

    I love ducks that act like a duck, walk like a duck and quack like a duck.

    Which is why I sought out nature… nature always was what you seen….a tree remained a tree no matter what time of the day or day in the week it stayed the same when I looked at it.  I loved its stability…The FALC and its members are total contradictions…  

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  • Sit and hear Why.

    It almost seems like my father’s life and its impact it had on so many little girls is the classic case, the textbook example of what happens when you ignore the truth.

    What happens when you feel a certain way, but tuck it away and not address it…for I had very strong feelings of not trusting him and certainly never wanted to be near him…this was just the way it was from the time I was so little.  I just never questioned myself or delved deeper in to why.

    The truth of my fear was never explored.  And in fact I grew to become accustomed to just being a person who didn’t have warm feelings towards her parents.  I never questioned why, I just lived this way, it was my normal set point.

    My parents determined my set point, and I never challenged why we were this way, it just was.

     When you are not able to discuss the whole truth of our lives, you are then living in this weird spot way above truth in a place called pretend.

    They pretended to be loving parents and I pretended to feel love…and I never felt I could challenge them, nor was there a great urge to do so, to blatantly just flat out want to lay it all on the table.  I am thinking subconsciously, I knew that once I crossed the line of no longer pretending, all hell would break lose…and it would have.

    Just by tugging on one little string, the whole ball of wax would have come undone.

    While I can understand that inside of our house how we would have had so much to lose by seeking the truth of our fears and suspicions, I am not really clear as to why the outside wasn’t able to be reckless with abandon and come in demanding the truth to be exposed.

    How is it that the parents of the neighborhood were not picketing outside of our driveway, demanding his arrest for what he did to their daughters?

    What stopped them? 

    Keeping them away from Ray is what I did.  I tried to stay back from him. My sisters tried to stay back from him…and I can understand the kids without an option to just stay away, but I still can’t comprehend how a parent who hears their child’s story…doesn’t take it to the law.

    My mother’s reasons were clouded in love and wanting to keep the family together at all costs. Her facing the truth would have destroyed her whole family as she knew it.  Her pretend loving husband and untouched girls would have come tumbling down.  She would have to face things she ignored for years.

    But what did the neighbors have to lose by prosecuting Ray?

    What stopped them from taking this to the 9/10’s of the law? 

    And this is being done in three separated homes and during the span of many years.  It didn’t all happen during one bad month…or a particularly awful summer, it went on for years in the same neighborhood.  Different girls and different parents same perpetrator and similar reaction.  No law was involved.

    Again, I can see what my mother would have to lose, she would lose everything…but as a neighbor what would you have to lose?

    My father wasn’t the cement that held the neighborhood together to make it this wonderful place to live, he made it a living hell for the girls, and yet the outside wasn’t willing to prosecute…and it just doesn’t make sense to me.

    Even the minister… why would he ask about motives for telling on a man who seldom, and I mean seldom sat his butt down on a church bench?  And not be stricken by the fact that a little girl is telling him of her wounds…instead to immediately go to the defense of Ray.

    Most it seems seemed to care more about what would happen to Ray, than what was happening to the girls, like they immediately swing their heads in the wrong direction, instead of moving heaven and earth to protect the child, they first consider what this information will mean to Ray and even perhaps to themselves. 

    It is the lack of police reports on this man for over 40 years that is so telling…and I am sure the reasons are varied and complex and believable by each person who did what they each did at the time.

    I am sure they understand their decisions.

    While I had feelings of being afraid of my father, I had no pictures, so I couldn’t know why…and when I heard that he molested my niece I immediately had my answer…But what I hadn’t expected was that others knew.

    I was blown sideways by the fact that I felt I was the last to know, like a wife of a cheating husband, it seemed that everyone knew and talked about what I didn’t know.

    No one but me seemed to be too surprised.

    While I was sent reeling and tumbling into an abyss others continued on with life as normal, for they had this information now for 30 to 40 years.  It wasn’t new news, but just the same old story coming around again.

    I was 46, and as incredible as it seems this information had been in place in other people’s homes and minds…the answer to my puzzled life.

    And I could tell immediately by the reaction of so many, that I was the last to know…and they now began turning away from me.  Which seemed even weirder.  We are all on the same page so let’s talk.  And yet, by this time…I knew who my friends were and what they kept from me and the cost. 

    I wasn’t really open to listening…and I am unsure today, I would still want to sit and hear why.

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  • Voice of my truth.

    Today I listened to the CD of The Voice of Knowledge, by Don Miguel Ruiz and Janet Mills.

    Here is how the book is described.

    "In this audio version of the fourth book in the popular series, don Miguel Ruiz reminds readers of a profound yet simple truth: The only way to end emotional suffering and restore joy in living is to stop believing in lies – mainly about ourselves."

    "Ruiz refers to the forbidden tree of knowledge, likening the abandonment of the true self to the fall from heaven. This fall, he says, occurred because of the loss of "the impeccability of the word," that simple yet potent prescription for countering the judgmental inner "Voice of Knowledge." Adhering to "the word" – saying only what one means, refusing to speak against one's self – allows anyone to quiet those inner tyrannical thoughts so that we can become aware of our Voice of Integrity. Knowledge then becomes an ally, and life becomes an expression of the authentic self."

    As I listened to him, I could see how my own life was based upon lies and how I had great faith in those lies and had little or no faith in my own truth and integrity.

    What this blog has been mostly about is re-discovering my truth and letting go of lies.

    I have tried my level best to rid myself of inauthentic parts of me, the beliefs that kept me from my own love, peace and joy…and in doing so I oftentimes uncovered lies that many don’t want displayed openly. My truth-seeking mission has upset many an apple cart for me, but it seems it has little affect on others unless they are ready to receive the truth…if they are not ready, the truth will slip on by…and their cart of lies will remain steady.

    I am not here to upset your cart of apples, but rather to find the rotten parts of myself, my lies.  Sometimes my lies and your lies match and at others you will not agree…that is okay, I am here only to seek my own truth.  Each of  you will find yours in your own time. This is my journey towards truth in my life.

    It was just great to listen to him speak about the conflict of lies and truth we all have within, and how in some the truth voice is louder than the lies.

    If you have never questioned your mind, or explored how you came to believe this or that, your lies remain unchallenged…or your truth unearthed.  Your lie voice may be louder for it has had free reign.

    I had buried so many truths, so much hurt I piled into a hole not to be touched, emotions shoved aside, etc…all to be more comfortable I lived lies.  My lie voice liked it that way.

    We think lies are bold and in your face, but they are not.

    Mostly what I think is truth comes in and we push it away, not wanting to deal, to see or feel.

    So we lie.  We lie to ourselves and say everything is okay.

    I only stopped lying to myself when all my lies came home to roost at one time.  There was an avalanche that I couldn’t stop…all my lies lay at my feet exposed for the traitors they were.  Their powerful deceit was bigger than any lie I could conjure up.. to cover them all up again. It had grown too huge.  My lie voice died and my weak truthful voice started to speak.

    It gained power with each truth I told. 

    I am wondering if there is a room where lies go and will it explode on everyone at one time or another? 

    When my life of lies exploded I was left with my soul eyes.  My body seemed to have eyes in feelings; intuitively I sorted out my life…I began speaking from deep inside, paying little heed to the outside disputes.

    While it seemed like the worst day of my life, it was actually the first day of the rest of my voice of integrity life.  A life without lies.  

    No more lies. 

    Not to me and not to you.

    Not to make you feel better or more at peace for your comfort or for your ease.

    No more lies to my self.

    For I lost myself behind a sea of lies…and it took me years to unhook myself from the beliefs and faith I had in these lies. 

    My voice is the voice of my truth. 

     

  • Normal Results.

    “What is your motive for Telling…” is a phrase that lends it self to much debate.  The simple fact that a child is then put in a position of feeling ‘bad’ for squealing stops many from coming forth.

     No one wants to be a squealer.

    Squealing is seen and incurred as to being weak or bad and that you should not say anything, IF you don’t have anything kind to say…

    It is seen as soiling someone’s reputation. 

    How is it that the squealer is the one who is in charge of that?  Surely it wasn’t the little girl’s fault that in Telling on Ray, he would then be made to ‘look bad’. 

    He was bad each moment he forcibly made a girl touch him.

    She was telling to stop an action, she wasn’t concerned how it looks or how it would fit into others lives.  She just wanted it to stop. 

    In order for things to stop, reputations will change color, past ideals of a person will take on a new tone, lives and relationships will hang in the balance, things will not go on as “Normal”.

    For now an abnormal behavior has entered in.

    Insanity ensues if you continue to act normal when abnormal walks and talks in your world and you don’t tell or pay attention to it, to see it like it is. 

    It seems preposterous that you would carry on life as usual with this oddity in your midst, that you would pretend to pretend to pretend that there is nothing amiss, that you would try harder to be normal instead of addressing the abnormal behavior.

    But take it from me, we do.

    In fact, in home this was not abnormal, but normal.  I come from a long line of sexual abuse…and the way they treated it was to do nothing, but carry on as usual.

    When the adults in my childhood life didn’t see abnormal, I then became abnormal.  I had to become abnormal to fit in.

    What I had thought was that only our home acted abnormal to normal abuse, but come to find out there is a sea of people willing to sweep abnormal under the rug to keep up with their normal lives, normal religions, normal families, normal marriages, normal relationships.

    It isn’t abuse that is the problem, but holding on to normal.

    Holding on to normal, all will discount, overlook, and under react in order to keep their own normal lives. 

    What is so incredulous to me is that they hang on to normal in their minds only.  For abnormal has now come to live with them and the longer they don’t see abnormal, the more abnormal becomes their family.

    I lived and learned that abnormal was the normal way to be.

    How grateful and blessed I am, that I was finally able to see that what I had stood for and championed was not normal.  What a gift to see my abnormalities.

    Most are not given this awareness.  I am speaking out and shouting out and pointing out what others are failing to see.

    Since I lived for 46 years believing I had a ‘normal’ family but that I was abnormal, I want to share my experience.  I am not a squealer, but a person who is telling to help stop abuse…for people to start seeing that what they think or want to believe is normal is so abnormal.

     Being raised in abnormal it is hard to know normal.

    Sometimes doing the complete opposite of what you were taught will bring in normal results. 

     

     

     

  • Who Knew and Turned Away.

    The evidence report adds credence to my journey, it gives supporting evidence, names, locations, and sets the tone or energy of what I felt towards my father.   It takes this inner feeling that I had and makes it public knowledge.

    This public knowledge sits so heavily upon me, for years I watched and waited for a reaction that would tell me that others seen my father as Not Normal, yet he was always treated normally, so my feelings that he wasn’t right went unsubstantiated. 

    I had to look up Unsubstantiated.

    1.             Unsubstantiated means, unverified: not proven factually.

    Synonyms: unconfirmed, unproven, unsupported, uncorroborated

    The greatest tragedy is that I waited for an adult or any person to verify that what I felt about my father was true.  That my terror feelings were spot on, and yet no one led on to what they knew or suspected.

    I was left alone unsupported with this knowledge and my body refused to let go of.

    I am thinking what is a deeper wound than the abuse itself is to then have your feelings of the event go unconfirmed.

    No one wanted to corroborate what I had experienced and what fills my body with incredulousness is that I now have facts, verifiable facts, and supported data showing that they knew, but kept this information from me. 

    When I need an adult the most, they failed to support me.

    Here is what I read yesterday…

    “Jenich spoke with Marvin Heinonen, retired Houghton County Protective Services Manager.  Marvin informed myself that indeed Ray Huhta has been under suspicion for at least THIRTY years for sexual assaulting his own children and most of the young girls in the Saint Mary’s Location neighborhood north of Hancock.”

    (a paragraph has info on a victim, so I am excluding it)

    “Marvin Heinonen said back then and even into the later years when Ray Huhta was suspected of molesting girls, there seemed to be a cover up all the time, meaning people in the church and family members would not believe that Ray Huhta could be doing this.  Marvin said the information kept resurfacing for years that Ray Huhta is a pedophile, molesting his girls…”

    One victim wrote in her statement about her family contacting Peter Torola of the Apostolic Luthern Church that she was molested by Ray Huhta. She recalls Torola’s response to her, “What is your motive in telling on Ray Huhta?”  She also stated that three more victims approached minister Pete Torola after she left the area and nothing was done.

    Another victim said her parents confronted Ray and he denied the whole time, from that point on her family’s children were forbidden to go to the Huhta house.

    What was more horrifying to learn so many years ago, was not only did I have to find peace with having a pedophile for a father, but I also learned that so many knew and did nothing.  That 30 years ago he was suspected and the girls told to stay away…

    And some knew 40 years back and at the time wanted to know the ‘motive’ for telling on Ray. Telling on Ray.  Really?

    Imagine that?  Like we are gossips?… And how telling is it that Pete Torola didn’t disbelieve it, he just wondered about the motive for telling.

    Perhaps he had a motive to keep it silent…for a child’s only motive is for you all to see what we see, for you to change your ‘normal’ definition to not normal.

    I guess I wasn’t prepared to hear the details of the little girls, and had braced myself,  but I hadn’t expected the stories held bits and pieces of how uninterested the adults were about the children in the Huhta house.

    I am not meaning to lessen the girls in my neighborhood who were abused by my father, but what stands out is that their parents warned them away from our home, but no one came and took us out.

    I have six sisters…plus eight brothers, and we lived with the Pedophile and his wife. That was our only home.

    We were left there knowingly.

    Somehow, I would feel slightly better if no one knew…if we had gone underneath the radar, an incest nest undetected, but instead it was operating in full plain view and many just turned their heads away from the Huhta children living within.

    What does a person do with this information?

    How do your process the minister’s neglect or Protective Services suspecting but without follow through or neighbors keeping their children away with no heed to us living full time with a ‘suspected’ pedophile. 

    Surely these are actions of an enemy and not of a friend.

    I am not bitter or angry, but I am wise and now validated, vindicated…but it is a hollow victory.

    You find out no one was standing for you…you never mattered enough.

    The main reason I am working with Tom Rosemurgy, is I refuse to be one of the adults who knew and turned away…

     

  • Who is Behaving Badly?

    What stayed with me is how off balance the justice system is where the victims get a ‘court appointed attorney’ called prosecutor and the perpetrators get the option to pay for a high powered expensive, save your ass lawyer.

    How is it that the system was set up this way, where each victim is already without options before the trial even begins?

    As I read through my father’s evidence file, everything was off…except the girl’s reports.  They were right on.

    What was off was that in the history of the little girls stories, it was almost always noted, that an adult knew, was in the room or had been told, but not believed. 

    How off is that? 

    The children had been talking, telling and no one was listening. Then, a Detective arrives in our home, we give once again our stories add a touch of hope that this time, the Bad Man will get punished…and nothing bad happens to him and our faith and hope are dashed once again.

    He wins, he carries on as if 'nothing bad' has happened.

    I hadn’t truly considered the volume of abuse, while I had knew there were many…many seems so oblique. 

    But when you read names and descriptions and locations and what my father is wearing, where he is sitting and then how he ensnares a little girl to sit with him in his kindness and laid back ways and then how strong he becomes in keeping them upon his lap…Forcible Contact on his penis, it sharpens the focus and makes him even more a pedophile if that is possible.

    My friends wrote, and theirs were not table abuse if you will, but mentioned instead tents and beds…rape and masturbation… I can see his technique changed over time, perhaps age or laziness or just the threat of being caught increased…

    My friend’s stories match my fragmented memories of sneaking out of his bed…in terror of waking him.  I now have collaborating evidence to my body’s feelings of him.

    Nothing is off in their stories, nothing doesn’t make sense, all are literal confirmations of who my father is.  They all add up to the same definition, and yet at the end of his trial he walks free.

    It would seem with the volume of evidence remembered, the outcome would have gone better for us, but we didn’t know who we were entrusting our stories to.

    Doug Edwards Prosecuting Attorney was suppose to serve up our justice, but he didn’t allow most of us into the courtroom, our stories lay without a serving of justice, just tucked into a file to remain in the dark.

    How was justice any different than the church’s blessing and forgiving and wanting us to forget?

    It seems there is a very off pattern here, children speaking and the forces that be or the higher powers, neglecting to do their part.

     What is and always has been consistent over the 40 years of this abusive reign my father has been on, is that the children are the only ones doing their part.

    Each time they are asked they tell the truth.

    Each time they are asked they put hope in the abuse ending.

    Each time they tell they are once again disappointed.

     Imagine, the adults who knew and the vast intersections in the community? 

    Wife, mother, neighborhood parents, minister and socical services and then finally the law.

    And then imagine when the law sets him free what we are left with?

    What I know for sure it wasn’t for the lack of evidence or the lack of victims speaking out or the lack of remembering or recalling correctly…the one main source of his freedom is the reactions from all the adults who were informed of his behaviors.

    And I believe each adult had their own personal reasons, their own personal stories of pride and friendship…of fear of what this will do in their own lives by facing this morsel of truth full on.

    It had very little to do with Ray Huhta.

    For anyone with nothing to lose would read these reports and be incensed and filled with the off color of Ray and the repeated and long suffering of abuse of the girls.

    You would have to be legally blind and totally incompetent to not get it. 

    No one reading this could possibly believe that he wasn’t a serial abuser, a pedophile with long standing reputation, for the birth dates of the oldest victim is in the 1950’s to the youngest…in the late 1990’s.

    What sits with me the most is again that it isn’t that we need to have more victims come forth, we need to have more victim rights, holding more adults accountable for dropping the ball.

    Why is Doug Edwards not reprimanded for this?

    Why wasn't the Social Service Man, Marv Heinonen not taken to task for knowing for over 30 years and doing nothing?

    Why wasn’t the Minister, Pete Torola not held accountable for knowing that children were being abuse and he did nothing?  (yes I get it, he is dead. But he was quite alive back in my childhood when my friends told him…)

    Why are we allowing adults behaving badly?  What is so odd is not only is my father way out of line on treatment to children, but then are the rest who knew and did a feeble at best attempt to shut him down.

    Imagine, HE is a FREE Man.  He had lots of help in order to remain free up against so much evidence.  He had lots and lots of help!

    Honest!  Read these stories and you would shudder to think he is free, living in Texas, has access to his newest little great -granddaughter and has full approval by his daughter and his grandson to have a ‘relationship’ with her.

     Again, adults behaving badly!

    Not JUST him, all who are still blindly and without comprehension of the danger they are willingly allowing his latest victim, his 2000 model from walking down my same road.  Sure, it may not be rape today or even masturbation, perhaps she will get off lightly with just forcible contact of her private parts while her father and grandmother visit with him, like there is nothing wrong. 

    Who is behaving badly?

  • Reacted Like Me.

    Today I sat in the office of Detective Tom Rosemurgy, (Rosie to his friends) and we talked about sexual abuse.  Of new information and suspected abusers and how we can help victims share their story and how without their stories, the wheels of justice will not begin turning…and we talked about my father's case and how peculiar it seemed.

    He had my father’s file on his desk or most of it… and inside where pages of little girls stories, and the man they described fits my terror.

    My feelings match their pictures and they are talking about my father.

    I didn’t read this file until a few minutes ago.  

    It is odd to read them, knowing the girls, the house and the visuals they painted, all correctly describing our childhood home, the chairs, the places and clothing my father wore, and then the awful acts he subjected these little girls to.  Years worth of criminal sexual assaults rained upon the neighborhood girls, one after another, year after year, and what is so striking are the adults who know this all along.

    Insane.  Totally criminally INSANE!  

    What strikes me so blatantly horrific is the details of the girls and the knowing of the adults, and the longevity of his run, and then after all these DETAILS and TRUTH are given over to the Detective, the prosecutor who at the time was a member of the FALC, he doesn’t use their cases???

    OH MY GOD does this infuriorate me.

    It is like all these little girls carry my memories and they are left sitting on paper and only one little girl’s makes it to the court of the land. 

    IT is criminal what this prosecutor did to each girl who wrote her memories down.  He should be sitting in jail with Ray Huhta.  And instead both are walking around free as the breeze…while the little girls are left to heal and deal the best we can.

    He raped, masturbated, fondled and had them fondle, he rubbed and touched their privates and them do the same to him…FOR over 35 years.  And when the detective gathers this information, the prosecutor uses just one little girls???

    What in the hell is up with that???

    Here are some of the accounts…just random sentences…fragments of their childhood experiences with my father.

    Chair that spun around,

    Back to microwave,

    Long johns,

    Red nylon long johns,

    Rocking chair by heatrola stove,

    Nice and friendly,

    Easy going,

    Strong,

    Kept my hand on penis,

    Rubbing my privates,

    Won’t let me off his lap,

    Wife in kitchen,

    Other children in room,

    Sunday dinners,

    Father across talking,

    Forced hand on penis,

    Masturbating,

    Raping,

    Wife at church,

    In his bed,

    Wife at hospital having baby,

    Tent with friend,

    Pulling my pants down,

    Friends mother knew,

    Minister told, not believed,

    Child protective services…he’s been under suspicion for 30 years.  Hide in bushes attempt to catch Ray in the act of abusing.

    It is all like a mad mad dream where nothing makes sense and the senseless wins.

    How the voices are ringing out clear as a bell as to who he is and what he has done over 35 years and yet it falls once again upon an adult who acts poorly, the prosecutor so totally dropped the ball on this, and you have to wonder why? 

    To think Ray only served a few weeks in jail is beyond what I can comprehend. And what startles me is that my mother read these same stories and at the end of his trial she drove him to Texas.  Imagine???  How can you read these and not react in revolt or in horror.

    The cry should have been to do what ever it takes to keep him locked up and instead it seemed that so many wanted him free. 

    Our voices on paper meant nothing. 

    Not sure if our trial, (for it seemed like it was a trial for all the girls who wrote a statement,) was unique or is this typical?

    Somehow the response to the words written by the girls seems to not bring forth the action necessary or one that fit the words.  It just seems all wrong.

    The words that should have adults springing into action and becoming fully enraged and setting about to seek justice, did the opposite.

    No real attempt was made or so it seems, just the very bare minimum required, the least of the least…and yet the stories are detailed and stretch over so many years.

    I just don’t get it. 

    Yet, while I always was accused of over reacting, I believe even I under reacted.

    Hindsight it 20/20…and I am not sure I could have convinced not only the prosecutor, my brother and the rest of the family, but it just seems that I missed calculated the amount of repeated abuse heaped on one child.  It would be bad enough if one girl had one incident, but it seems that most had years of abuse. 

    And he gets a few weeks in jail…

    What strikes me the most now, is that for years now I have been criticized for being so dramatic, for over reacting, for not letting it go, etc.  And all I can say is that I certainly wish that others reacted like me.

     

  • Living on the Blocks.

    Week 9, The Artist Way…Julia Cameron writes,

    “We’re more comfortable being a victim of artist’s block than risking having to consistently be productive and healthy.

    “An artistic U-Turn arrives on a sudden wave of indifference. We greet our newly minted product or our delightful process with “Aw, what does it matter anyhow?  It’s just a start.  Everybody else is so much further ahead…”

    “Yes, and they will stay that way if we stop working. The point is we have traveled light-years from where we were when we were blocked. We are now on the road, and the road is scary.  We begin to be distracted by roadside attractions or detoured by the bumps.”

    And here are a few sentences from the exercises at the end of the chapter.

    “Your choice to block is a creative U-Turn – we turn back on ourselves.  Like water forced to stand still, we turn stagnant.”   Julia

    These blocks are in Life and in Art. And we use them as an excuse as to why we can’t live a better life or create art. 

    And it is only ourselves that turn us around and heads us back to our old vices and excuses or fears.  We keep turning our backs on our truths, our desires, what we love, what brings us peace, our joy…in the good energy flow. 

    I see my life as a river where others lives are rocks cropping up or interests that are not crucial to my pathway, and instead of floating on by, I stop.  I stop my own flow in life.

    We each have specific rocks that stop us and then there are bends in the river, opportunities that float by, but we are too afraid to slip into the flow…or we are so busy doing things that are not important and they go by unnoticed. 

    It is just so interesting that Artist Blocks or Blocks of Addictions keep us from creativity…and they are all our choices.

    It is up to us to stop clinging to things that don’t serve us, that keeps us from living. 

    One big boulder in my life is ‘Responsibility’ and getting my work done first. 

    I focus on cleaning up my space instead of using that time to create.  I put so many rocks ahead of my flow, that my life seems heavy and hard. 

    I never looked at it this way…even though I lived it more often than not.  In fact slipping into the flow of life and playing in the currents and relaxing and letting the river take me, without saying no…is not very common in my life. 

    Most of my life has been spent on heavy rocks and in other people’s responsibility.  Getting used to flowing in my life will take some effort and will mean turning my back on ‘work’.  Who knew that work is a blockage in your life.

    Today, my one day off, and again I am working on cleaning up our house, the sewing machine sits…however, I did make a date with my husband for later on.

    In time, I will be able to discern how much free flowing time I have had and how much I have spent on the rocks, for I will feel its heaviness and know I got lost again living on the blocks.

    "Saying No can be the ultimate self-care."  Claudia Black

     

     

  • Help not Hurt

    “The question is not, “Can you make a difference?” You already do make a difference.  It’s just a matter of what kind of difference you want to make during your life on this planet.”  Julia Butterfly Hill

    I hadn’t considered that we are all making a difference; it just may not be the kind of difference that will impact another’s life in a positive manner.

    For each thing we do or even what we don’t do matters to someone.

    Just how or who it helps is the difference.

    While taking actions to speak the truth about abuse I am making a difference. And what kind of difference it will make in the lives of pedophiles will be different than how it will affect the lives of children.

    In the past my silence made a difference…it allowed my father to continue abusing. 

    Giving my report of my childhood which lacked memories or odd memories standing out, and how my body feared him, helped bring him to the court of the land.

    My viewpoint of him made a difference, albeit 40 years after the crime.  My report validated the little girl’s experience six years ago…together our stories made a difference to each other.

    The Detective shared with me that he honors and truly understands anonymous reports, how it may be hard for victims to stand tall and share their story.  I get it now too.

    My view of anonymous changed. 

    Anonymous reporting of abuse is vastly different than anonymous attacks.  Both make a difference in completely different ways. 

    Anonymously helping feels so much better than anonymously attacking. 

    There is room for anonymous when it’s used to help not hurt.

     

     

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