The World According to Me and Mine: Love, Life, Tragedy

By Linda Rocco and C.J Stone

A collection of journal entries and writings based on the author's life experiences, filled with love and sometimes tragedy, but bursting with an exceptional loyalty. These stories will make you laugh and sometimes cry, but hopefully, the authors unique journey will inspire each person with the depth of dedication and love felt by two young people to spend their lives together. The family and the bond they constructed during their half a century together is bound to touch you in some way. The fervent hope of the author is to leave this legacy so this union is documented for posterity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524622930

Linda Rocco

Linda Forrest Frazier was born in a small Northeastern Ohio town. Shortly after obtaining certification as a dental assistant, she married her high school sweetheart. They left town the night they were married so that her husband could get back to Wright Patterson Air Force Base by the next morning. They moved many times over the next eighteen years, living in many places, including New York and Utah, and during that time had two daughters. They settled in Troy, Ohio and the author still lives in the family homestead there. Over the nearly fifty years of marriage they traveled extensively and during those years started an aviation business which their daughters still own today.

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© 2016 Linda Rocco. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This book is a compilation of my writings, some fiction, but mostly, I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances I have changed the names of individuals and places, I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/03/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2294-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-2293-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016912630

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Preface

Introduction

Sometimes

Mama as a Little Girl

Chuckie Was a Little Boy

Stranger Danger

Feeling Special

Story of Confidence and Pink Unicorns

Rocco

The Meeting

My Feelings of Christmas

Life Changed

After Graduation

Summer Breeze

A Love Story

Times Change

The Air Force

Flight 553

Somebody Has to Love Beagles

A Special Thanksgiving

A Great Trip

An Embarrassing Moment

A Winnebago Vacation

Is that Pussy Green?

J’Adore Paris

Heather’s Flight

Oh Mom

The Big Merge

Feelings or Visions?

The Windfall of 1998

Lord Bentley’s Cappuccino

Eulogy for Margaret Giovanelli October 1, 2005 By Linda Rocco

A Tribute to O’Dell Hollaway July 21, 2007

A Beagle Named Gracie Lu

Attic Glows with Melancholy

Wow! Little Squirrel

Never Shampoo your Hair with Shower Gel

Life Happens Spring 2012

A Sunshiny Day

Take a Look

Overwhelming

September 18, 2011 Early Morning

Reality

A Great Celebration of Life October 8, 2011

Heather’s Eulogy

Susan’s Eulogy

Jonathan’s Eulogy

Judy’s Eulogy

Howard’s Eulogy

Linda’s Eulogy

Verification

The Year is Gone

Do You Believe?

Mama Gets On Her Soapbox

A Small Tribute by a Tall Man

Mama’s Response to the Tall Man

One of My Other Mother’s Delphia Bennett May 2013

Always in My Heart

70 is a Milestone

Dear Judy, My Sister February 9, 2015

You Can’t Go Back

Vision

Positivity

Take a Look

Who Am I?

Peace

Author

Dedication

D edicated to my Knight in Shining Armor, Chuck, my husband and partner in life, I did it! You knew I could. I felt you looking over my shou lder.

Acknowledgements

T hanks to my beautiful daughters, Susan and Heather, for their patience during the ten years it took to put this book together. They read a lot of drafts and often helped with editing. I appreciate and love a special group of friends, Kim Lipely, Nancy Lysaght and Susan Vogt; they were my readers. They read my stories, poems, etc., over and over while encouraging me to publish this book. Thanks also to my sister, Patti Frazier Laundree, who not only read stories, but gave encouragement and her undying love and loyalty sustai n me.

A special thank you to my brilliant mentor, author Giovanni Andreazzi, for pushing until my creativity surfaced after a long absence. He got more than he bargained for in our friendship and has somehow remained sane.

Preface

W riting has been a tool for me even as a young child, since verbal communication often got me in trouble. As a fast speaking adult it has been valuable in getting my precise meaning across. Especially settling arguments and soothing hurt feelings. I’ve often left notes on both my daughters’ pillows or in their backpacks filled with my infinite wisdom and Chuck was accustomed to finding post-its in his briefcase or handwritten notes in his lunch. After his death, I found many of those messages with the more special meanings in his various hiding places, including his bedside table. Over the years, messages sent to others have often been given back to me by family and friends telling me I should keep them or maybe include them in a book som eday.

It was no surprise to my family in 2005 that I started to write a novel. There were five chapters but eventually it was put on hold as life needed one hundred percent of my attention. A story that I frequently share, is my husband was in the hospital in May of 2011, admitted once again for a mysterious illness, with no definite diagnosis.

As I sat at the foot of his bed reading, he awoke, looked at me a few moments and thoughtfully said, You have to write the book. It needs to be written. And I promised to do so.

After Chuck’s passing, I went back to that first manuscript, but even with rewriting, it just wasn’t good and my chosen readers weren’t impressed. I continued writing short stories and for the first time in my life, poetry. I joined a small writer’s group in my home town and wrote my first make-believe story. Something I dreamed of doing as a child, but thought unattainable happened, I published a book of make-believe stories. The great part is that when the first published copy was placed in my hands, it released vigor and provided the confidence to find the way to accept my true quest and its intended final destination. My research tells me, writing does not make you an author, but publishing a book does. Five years later, the book that I didn’t plan to write is done and published. The book I promised to write is ready to publish.

Writing the first make-believe story for fun and joining the writer’s group are two events that started a new chapter in my life’s voyage. I continued to work on the promised book, inspired by the writing of the make-believe stories, encouraged and supported by the group’s members, my mentor, and my chosen readers. The commitment was strong and the loyalty to the project unbearable at times, but the promise to write the book and the cathartic journey to what book was now clear.

It has become a collection of journal entries, stories, musings, poetry and other writings, but I wonder, how something you love to do, is so painful and if it so painful, why do it? In the beginning, it was the commitment and the loyalty to my late husband. There were periods, I just couldn’t write or think about it.

Recently, while meditating with my bank of memories trying to wrap myself in the more glorious events, looking for reasons for the extreme melancholy that abruptly filled my mind as I declared the big book was finished. It was not the book that I had started to write in 2005 encouraged by many to do so. The book is a journal, and it documents the passage of two young people destined to live life together on their terms. It is based on actual experiences of their life, love and tragedies. It is just the book I was destined to write and with this cathartic journey, I have found independence in my writing.

Introduction

T his book is a collection of journal entries, stories, musings, make believe, poetry, and other writing. Most stories are based on real life experiences and thoughts. My husband and I were encouraged for years to write down our adventures because so often our life was extremely sad or extremely funny, but always unique. When Chuck, my husband, told the stories, even the sad ones could be funny. I kept a journal from the time I could write, encouraged by my mother, who also encouraged make-believe which became my best friend. Spending many hours alone growing up, it came in handy to go to my happy place and pretend. Mother read to me when I was very young and I loved the stories of Heidi, Little Women, Cinderella, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and many more. Once I learned to read, as with most children, a new world opened for me to explore and e njoy.

In 2005, I started writing my novel, but life had other plans. I continued to keep journals, collect stories, musings, and even wrote a blog for a while. Over the past few years, I have come to realize, I am better at short stories so the novel is on hold.

After Chuck’s passing, I turned to writing to express myself and often to help my daughters with the grieving process. It was during this time that I was reacquainted with a former classmate who was a published writer and that definitely was the start to getting the writing juices flowing. The process of writing and editing this book has been therapeutic for me. It is not the book I intended to write, but it has become the book I needed to write. The unique life that I lived with my Knight in Shining Armor is my legacy. I didn’t write it thinking I would make lots of money, but for posterity. It has been a life filled with trials, tribulations, love, laughter, and often sadness. With all the odds against us, two dreamers, looking for the same things just around the bend, I knew where he was going, I would follow. My intent is to document that life through my eyes. There are more stories that I hope to share soon, but for now, my dream is that someone, somewhere at some time will find this little book and spend an afternoon laughing, crying, and maybe in some way my stories will help them.

01%20Sometimes.jpg

Sometimes

This pleasant older couple takes long walks, sometimes silent, sometimes animated.

They have long conversations, sometimes politics, sometimes religious.

They share memories, sometimes happy, sometimes sad.

They watch movies, sometimes scary, sometimes funny.

They drink wine, sometimes red, sometimes white.

This pleasant older couple gazes into each other’s eyes, sometimes kiss, sometimes hug.

They are sometimes silly, sometimes laughing.

They sometimes argue, sometimes cry.

They sometimes snuggle, sometimes hold hands.

This pleasant older woman now walks alone, sometimes silent, sometimes animated.

She has long conversations, sometimes political, sometimes religious.

She shares memories sometimes happy, sometimes sad.

She watches movies, sometimes scary, sometimes funny.

She drinks wine, sometimes red, sometimes white.

This pleasant older woman gazes into no one’s eyes, seems to sometimes kiss, sometimes hug.

She is sometimes silly, sometimes laughing.

She seems to sometimes argue, sometimes cry.

She sometimes seems to snuggle, sometimes reaches out her hand, but……. there is no one there.

The beautiful thing about memories is you can choose which ones you take with you through this life’s journey……

02%20Mama%20as%20a%20Little%20Girl.JPG

Mama as a Little Girl

T he first memory for me is of a darkened, stuffy bedroom on a hot and humid afternoon. I remember the streaks of sunlight that escaped from the heavy drapes that were drawn to make it easier to fall asleep. I was two years old and so bored watching the dust particles float in the hot air as my nose itched at the thought of where it might land. Remembering my mother telling people about dying and turning to dust, I wondered who that might be floating to the already dusty floor. Lying there was a great waste of time especially since mother frequently spoke of how short life was and how little time we all actually had on e arth.

Life could be snatched away without warning, she would say.

The preacher told on Sundays that life is only preparation for eternal life, but you had to die first. It is no surprise that my least favorite things in those young days were naptime and bedtime.

Sleep was not only a waste of perfectly good hours, but sleep did not always come easily. Besides worry that the boogie man would get me, or worse, was the threat of Satan, better known as the Devil, was foremost in my mind. I loved my daddy, but he was destined to Hell according to the Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Jones. I was certain he already knew Satan from the stories he told.

People congregated at our home for dinners because Mom was a wonderful cook, everything was made from scratch and cooked to perfection. We grew our own food on the four acre mini farm where we lived and there were horses, cows, pigs, and chickens. Mother canned thousands of jars of vegetables, made catsup, relishes, sauces, jams, and jellies because the fruit trees, berries and rhubarb were abundant. We churned butter, smoked hams and bacon, plucked chickens, and did anything else that brought us the frivolities of life. Mother was also a great seamstress making every piece of clothing she and I wore including our coats, reupholstered furniture, made drapes for the windows and her sister’s wedding gowns and a flower girl dress for me. The pinafores she made were my favorite, feeling special and pretty wearing them, though, usually uncomfortable and self-conscious, not in those pinafores, everyone told me how pretty I looked and how wonderful that my mother could sew. It made me feel loved.

In addition to this already full life, both my parents worked. Dad worked in a steel factory as a press operator on a swing shift schedule and mother worked as a cook at a diner. They tried to make it so that at least one of them was home with me, but most of the time, I was shifted from family member to family member. Our farm house was two stories and the upstairs had an apartment where I sometimes stayed with the occupant depending on their credentials.

The least favorite was