WHY AM I WRITING THIS STUFF?? pt. 14?

I was thinking about what I have been doing here and I am feeling embarrassed about it all . First, I really should not refer to this as a blog, because as I understand it, blogs are usually made up of observations, opinions, instructions, gossip. They are not biographies which is what I am basically creating here. And though I call this a memoir, for lack of a better description, I really think that memoirs are usually done by people who are important enough to be asked to write one, or have done something significant enough, that one would want to read about exactly what they did and why. I am not important. I have done nothing worth reading about so I am not that person. Things have happened to me, out of my control and I had no role in any of it. So since you do not know me, WHY may I ask, are you reading this stuff?
I am curious .

If I have lead you on that I might have something important to say when I really do not, I'm sorry! It's just that with the discovery of a 'new' family, so to speak, I am driven to write all this stuff down. My Mormon cousin, David wrote to me, when he saw that I was asking myself why I was so driven to write, and here is what he said. Don't go crazy now. It's just the Mormon way.

"Dolores, I will tell you again that is because of the prophet Elijiah. Go to the Old Testament and read the last two verses or..the Book of Mormon and read 3rd Nephi, chapter 25, verses5-6 (Page 456). ..he continues..."You are driven by that spirit of Elijiah which causes one to know and be attached eternally to famly members..and it will be forever." I know he cares and really wants me to understand and to believe as he does and I dare not tell him that I am a disbeliever, an agnostic, possibly an atheist!!!! What if he turns away from me?

Note that I am not writing about my current life as it has nothing to do with my 'new life'. I am only writing about my past life and how it was before I discovered my new life. Understand?

So if you are not bored up to this point and are still curious, read on. If not, I understand.

A new memory. I am standing on a stool at a bathroom sink. The bathroom walls are white as is the floor. There is a tall lady helping me brush my teeth. I think I am standing on a stool. I think I am a toddler. That's it! That's the memory.

The woman is probably Sally, the madam. I think she and I and my father were living in that house, the house with the green metal roof and stone walls on the outside. Because I remember that house. It still exists in Atlantic City and I have often driven by that house for many years, sensing that somehow I was part of that house.

But I never knew for sure until the day I drove my brother down to AC to spend the day, 5 years ago. He wanted to see his old childhood haunts he said. He had come to New York with his latest wife to sight see he told me. He asked me to take him to Atlantic City for the day to show her his old haunts when he was a kid and of course I said yes. He was 70 years old. He said he used to live in that house when he was 6 or 7, before I was sent to Atlantic City from Panama . I will tell you about that day with my brother Michael later on. He said it was the happiest day of his life. That's good because the day after, he dropped dead in my apartment. Honest to God. But more about that later.

It all came flooding back to me today. It also hit me that my Father obviously cheated on Sally or else how did I come into this world. He and Sally were definitely living together when Ruth gave birth to me in Panama. I know my friend Walt found old records in the town archives that listed an address in Atlantic City with my Mother's name as one of the tenants. I think that when she came to dance in the local clubs, he hid my Mother in that apartment. And probably knocked her up there. Or in Cuba. I know she was in Cuba a lot and so was he. Did I show you the photo of him at Sloppy Joe's bar in Havana?...if not I will.

So, one day, not too long ago, when I saw a "for sale" sign outside that house, I called the Realtor, and said I was interested in seeing the house as a potential buyer. I did not tell her why I was interested.

When she walked me through the house, I could not conjure up any particular feelings, until we went upstairs and into the bathroom. And there I was, a toddler again, standing by that sink. No doubt about it!

All my real memories are in 26 S. Windsor avenue. Like the time my father brought home a beautiful dog named Mark. He was a 'bird' dog, or so I was told. I used to take Mark out to the boardwalk and he would love to run on the beach chasing birds. When he found one he would stop suddenly with a pointed tail, not moving a muscle. I would then grab his leash and pull him away. And then suddenly one day, when I went to look for Mark, my father said he had been stolen out of his car. So first I had Mark, then I didn't. Figures! And I must tell you that I always suspected it was Ethel who told him to get rid of the dog. That's how she always used to refer to Mark...as, "the dog". Just something I felt.