Thankfully - Chewed Up and Spat Back Out!

Creation Never Ends - it is Infinity, Eternity

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 15:59:37 +0000

Real? History? Creation? Evolution? Duality? A new book for the Bible, btw who said it was done? Maybe the next chapter still needed to be discovered , written. Or, perhaps I am just a woman dealing with chronic illness and stuck at home with a child's imagination still yearning to be safe. Who knows, you decide.

Mom grew up near Roswell, when it happened -less than a handful of years later she was struck with polio and learned what an iron lung was -

Same decade my Dad, the Battle of Nottingham, somehow not getting a dishonorable but returning to head off into basically a warzone with his little mother.

Mom strong bloodline linking back to every friggin' major event in history and her people were right in the middle, or caused it.

Dads stronger central Europe bloodline of warriors back to pagan Prus - throw in the surrounding elements from the results over wars of land - it built a sturdy stock, prepared, and ready. Including fighting to the death with mom's family - quite literally.

Those two lines come together in the midst of our government playing with mind control held together with paperclips.

We have Wright and his wives and apprentices popping up all over the world after their time spent in Spring Green banding together through acceptance, openness, and spirituality -expressed who it organically surfaced - *yeah, you figure that one out.

Now imagine a large cauldron - taking all those mindsets, cultures, dna into a large pot and stir it up - will it produce the best of each, the worse - or in the middle? Hey - while at it toss in some of that crash site stuff...vitamins? food? hmm.... Starseed? When did that term appear? Star child? OMG. My mom wanted to name me Starlynn. Dad insisted on Eva Marie...True story.

What did our parents do, Kubrick?

I need to check some things... St. Therese, the flowers start with seeds.........

Flash -Soylent Green, movie...

You Decide

Rose image above by: LMoonlight- Pixabay

From Russia with Love? Time will tell.

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Thu, 04 Jun 2026 05:20:46 +0000

The last month has swallowed up my existence. It's hard for me to find the words. My mind is still calculating all the info I have found. And it's hard to breathe.

It's been building over the last 6 or so months, I've felt it- but it really has been in the last three weeks the floodgates have opened. My little reflections of history and how the fit into my life, my traumas and even my smiles, opened up a world that is, well, surreal. My father left clues, many, and they tell a story about our history -what his eyes saw, and what to watch our for -a love letter not only to me , but also all of you.

It has been playing out on my Facebook page- there's too much for my fingers right now to type out and quite frankly, I do not know how to format even that first paragraph of introduction. I thought it was my childhood in California, and then Evanston, IL. But, I was wrong- it goes back further than that and not even just with the birth of my father, but further and I am unsure what those shoes looked like walking it, but there's a path loaded with deep imprints. My father lived a covert life -beyond the military, beyond an alphabet agency or any of one of the many operations they've had, especially during the cold war.

I don't know what to do with all of this but to me, his message is clear.

Mow it down, baby girl, mow it down. When Daddy was president of his local UAW working at Mark Controls in Evanston -I remember two distinct things about his leadership -don't pretend to be anything but who you are and do not bow to the corporate office and everyone needs to know about the things that have a direct impact on each member- his leadership was to be a force, but one that brought everyone to the table. During contract negotiations once the guys all left straight from the factory -they had a shower facility there and they were wanting to clean up. My father told them not to, that they needed to show up in that Chicago high rise at the company's attorney's office in their work clothing and with the grease of hard work on their skin. That was who they were. Plus they left some stains on the pristine white chairs and table, a reminder in case anyone forgot. That was my dad. I am his daughter.

So, as I find a way to tell this story over however long it will take- it begin in my mind with this photo, my father, a small man baby sitting on my sweet grandmother's lap. She is in the floral dress with a dark hat on. I think it was taken in Evanston, IL in the 30s.

Like I said, a man baby -even then a large presence. A man baby that would travel the world, join the USAF and then take my grandma back to Rosengarth, East Prussia the late spring and early summer of 1961. Yes, a trip made right before the wall went up, when stasi were thick, and Gary Powers was in Russian hands after his plane crashed in their territory. I'm learning a lot, and it came from going through grandma's photo album capturing the details -the clues he left.

1961- Spring/Summer trip to Rosengarth East Prussia (Rozynka, Poland as we know it today) and then Dortmund -a sample.

Yes, pigeons.

and then a few years later he is in Burbank, California with who appears to be Gary Powers and Jay Sebring, and friends, living it up.

All of this happening before I was born in 1967 and soon after was baptized by someone identified on the photo Fr. Patrick Peyton with two very at attention Godparents named McGill. Thing is, I understand now that the operations being run back then were all about mind control and creating illusions - top it off with Daddy leaving clues, well,you figure it out. One key tidbit is he should have had a dishonorable charge for the guys and him swiping passes to go out and end up in a bar fight where he got gangrene - they called it the Battle of Nottingham. He spent a lot of time in military hospitals healing from that and then that all happened. Did I mention he collected bluebirds?

But now I have more questions to all of this -Klara Keuchel, aka Sr. Wilfreda popped up in my searches, my personal ancestry ones and then I noticed some other things, including a photo -a few- that have me scratching my head and led me to Russia - I did already know I do have some slav in me, my dads side is heavy Eastern Europe/Germany - I have since learned about the baby networks after WWI and how children or pregnant woman were protected by the ethnic immigrants for a chance at life - meaning sometimes paperwork was changed, adoptions were not logged as such. And I am learning this was happening back in Evanston during those years. Sr. Wilfreda traveled the same yr my father was born -she landed in the Evanston area and was from the village next to Rosengarth, where my grandmother had lived until 1929, and grandma's maiden name is Keuchel. And then- I saw this photo.

I do not know who they are,but I do know, they look like me and my father- 1957, I believe.

Then I did this -I inlaid my photo , my dads and my son. I finally look like someone other than them. The darker skin, olive and that woman in the center? She's in other photos and I do not know who she is...

She is in this photo from 61, dad resting his hand on her- my grandmother on the bench between her siblings.

What's going on right? I can see it all happening back then, we know it did and I know what life was like after WWI for the people where my grandparents had lived, it makes sense and I am good with that- but when I tried to pinpoint who it could be in the lineage, some surprising names popped up - my grandmother's mother was a Gerigk and from there..well - and while Gerigk does make history as having someone on the wrong side of WWII - the name pops up through the connected to names like Penquitt, and Rehaag. I really don't want to say where it all took me, just yet - but it was significant and definitely would explain some things in that album like this - completely out of place- positioned to stand out.

England.

He wouldn't have left these crumbs unless there was a reason -

I know my father and he knew I would ask why?

Who?

What?

Where?

When?

I've always been that way...

Turn the page -

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Tue, 26 May 2026 14:34:27 +0000

We're the architects of the next chapter - we can take the teachings found in the prior ones-hold on to the core which resonates and helps us spin the gears of evolution - we do it rough and jam up the works or we work together to keep time's clock ticking. Listen to your core - your spiritual heart exists there.

Modern spiritual traditions share a deep, interconnected history: Judaism grew out of ancient pagan roots, Christianity and Catholicism evolved from Judaism, and Islam built upon both traditions. Together, they heavily shaped our current understanding of spiritualism.

And yes, AI made the image because I can't and need visuals for my posts - I do all of this voluntarily and on no budget because I don't have anything to budget. If someone wants to help me with that, great- must appreciated but until then tech provided us a knife - and I am using to cut a child's plate of food...finding hope in what others call horror, so, for now, the nightmares of war loom a little less.

Complan all you want while using an AI driven social media that a mere simple person is trying to be creative, and healing - using what they have to work with....

Us vulnerable are used to that

I am working on the next podcast - but for now....I do also have a lot of research gathering on my Facebook - it's quite a story.

From Chaos to Monarch - WTF was that? #mkultra #monarch #johndavidnorman #jaysebring #rosarypriest

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Thu, 21 May 2026 00:19:36 +0000

Reach out if you can relate-

May 10th - I don't know what to tell ya #rodserling #mothersday #monarch #whatever

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Sun, 10 May 2026 18:44:00 +0000

Powers? Sebring? The Big Genie -My Dad, Alfred John Woywod

On this day, May 10th- (Facebook post)

I'm just going to spew it because I need to process it and make sure I am looking at it in a balanced way and not making it fit because our minds tend to connect our surroundings like that- so- here we go and I will add to it as usual in the comments, and please remember to do your own research, Google summaries are for that guidance only and require verification -

30 yrs ago it was the week my Father died - heart stopped while taking a shower - woke up to my mom screaming- dad on the flooded bathroom floor , his 6'4" 250lbs hit the toilet tank and broke it- I made it to the bathroom to see my then husband pounding on his chest, screaming AL, and I witnessed my father's eyes roll back in his head. That bit of safety I felt in his presence, vanished. My Daddy was gone. He was buried after doing the full Catholic 2 days of torture wake - right before his b-day May 12th, which that year was Mother's Day.

Further back on the timeline forming my life, on May 10th 1960 this happened (Google): ... "the U.S. was in a state of diplomatic crisis following the capture of CIA pilot Francis Gary Powers on May 1, 1960, when his U-2 spy plane was shot down over the Soviet Union. Just three days prior, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev had revealed Powers was alive and captured, ruining the initial U.S. cover story that it was a missing weather plane"

Now today - May 10th. I decided to watch a video on Youtube drinking the coffee I shouldn't be as it is not low hist, to relax. And, yes, you read that right. I was drawn to one featuring former spies buried in Arlington and had John Kiriakou, also a former spy - that video and keywords mentioned by Kiriakou (Elvis, May, California, Air Force..etc) triggered those file tabs of mine in my mind and I looked.

He was in California at the same time as all the weird stuff surrounding my parents and my foundation. He worked at Lockheed..IN BURBANK. Then I found a video where his son was speaking and said he was a test pilot in ROSWELL - Mom's territory --

What do I do with this?

And is that him? That face, the profile - kinda like flattish, wide cheeks, big guy, like dad -standing there with Sebring?

I'm not losing it -you see it, right?

Happy Mothers Day

Dear America - What Do I do? It's your problem too.

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Sun, 10 May 2026 09:06:00 +0000

What Do I Do With All This?

I posted a rougher draft of this earlier on Facebook, but it needs more space. If you’re new here, scroll back through the last few months. The story doesn’t make sense unless you see the whole thread.

It’s real. It’s from my heart. And somehow, it feels like it’s bigger than just me.

My father’s side carries military brass, UAW leadership with shady edges, Catholic rosaries, and German grandparents , one of whom wore that moustache until the day he died. A general uncle. Godparents flipping off (sarcasm) Mickey Mouse at Disney. And a profile that fits every wild MKUltra rumor you’ve ever heard: highly intelligent, risk-taker, could win a bar fight. Coincidence? Maybe. But I have receipts.

My mother’s line is pure American chaos: Henry VII descendants with knights, witches, patriots, rapists, brainiacs, and secret society ties. Quakers, Peale connections, Roswell and White Sands proximity. She knew Jay Sebring in his early years. When I watched the documentary months ago, a woman named Elle Elliott appeared , same maiden name as my mother, same doppelganger look. My brother was obsessed with Dances with Wolves. I felt it in my bones.

Then Chicago. Evanston. John David Norman and his Navy buddy from the same Ohio town as Norman Vincent Peale. Strong secret society connections on that side too. That “buddy” groped and molested me as a child.

I was sick for years, doctors with no answers. A nurse once pulled me aside and warned me never to let a male doctor take me into a room alone or remove a catheter without a witness. I was a little girl.

As a pre-teen/teen I broke. Swallowed a bottle of pills while watching Trapper John, M.D. I survived, told my mother. Her response: “Don’t tell your father. It would kill him.” Then she shipped me to Los Angeles to an older sibling who put me on a factory floor , underage, enlarged spleen, on medication, medical file in hand. The owner of that business? His surname links to the same circles around Frank Lloyd Wright’s Taliesin, right now-today.

Catholics, Germans, military, secret societies, Hollywood, Scientology-adjacent threads, rich and poor, left and right , they all thought they were damn 007.

And for 58 years my family has told people I was lying about being sick, that I was exaggerating, that I wasn’t disabled. Gaslighting on an industrial scale.

So I’m asking , world, whoever is reading this:

What do I do with all this?

1-800-Therapist? Seriously? Don't say let go, let God...we've been saying. that for decades, pay attention.

So, how are those Epstein files coming?

Satisfied yet?

“This is raw source material from someone who lived it. Names, places, timelines, and connections are here. Do your own homework and verify.”

Above Image by Sara Castellano Frutos from Pixabay

The Little Girl I Carry: Safety, Fog, and Fifty-Year Funerals

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Fri, 08 May 2026 02:04:00 +0000

I think I have been searching for safety and love my entire life - I had a handful of people like Dad and Grandma Woywod who I felt safe and loved by but I think I am realizing it was in a tornado of trauma and maybe I don't know what it really feels like. Wow, what a realization, huh? And it all came about from unraveling my childhood as best as I could on these pages of the blog and on my Facebook account. It was just easier for me to throw findings and notes on there and keep them organized under topic/person on posts. I am doing all of this from the comfort of my bed and have been. Chronic illness and winter's gift to those who are bestowed both, time -lots of it, long blinks towards clarity - nah, that's an overstep, too many answers are lying in graves dead and buried, the funerals are close in my head, fifty years long.

It's a lot. It's been a lot. I'm a tired lady carrying a little girl in her that needs love. If that makes sense. All she ever wanted to know was the one question she asked throughout her...our...my..life, Why?

If any of you reading this found yourselves born into intrigue, trauma and mystery and you've spent your entire life walking through a gaslight you're trying to figure out on who controls, you'll get through. It will be tough. There are more us than people are willing to know.

I don't have hate towards people - disgust towards systems? Hell yeah.

I don't even hate those men who stole my childhood with their personal touch - I hope the child in them lost can now rest in peace.

If I hurt anyone along the way on this path of life - I hope they find forgiveness. I honestly do not know, the fog is blurred by the memories etched in.

Government and those organized against - You Have Collateral Damage littering our Nation. Get better cleaning crews. And yes, conspiracy theorists, that is a hint.

I'll still unravel and add more as I find it- but know I am doing this for the next person - they are out there.

Evening Coffee Thoughts - I still believe Everything Happens for a Reason - ask God.

Be Well 💜🌹💜🌹💜

#mothermaryhearourtears #ourchildrenarenotforsale

Monarch?

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Thu, 07 May 2026 08:47:00 +0000

Going down these rabbit holes has brought some clarity to my younger years, but it has also left me with new questions. My social media has become a running archive of notes, thoughts, links, and observations gathered from years of quietly researching from home and trying to make sense of pieces that never quite fit together.

Lately, I keep stumbling across references to “Project Monarch.” Google summarizes it as a “conspiracy theory alleging a secret CIA mind-control program involving trauma-based programming.” Even typing those words feels surreal to me because years ago I would have dismissed the subject outright.

But then I look at the photos.

I look at the old California pictures of my parents from the 1960s. I look at the baptism photo that came straight from Grandma Woywod’s album, still attached to the page after all these decades, with “Fr. Patrick Peyton” written carefully across the back. I look at other photographs that appear to include people connected to worlds I later learned more about , names like William and Frances Hamling of Greenleaf Publishing. Then there is the photo of my dad at a Burbank bar near the studios, a photo that appears to include Jay Sebring. That one especially stopped me cold because my mother once told me she had known or met him.

Those photos became tangible anchors. Without them, I probably would have convinced myself to stop digging long ago.

My childhood was surreal, it felt like an out-of-body experience before I even knew there was a word for that feeling. Some memories remain painfully sharp. I can remember tiny details most people would overlook in passing moments: a crack in the wall, the way sunlight filtered into a room, what I was wearing, the feeling in the air. Other stretches of time feel distant, fragmented, fogged over, or simply gone.

Which brings me back to Monarch.

The discussion surrounding it claims it emerged after MKUltra and focused on children, layering complex trauma onto developing minds, then monitoring behaviors or placing subjects through further conditioning meant to compartmentalize memory, redesign personality structures, or create psychological triggers for later control.

It sounds absolutely insane to even type those words.

But I have the photos.

I have spent years researching.

And I was positioned inside circles of intrigue from the moment I was born.

That does not mean every theory online is true. It does not mean every missing memory equals programming or every strange connection points to some hidden operation. But it does mean I cannot simply laugh these subjects away anymore either.

The photos are real.

The people were real.

The environments were real.

The trauma was real.

I was there in California in the late 1960s. Later I attended the open lab school at Central Elementary in Evanston during the 1970s, where I was learning what I called “2e2 Math”, algebra concepts, at eight years old. My neighbors in the apartment building were Mike and John, and yes, I am 99.9999% certain the “John” who would appear there was John David Norman.

Thank God I have those California photographs because I cannot imagine trying to put these pieces together without them. Without tangible evidence tying places, people, and memories together, the doubt alone would probably stop me before I ever allowed myself to ask the questions in the first place.

I know a lot of weird things have happened to me over the years. I also know I can sometimes read people, especially survivors of CSA and severe trauma , with an accuracy that has startled even me. Maybe it comes from hypervigilance sharpened through survival. Maybe trauma survivors recognize things in one another that others miss. I honestly do not know.

One moment especially has never left me.

When doctors first had me on Gabapentin, my emotional guards felt lowered in ways that made me uncomfortable. During a DV and SA support group meeting, a new woman arrived with a friend she had driven there. Out of nowhere, before I could stop myself, I blurted out that I was sorry for what had happened to her when she was sixteen, that she had been gang assaulted.

The room went silent.

She stared at me in complete shock and asked how I could possibly know that because she had never told anyone there. She was not even the person attending the meeting , she had only driven her friend.

That moment still unsettles me because it was not vague intuition or some broad statement that could be interpreted afterward. I knew specifically what had happened to her. The words came out before I could stop them, and the reaction in that room made it clear I had touched something deeply real and deeply hidden.

I have gone over that moment in my mind countless times trying to explain it logically. Was it hypervigilance? Pattern recognition sharpened through years of trauma and observation? Was I unconsciously reading cues most people overlook? I honestly do not know.

It wasn't a first for me, nor a last.

What I do know is that moments like that force me to confront questions I never expected to be asking about trauma, memory, intuition, survival, and the ways human beings carry pain beneath the surface.

And I also cannot fully dismiss Monarch.

Because honestly? It makes sense to wonder whether programs like MKUltra simply vanished without follow-up curiosity or continuation. Governments, scientists, intelligence agencies, and researchers have rarely been known to stop pushing boundaries simply because the public became uncomfortable. Human beings are obsessive by nature, especially when power, psychology, war, behavior, and control intersect. If experiments were conducted during one era, it is not irrational to question whether later generations explored related territory in different ways.

That does not automatically validate every story attached to Monarch. It does not prove every internet narrative or survivor account. But it does explain why I cannot completely turn away from the subject either.

So if you see me wandering into these darker corridors of history and speculation, now you know why.

Above Image by SIP_Vienna from Pixabay

Where Friction Turns to Wine

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Sat, 02 May 2026 07:45:00 +0000

The laughter, the debates, the drama and the freedom of expression after suffering and surviving the oppression of war. Hope was born in those conversations that turned into the media we consumed and built our today's upon.

Crowded streets, a odor only Paris knows, simple but cared for food and attitudes abound. All the friction sounds exciting, at least to me. Think how easily our today could be polar opposite had say Hemingway had a headache that morning and stayed home. What would we have missed out on?

Epicenters have that power. A hub of converging energy. The goal wasn't to agree, it was to grow. That alone forgave those differences, eventually.

Could our world of chosen corners handle stepping back to that - days and environments such as The Dome in Paris?

I'm not sure and I am not sure why this is on my mind, but it is - maybe I just needed to step away from1947 California for a bit.This week I shared a lot of new information, which was also a lot for me to absorb with my life connecting to so much of it and I was kept in the dark to believe somehow I deserved all of it - it's hard not to feel sorry for myself, I've tried, it's hard. I have to grieve something that I am still missing some links but it's impossible at this point to deny it is all happenstance. I literally grew. up believing I was a freak of nature with all those medical issues, the various csa abusers that seemed not related, but now look very much related - it's a lot..

Could you see me going to counseling with this one? Hello, padded room time."But I have photos....... "

A little Parisian cafe with welcoming Art Deco curves and golden amber glows...and a good debate to. work out some pent up frustrations, turning vinegar into wine. Yeah...Cest si bon...

Today was a me day- I needed to step away from the chaos of twisted greater good for a bit..

Can We Just Shake It Out?

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Fri, 01 May 2026 07:43:00 +0000

Talking just love and light when the world is imploding is not working -

Dwelling on the world imploding, yeah, have fun with that- even I take breaks from the morbid.

Wanting complete control over the other side is only perpetual pain -each of us has stories and experiences that are beneficial for motivation and to serve as warnings of wisdom.

We are all walking around this Earth encased in our own body of spectrums - so many at once- Mental, health, physical, Emotional, learning..and on and on, similar but unique.

We're never going to convince one another of absolute allegiance and nor should we.

We have to be comfortable with that while also respecting we all have passions where those individual experiences have built our own expertise, we all will have moments where we stand our ground on certain things - it makes for some excitement and opportunities of growth.

When I advocated at IEPs I was firm on all conversations in that meeting were child/student focused - Free Appropriate Public Education in the Least Restrictive Environment, period. I didn't want to hear about admin and teacher battles - those woes did not get placed on that child. I was firm. It's things like that, each of us have within -for me it's respecting the little girl in me who is going to do her damndest to protect that next child and accepting that sometimes I may fail.

I believe everything we do, create and stand up HAS TO BE CHILD FOCUSED and towards growth. Period. YOU FOCUS ON THE CHILD BY SUPPORTING THE PARENT. We can hash it out, believe me, I've sat at tense damn Thanksgiving meals - I'm alive and never pretended not to be. 😊

We can do this even if we do not like one another - the country is huge, you don't have to be neighbors, and if we got our acts together we could make it easier to move by balancing the playing field - duh.

OK - my before bed thoughts after taking in a day of surreal history - and then wondering how much of it. is actually real or had it been visited by Team Snow White.

Sweet Dreams 💜💜💜

#mothermaryhearourtears #OurChildrenAreNotForSale

The Lilacs and Innocent Light

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 20:52:00 +0000

A post I shared this morning on social media..well, afternoon, I just woke up after an allnighter due to dysautonomia. Fun times - but anyway, when I woke up the following happen and I thought I would share it here since...yeah..since..

I am sharing it as is so anyway who happens to be following these wild stories knows where I am at in the process -

Ora Murray left this world, brutally ,about 4 yrs prior to #elizabethshort #BlackDahlia and she was known as the #whitegardenia - She caught my attention, especially when I saw she was from Oregon, visiting her sister in California, while her husband was stationed in Mississippi - a cursory search showed some others mentioning #Chicago , a natural pull for me right now and because #short having been in Chicago where she supposedly questioned people about this murder- Suzanne Degnan, a little girl torn apart and flung from existence. Allegedly when Short did this she pretended to be a reporter - Elizabeth was murdered soon after and when returning to New York - it's all very interesting, isn't it?

Maybe Short was questioning people, maybe conducting an investigation, and after returning to LA, all information needed was gathered---time to disappear? Put on a show? IDK why I thought that - 2 birds 1 stone came to mind. i could be totally off my rocker, it wouldn't be a first.... but it's starting to nag at me, like a movie or book one might be engrossed in -

So - that's today's assignment and we're going to remember Ora in my posts, and also that little girl from Chicago, that keeps coming to the light...Suzanne Degnan.

That little girl's photo literally gave me intense chills - so, here we go. Time to give some attention... and then I saw where that precious child is buried in the very same cemetery as my own Daddy, All Saints in Des Plaines - Wow, tears are flowing....

#mothermaryhearourtears

Now you know what I will be doing tonight..

A Short Rabbit Hole Filling In.....

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 06:21:00 +0000

I had to do it, Elizabeth was haunting me. This past weekend I spent a lot of time and emotional energy digging into the story I spent most of my life avoiding for some reason. I think I figured out why. Behind those eyes were intense pain and getting a summary of what was published it felt like I knew her, and always had. Her story had elements the whispered my own, from my childhood where I was ill, and in spite of it worked with more trauma being placed on daily. I felt that ache. Maybe I've always have and that is why I turned away the first time I learned about around the age of 8 or 9.

Jay Sebring-

I was an old movie fiend even back then in the 70s - I loved film noir, Cary Grant (my first love), old Hitchcock movies, even the Ziegfeld Follies - Esther Williams with her water ballet of synchronized dancing - to a little girl, as a toddler when living in Hollywood land and had no problem taking my 18 month old legs and running towards an ocean and the waves - well, it was magical to me. Old movies felt natural to me so when one came on my mom started telling me about Elizabeth Short. Discussing murder in the house was no big deal either. Mom was a ferocious reader and some of those book covers most woul call traumatizing. I've explained before about Helter Skelter and mom going on and on about knowing Jay, the hairstylist. So, yes, for me it was normal. Even then I didn't understand why Elizabeth's story bothered me so much, but it did, and I turned it off and avoided it, somewhat, since.

Those eyes this weekend wouldn't allow me to turn away. Couple that magnetic pull along with all the research I have been doing into mid-century America and fringe groups with interesting human beings, well -it called out to me that all is not as it seems - actually none of it.

I started seeing a young man in pain in those eyes and that photo -deep pain that had nowhere to go, and they didn't understand it all. I felt their soul feeling like a ping-pong bounced around trying to find home. But that young man felt like a child crying - and I had to.

At first I had AI remove make up, female accessories and give Elizabeth a haircut, timely for the era - but then I wanted to be sure there were no alterations in bone structure - lip placement, so I went old school and just took the original photo, erased what I could myself, which was just her hair and earrings, and then I just placed
that face on top of the AI version with the short hair and it started making sense -all of it. The short relationships, the comments from people at the time that they were a tease, aka -wouldn't put out. There were mentions that they were unable to have sex, and that Elizabeth just used people. I saw a medical condition society still makes jokes about and from ignorance -which is something I know about even if not the same thing - mine deals with connective tissue within my body, Elizabeth's dealt with the essence of their being's expression of gender.

I saw someone trying to survive in a constant state of hypervigilance in a world of men returning from war,hyped up on surges of adrenaline and pain, their own PTSD. No doubt that during those days, in that era.

How does one navigate then. How could they cover it up? How could they find others who would understand? That's mind boggling to think about because back then being intersexed doctors chose your path before you ate solid foods. Furthermore, in Germany Hitler's mad scientists were obsessed with topics like these, they made for painful experimentations and death. We were doing our own, and it wasn't just the Kinsey Report.

I realize there is not actual proof and the autopsy may negate this, but I also know how records can be manipulated, altered or just flat out lied in, my medical records have fallen victim to such things and our documented history is filled with it, and especially with some of the massive covert operations of the time and since - Jeffrey Epstein and that circus is a prime example. So, if anything allow this theory to prove - the answers are not as simple or blatant as it may seem.

For instance did you know that Chicago was an epicenter of the LGBT movement for civil rights? I had no idea and I grew up in the area, I didn't know until I started down this mid-century trek. The person who started was Henry Gerber-

In 1924 Henry Gerber formed Chicago’s Society for Human Rights. He had arrived in America only a decade prior. He was born in Bavaria as Joseph Henry Dittmar on June 29, 1892. According to the Chicago LGBT Hall of Fame: "From 1920 to 1923 he served with the U.S. Army of Occupation of Germany and during this time, he came into contact with the German homosexual emancipation movement. He subscribed to German homophile magazines and was in contact with Magnus Hirschfeld’s Scientific-Humanitarian Community in Berlin. In 1924, Gerber returned to Chicago and was hired by the post office. Gerber’s return to Chicago was amidst a backdrop of urbanization and an emerging gay subculture.

Following what Gerber had seen in Germany, he felt the need to establish an organization to protect the rights of gays and lesbians. With several friends, Gerber formed an organization which was later incorporated as The Society for Human Rights, a nonprofit corporation in the State of Illinois. The organization published a newsletter, Friendship and Freedom, which was distributed to its small membership."

I never knew- until this week and for some reason when I read it I was reminded that I had also read about Short spending time in Chicago more than once. At least this is what is said when Steve Hodel and his interview with Paul Veglia in 2017 as published on the website The Black Dahlia in Hollywood.

"She purchased a bus ticket to Indianapolis, and then it was on to Chicago, where she stayed at the Park Row Hotel from June 24 until July 12. She also stayed at the Blackstone Hotel in Chicago with Jack Chernau.

While in Chicago, Elizabeth became interested in the Suzanne Degnan murder. William Heirens, a young man from the area, was accused of killing the young girl and dismembering her body. The Los Angeles Examiner reported: “In Chicago, Freddie Woods, 23, who described himself as a “friend” of the slain girl, revealed that she was “fascinated” with the brutal slaying of six year-old Suzanne Degnan, which took place in Chicago a year ago. Woods said he met Miss Short last August when she was in Chicago for 10 days. She told him she was a Massachusetts reporter covering the trial of William Heirens, who was convicted of the Degnan kidnaping and slaying.”

It almost sounds like Short was undercover, or pretending to be, why - I don't know but is it surprising considering the time, and all that was swirling, or a sign of someone trying to fit in or start again. Who knows, but it's interesting. But then in the sidebar on the same site you will see another statement that has been reported elsewhere:

"James Neemo was an usher that worked at the CBS studios in Columbia Square on Sunset Boulevard near Vine Street. He worked directly under head usher John Egger. Egger said he saw Beth “at least twenty times” at the radio studio. She always came alone, except once when she was with a man who identified himself with his badge as a Chicago police officer. Beth usually waited in line to see a broadcast, but this time she was allowed in with the man through a side door as a courtesy to the officer. He said she came to see the Jack Carson show on either January 2 or January 8."

Now it gets interesting, doesn't it? Chicago at the time was a hub for many things, military wise, and otherwise. Project Paperclip was taking off and German scientists, many from Hitler's regime, were either one their way or here in America to make a switch and use their expertise for our efforts (I know, weird) and then Chicago was also in the middle of a pulp science fiction scene growing rapidly with Ziff Davis and then also with William and Frances Hamling and their Greenleaf Publishing in Evanston. The infamous child pornographer and abuser John David Norman was at Northwestern (according to his draft card) pumping up those radio skills - and Northwestern was bursting at the seams with returning service members utilizing their GI Bills - oh, and then we also have a young Hugh Hefner doing his own self publishing from an home in Chicago. Interestingly enough, the Hamlings, Norman, and Hefner would land west in California, in areas like San Diego, Los Angeles and Palm Springs - Already over that way was Chicago born Walt Disney with his empire growing and Sidney Sheldon getting his mind prepared to write novels we wouldn't be able to put down. This doesn't even include all those science fiction writers and then artists like Edmond Teske. Some of the largest names heard the call to "Go West" - and they did. Furthermore, they did with their eclectic mix of lifestyles, some considered on the far end of fringe.

In the land of sunshine the Chicago creatives often moved in the same circles or at least ones that easily connected to others. Elizabeth moved in the same circles, or did their damndest to do so as they reached for the stars. One person Elizabeth knew well, at least well enough to say in his home for a bit, was theater owner Mark Hansen. Actually many of those former Chicagoans also knew him and moved in the same circles. There they would meet up with the like minded such as avante garde artist Man Ray and one of the main suspect in her murder, Dr. George Hodel. Hodel owned that house that has become eeirly a visual symbol of her story even though we don't know what happened there, and if anything did.

The house is known as the Sowden House after its original owners. What I found interesting in researching this is who built that home, Frank LLoyd Wright, Jr. -just call him LLoyd. Lloyd was very good friends with Teske. Teske had actually spent time at his father's place in Spring Green, Wisconsin, Taliesin. There the talented artist documented the building of minds happening before him and became good friends with LLoyd. Teske had actually stayed at he Sowden House and Lloyd's other and first building there. the Taggart House.

Rumors have been flying that Elizabeth possibly sat for Teske, but there's no evidence of that, yet. It's also worthy to note that Jack Parson and L.Ron Hubbard were known to run in some of the very circles, the year prior the pair conducted a series of rituals in which Parsons believed he was attempting to invoke or manifest “Babalon,” a divine feminine figure from Aleister Crowley’s Thelema system. Central to the working was the concept of the “Scarlet Woman,” a human counterpart meant to embody that force. Parsons believed the ritual could call forth such a figure in the physical world , what he later interpreted as the arrival of Marjorie Cameron-and ultimately lead to the creation of a transformative or “magical” child.

Now enter Man Ray's art- no doubt bondage and more was a highlight.

Google image search result on Man Ray

Can you imagine all these minds coming together? Science fiction, erotica, surrealism, in an air of suspicion where everyone back then was spying on one another? Sidney Sheldon sitting back and taking it all in, organizing thoughts and creativity, mixing it up? The Wright's and their organic ways and openness for all walks of life? The military and slurry of alphabet agencies - not to mention movie stars like Cary Grant, a very good friend of Sheldon's and who was known to spy for England.

https://charlesmatthews.blogspot.com/2019/06/dream-wife-sidney-sheldon-1953.html

It's a lot. I know. My head is still swirling from taking it all in and trying to understand it all and how they came together, all of them. As it is, anything I suggest in this is fluid and theory but you have to admit, it's one hell of a story. I want to make sure all understand that as I know how things get twisted along with motivations, we all do but when you add on things like L Ron Hubbard and Scientology we know that a few decades later they had their own project, Operation Snow White, where they infiltrated government offices and it was reported they altered, changed, or destroyed records. What could a group with such intent do in today's world? Especially one of wealth and are our techno wizards? We'd never be able to trust documented history if they decided for the rest of us to delete history. Are they? Have they? Will they? Do you trust the answer?

I guess it's up to each one of us what we decide is important enough to care about and use our best judgement. For me, right now -Elizabeth pain IS important and always has been - because no matter who Elizabeth was -what happened to that life we've been told was literally ripped into two pieces, blood drained - despite that -when I look into the eyes of that picture, I see duality, hidden. I see a young man, and I know in my gut there is more to all of this than meets my eyes.

From NASA

For instance, out in those sands surrounding California and beyond, Parsons along with Hubbard and also Frank Malina, that had been working on their own projects, together, to take mankind into outer space. Those efforts caused heartaches, loss friendships, and hurt feelings. Parsons would end up accusing Hubbard in a bad financial deal and Parsons losing his life managed by perfectionism, every aspect, blown to bits from supposedly dropping some chemicals. As for Malina, he and Parsons had it out as it is said Parsons turned him in for communism, and Malina ended up leaving the country -

The story is far from over - Elizabeth's and even the connections to those highly intelligent swirls controlling the vibe of society - Malina reaches us today but this time through Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell and her sister. The sister is married to his son.............

Article

And Elizabeth's eyes -both of them- holds a chapter in the story of US.

It's late - there may be typos fixed after initial publishing - feel free to contact me if you see anything glaring.

Trilogy of Duality -

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 17:03:00 +0000

Trilogy of Duality -

My heartfelt words / AI's emotional expression

On a person born with two identities

One in life , the other in death

Art evolves....

People erase it before it forms

Coffin.

A Short Rabbit Hole Widens

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Sun, 26 Apr 2026 08:54:00 +0000

*This essay explores overlapping historical interpretations and cultural context surrounding two unresolved cases; it does not assert definitive conclusions.

Marvin Merrill is the name Alex Baber, co-founder of Cold Case Consultants of America, has suggested may be identified in the Zodiac Killer's infamous coded letter. A name that echoed back a couple of decades to Elizabeth Short's, the Black Dahlia, tragic end and investigation but was never charged, much like a handful of other men.

Elizabeth, like most young single women back then had a slew of men wanting to date, and who did date her. Soldiers returning from wars and her being a beautiful young woman it was only natural. Add to it all she was a traumatized young woman, with a chronic health condition, and a very dysfunctional family situation, for her those dates were most likely shots at hope towards a future of just existing to survive while she tried to reach for the Stars.

Marvin was one of those young men -

He was born in Chicago and was in the Navy and served as a medic. According to reports in Okinawa in 1945, he was reportedly buried alive when a makeshift hospital cave collapsed. The reports went on to say he needed to claw his way out. Needless to say it is not surprising that experience left him with "recurring battle dreams" and "startled reactions". He ended his military service with a medical discharge. He was able to use the GI Bill benefits to enroll at USC, and work towards a medical degree.

Reading all of that, one can begin to see pieces of a larger puzzle taking shape. It is one that may help explain the world Elizabeth was moving through in the weeks before her death.

The first reason I have is the Zodiac's targets were couples, surprise attacks, and usually with a gun and/or knife. They were quick, as quick could be in those situations and in some reports words likes sloppy were used to describe the assaults. There was no cutting off of body parts, or moving the victims from one location to another.

I think there is another explanation -

Skip Merrill was another alias he was known to use.

He was into art - surrealism. So much so that post her death, some years later, he popped up in Wellington, Kansas, of all place, and started a Wellington Art Foundation. Interesting, isn't it all - and even more so is what is around Wellington- Near there at the time was Beech Factory Airport: Approximately 36 miles.

Cessna Aircraft Field: Approximately 38 miles. McConnell Air Force Base: Approximately 40 miles. -- Boeing Military Production: Boeing’s Wichita facility was critical, manufacturing bombers like the B-52 and helped to continue to support military needs throughout the 1960s. Quite frankly, it was a hub -and known as the Detroit of Aviation. A whistle call to Navy and Air Force enthusiasts and perhaps others who have business to handle . This broader Cold War landscape, the military research, behavioral psychology, and intelligence programs like Project MKUltra all formed part of the cultural backdrop of the era, whether directly connected or not.. but, I digress....

It was the fact that he was an artist which made me dig a bit deeper and mainly because back in the days when Elizabeth Short was reaching for those Stars in Hollywood a bohemian art scene was taking off, along with society being entertained with science fiction all around - and it was growing.

Margolis told the Kansas newspaper that he was an artist who had studied under surrealist Salvador Dalí - most likely not accurate but while living in Hollywood 1946, he socialized within the local theater community. Elizabeth and him, according to reports, shared an apartment with Marjorie Graham, an actress at the Vagabond Mummers' Playhouse on Sunset Boulevard. It wasn't a longterm arrangement, less than two weeks. As for Elizabeth, she did know quite a few names, or at least made sure to be where they were, in the theater and arts community. It was her obsession to be part of that crowd in hopes to be discovered -

Even with Elizabeth's connection to that world, my first thought went straight to other suspects- a main one, George Hodel, the doctor many believe was the murderer, including a member of his own family, his son, and his close friend, the famous surrealist Man Ray who created the following in 1939, the decade before Elizabeth's murder. It's striking to see it knowing that her body was left for discovery, in pieces, just like this piece of art. She suffered extensive postmortem mutilation, including a surgical bisecting of the body and facial trauma consistent with severe blunt force. The surrealist imagery associated with artists such as Man Ray has often been compared, retrospectively and speculatively, to the staged nature of the crime scene.

Hodel was friends with Baron Ernst von Harringa, according to Hodel's son, Steve. His son goes on to link Harringa with the occult-bohemian milieu that included Jack Parsons and, Hubbard. It was a world where avant-garde art, ritual magic, sexual experimentation, and intellectual rebellion often overlapped.

As it happened, just months before Elizabeth Short’s murder, Parsons and Hubbard had conducted the infamous “Babalon Working,” a series of Thelemic rituals intended to invoke or manifest the divine feminine, an event that, whether symbolic or sincere, illustrates the psychological and cultural atmosphere moving beneath postwar Los Angeles.

Yes, it is a lot to take in, and this represents only a small sampling of what Jack Parsons and L. Ron Hubbard were involved with in the 1940s. When considered alongside the surrealist imagery associated with artists such as Man Ray, and the broader cultural world of postwar Hollywood, it begins to sketch the environment Elizabeth Short moved through in her final months. She was a young woman seeking acceptance and stability in a city defined by ambition, instability, and fragmentation, while also navigating health challenges and a lack of consistent support. Taken together, these elements may help form one interpretive framework for understanding the circumstances surrounding her death. However, none of these connections have been formally substantiated or confirmed by official investigative findings.

As for Margolis, he too appears as part of the wider postwar landscape, an individual shaped by wartime experience, possible trauma, and the difficult transition back into civilian life. Like many of his generation, he moved through artistic and social circles in a period defined by instability and reinvention. In reconstructing these overlapping lives decades later, it becomes easy to imagine a kind of narrative closure or psychological arc being imposed on fragmented histories. But that remains interpretation rather than established fact.

As for the Zodiac killings two decades later, they unfolded in Northern California, far from the postwar Hollywood world Elizabeth Short inhabited. Marvin Merrill’s life had been rooted in Southern California, yet the timing raises its own questions. By the late 1960s, California was moving through another cultural rupture, counterculture, experimentation, psychological research, and the fading shadow of covert government programs. Haight-Ashbury had become synonymous with altered states and social upheaval, while Louis Jolyon West, better known as Jolly West, remained an influential figure in behavioral research. Meanwhile, Project MKUltra was nearing its official end, with many of its records later destroyed under orders from Sidney Gottlieb in 1973. Whether any of that has bearing on the Zodiac murders is impossible to say , but it remains part of the larger psychological landscape of the era.

A Short Rabbit Hole

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Sun, 26 Apr 2026 00:03:00 +0000

I've avoided those haunting eyes for 50 years now and ever since learning about the horror those eyes faced the last moments of her life in January of 1947. For some reason, those eyes - their depths - screamed to me an ache deep within her, one I knew. The sadness has always been overwhelming.

Then -this week- happened. I was continuing my research on those paths that I have been walking in trying to understand, absorb and bring balance to all those others victims whose stories have touched my soul through family and professional endeavors - It's extremely hard to explain all of this so be patient with me.

Today we're focusing on Elizabeth Short as she's going to return us back to my last posts discussing our twisted efforts at a greater good in post WWII America. How those operations and projects by those to whom we entrust our collective citizenship control us in unseen ways- and how those visions and efforts were shrouded in layers of unhealed trauma of their own.

Elizabeth is one of many tragic souls whose lifeless body was dumped to be forgotten.

She's been in the news quite a bit, or at least has been chatter on social media sites as a discovery was made in the Zodiac Killings, identifying a killer after finally solving the code. Alex Baber, a self taught and propelled crime investigator cracked it - and I believe him. Baber is the co-founder of Cold Case Consultants of America. Baber argues the code points identifying the name of "Marvin Merrill," which was a known alias of someone who was looked at and known to Elizabeth, "Marvin Margolis."

Before I dig into Margolis on here, I want to say I feel history has maligned Elizabeth, as it often does with women, especially those without a pot to piss in nor some great impossible feat they somehow accomplished - a vast majority get thrown into the Scarlett pile.

In 1930 she as a young girl still under 10 years old not only watched her parents lose everything to the Great Depression, but she also had to grieve the death of her father, he vanished. She watched her mother be the sole breadwinner raising her and her four sisters. Elizabeth also carried an extra burden as she had to deal with chronic illness since childhood- severe asthma that caused her to have to seperate from that family base and spend time over the winters in Florida staying with relatives. But, when all was said and done ,Elizabeth as a sophomore in high school had to dropout because of her health issues. After dropping out she took jobs in Florida to help out the family, mainly in the service industry. So, yes, too sick for school, but able to be shipped off to Florida and work. That brought tears to my eyes, most likely the tears she herself was unable to shed anymore because survival doesn't always allow for that -

Depression, war years building and busting open and there she was a young girl grieving the death of her father, working in Florida because of her poor health and all while she should have been excited about proms, football games, and boys. She never had a chance.

Try to remember that this was in a time when women were forced to take the brunt of responsibilities stateside even though they made far less than any man would for the same jobs. Many lived without knowing how their next meal would happen, now imagine a young girl navigating that. -and also remember while not intentional, all the time, those with chronic health conditions also carry the blame in families for being costly and not productive enough. They learn to expect less, feel they deserve less - especially back then. A date meant a meal. These women were also exploited and used up as they tried to survive and live.

So now that I've set the foundation I feel she deserves - we move forward to California, keep in mind Hollywood was not the poison that took her life, it was the stage upon which predators recognized vulnerability.

In 1942 a letter arrived - Daddy was not dead. He staged his disappearance and vanished across state lines but now he wanted to touch base. I can only imagine for a young woman like her, 18yrs old at the time, a magical fairy tale was coming true - the parent she thought was dead, reached out, all the grieving and the only ifs could stop.

She headed to California - to warm weather and a father who greeted her with a cold and drunk heart.

Shattered.

A beautiful young woman tossed around when she could barely breathe - everyone telling her how striking she was, her face, those eyes, but never saw her - the person - the soul.

She didn't stay at her father's long before she had to fend for herself, even though not to disappoint her mother and grandmother back East, she wrote fantastic reviews of her time in the of reaching to the Stars. Maybe she didn't want to hear how yet again, she failed - or was a burden in some way, shape or form.

Think hard about it all - what would you have done in her shoes?

Who would you become?

She, well, she became the Black Dahlia --

Next post I will concentrate on the men around her, the life she fought to build, and the violence that turned her into legend

Postwar Shadows, Bunny Ears & Basement Dreams in Evanston. pt 1 #johndavidnorman

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Fri, 17 Apr 2026 19:37:00 +0000

I try to imagine myself a very young adult walking the green grass near Lake Michigan, post our WWII victory - taking that all in after coming from the sands and sauna air of the southwest. Can you imagine being that young student walking the grounds of your new home, new school - with all of that swirling. Nevermind the fact that your school, Northwestern University, was a crazy hub of veterans on GI Bills and others moving forward with disembarking service nearby - all those memories, those dreams, those tears - all that trauma suffered, life changed forever, all that fear -never able to erase what you now knew. Each life passing by carrying their own versions experienced by a system built from different life lessons - all trying to absorb an impossible.

That was the tail end of the 40s for kids stepping towards the rest of their life, as it was for a young Oklahoma man who made it to Evanston, Illinois by way of a few years in Houston interning at the radio station housed at the Rice Hotel. John David Norman's hard work on productions known like Experiment in Radio had actually paid off. They paid off via scholarships like one from the Houston Committee of Constitutional Government, whose parent organization was Committee of Constitutional Government who at the time was chaired by Norman Vincent Peale.

Welcome to Progressive Evanston.

I spent a significant chunk of the 70s and my childhood in Evanston. I knew it well, at least the streets, alleys and gates I could pass through while the streetlights remained off. I've come to learn even more and what those conversations may have been about beyond the windows I passed.

They would have been many of the same windows my father and his brother passed in their youth, same streets, same houses. In mid to late 40s Evanston they would have been in their high school years attending St. George High School for boys, also in Evanston. In their adventures one of the homes they most likely passed was on Fowler and occupied by William Hamling who was toiling in a basement with his own endeavors- a publishing company, but not your typical kind. His publications would cater to a niche audience of a burgeoning science fiction fan base, one who wanted more than martians and spaceships - they wanted to crawl into erotic imagination, for adults only. The world would come to know it by the call letters in it's phone number, Greenleaf Publishing.

I found out about Greenleaf yesterday and only after a news blurb appeared on my feed - it was about a newsstand in Chicago and a car that went through it's doors. I immediately thought about that newsstand in Evanston on Chicago Avenue and Main, the one I passed every day of my world back then I wondered to myself if today they were owned by the same person - and yes, they are... So, yes, this rabbit hole was kicked open by that - I know. Weird.

In five minutes from there I knew about Greenleaf Publishing - which then some of these puzzle pieces started making sense or at least, are taking shape.

Evanston is and was a hub. Surrounding it is Chicago, Great Lakes Naval and then too Fort Sheridan, along with O'hare and Midway airports within range. Quick access to Canada- over those lakes - it's a natural site of defense, sitting on a lot of wealth - it is a healthcare center and science and tech leader in many ways. It was the heartbeat of innovation, production, education and faith - all rural roads took you to the Yards.

Norman was at Northwestern during this time- there is no explanation why that summer he was in Philadelphia 1948 however the GOP, the DNC and the Progressive Parties held their conventions there that year.

Now, back to Norman. That young man he was and the infamous pedo ring leader he would become grew up in a family where his older brother was a pilot but not just any pilot, rather one affiliated with Chinese National Airways Corp. Now, like most reading this, that meant nothing to me until I looked in further and found out those pilots and those planes took part in covert missions during and after the war - often connected to OSS which turned to CIA.

https://www.cnac.org/norman01.htm

Norman's brother would have been one of them, the ones who flew in the shadows of pilots like Capt. Julius Barr who took part in harrowing escapades as a pilot to Eastern world royalty - including Madame Chiang Kai-shek and as an "air chauffeur" for warlord Zhang Xueliang.

https://www.cnac.org/barr01.htm

An interesting bunch of characters and what many now call war heroes. And yes, if you are like me - you caught something , that last name, Barr. It is and has been repeated quite a bit in stories and history connected to covert operations, pedo rings, Epstein and beyond. I noticed it too, especially since knowing that Donald Barr, former OSS officer to CIA cheerleader of Jeffrey Epstein at Dalton as a college drop out Math teacher. It kinda smacks, doesn't it? Even if I don't know whether or not they are related, it stills feels like a period at then end of a sentence.

https://chewedupandspatout.blogspot.com/2026/02/1-1-jeffrey-epstein-alphabet-math-weird.html

Then....

One twisted - rare - little detail about Donald Barr now makes sense more than ever before , doesn't it? He was a science fiction fan and author - remember Space Relations...??

Before I leave you for a small break in writing -

I want you to remember that in this same span of time, mid to late 40s, Project Paperclip, Bluebird and MK Ultra, were either in the making and or being utilized with Paperclip utilizing Hitler regime scientists to our own liking -

But also take in that beautiful meandering drive down famous Lake Shore Drive where Bunny ears were about to be erected in the decade to come signifying his, Hefner's, accomplishments. He was still busy self publishing from a kitchen table in this Chicago home - all happening at once in Union and Mob fighting Chicago.

To Be Continued.

Death. The threat of-

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Wed, 08 Apr 2026 21:58:00 +0000

Death. The threat of-

Something hit me this morning - death has been a threat in my life for as long as I could remember. It was used as a motivator in learning the ropes of eggshell walking.

My parents were in their early 30s when I came along in the 60s. My father's only child and my mother's last.

Her family is very large and many resided in Michigan. We took many trips up to Mount Pleasant, and a large amount were for funerals. One vacation up there an aunt of her's died while we were there- I had to be about 7 and I remember falling a part as children do when they learn about death and I didn't even know her.

Dad's parents were older when they had him, so my grandparents seemed to be in their late 70s early 80s for my childhood- the time they were in it- Aging and death looming -

"watch what you say and do, they're old"

My dad's first heart attack I was 9/10 yrs old.

All I ever heard - "don't tell your dad it will kill him"

My life had death all around it before I knew how to live-

"I'm going to kill you!" threats from volatile relatives

To when I was in relationships it changed to "I'll off myself!" "and you. "

That's a lot of responsibility for a one young person. Other people's lives.

Then I walked around with health issues and my own fears of dying too young, and for a while, not soon enough.

Death's darkness blocked life's light.

Something I thought of while zoning out a bit and thought I would share in case someone can relate -

When we walk fearing death, you cannot live life.

Be Well 💜🌹💜🌹💜

Image above by Don N. Brey from Pixabay

John David Norman - Evanston - The Connections, Military and more pt3

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Fri, 03 Apr 2026 19:06:00 +0000

Continued from part 2

It was the comment the newsstand had helped to nap an undercover FBI agent stealing girly magazines. A comment made over 30 years ago about something that happened decades before but hit me to the core of familiarity and another possible puzzle piece linking others. Am I right? I don't know but I do know there was, in fact, a lot going on in Evanston during the 70s and no one realized. This is my healing and hopefully others find some as well, I know you are out there and have wondered for yourselves. We weren't crazy, it was like living in an alternate reality covered in the blanket of gaslight.

The Chicago Tribune article; Evanston haunt back in business, was published in 2001

My dad knew those owners, too. Those owners knew the family of one of the bar owners. The all went to St. Marys Church and St. George High School. Obituaries help tell that story.

The newsstand was a pulse point in the community. I haven't met someone from there that never darkened their doors. Even for us in the 70s it was like having an artifact from the 20s still alive and working hard - something that needed to be respected for the history it was and contained with all those magazines and newspapers. A vibe of its own.

The newsstand in the city is nestled up to the shore of Lake Michigan. Ethnic grittier Rogers Park to the south and the elite Gold Shore to the west. It is there you will also find Great Lakes Naval Academy and Fort Sheridan, which was still active.

My Dad was an Air Force vet from the later part of the Korean War. He had been drafted. My Uncle George retired Major General from the Army Reserves and had commanded at Fort Sheridan, right there along that same shoreline. Dad's friends, all vets. When I say I was surrounded by military, I was surrounded. All very large, dad at six feet four and Uncle George, six foot seven. Those childhood buddies weren't tiny.

Even that neighbor on Washington Street, the one with those two dogs- Kelly and Duke. He lived with that blonde guy, lanky fella' who always rode his bike and said he was a teacher, he lived with him off and on. He was a vet -Nam. He was also the reason I am even writing all of this, he molested me. His roomy, bike riding teacher, looked 99,9 percent like John David Norman.

When Monsters Rode Bikes Past Out Schools

A lot of veterans, a lot resources to be needed and being the Evanston with Northwestern also sits right next to Chicago University there were a lot of intelligent minds watching, studying, the world around them and those students during times of war and peace, I believe, were walking specimens of culture, psychology and social dynamics. The very essence of everything needed to even conduct experiments within programs like MKUltra and all the rest and pretty much go undetected. The logistics were perfect.

Dr. Warren Cherry was our principal at Central Elementary. He knew every kid's name. His legacy continues in a foundation

Now, while I have no absolute concrete proof, I cannot shake knowing about MKUltra, all documented, and those experiments conducted in a little hotbed of smoldering embers, like Evanston. Progressive Evanston. The one where open labs schools were becoming a new normal in the 70s, King Lab and Central Elementary are two examples. Central I attended for a couple of my childhood years. I lived in that building pretty much across the street. The popular corner for the soft serve ice cream truck. It is where I learned about topographic maps and college level algebra - we had long listening sessions with headsets on in darkened rooms. Our instructors came in via visiting teams. The one thing I remember is 2e2 math -learning about exponential growth and how to calculate it's growth, beyond that, I ruled the tetherball pole. I was just 8 and 9 years old. Progressive Evanston.

Now, back to the undercover rogue FBI agent being nabbed and spoken about in that article. In my research into our government's history with their weird post war programs the first thing I learned was how they recruit and back then it was often servicemen who didn't have the cleanest military records but did have a special skill that would be an in from intelligence to multilingual. Glitches in the personality would be needed to stand and witness what was going on without flinching and running for their mother. In regard to John David Norman you'd need people with a similar glitch as his, but targets being a different type or gender. It's been reported that there were undercovers in his operations.

Evanston was a hotbed of student disobedience during the civil rights and war years.

* 1978- "On May 3 more than 100 black students marched to south campus and occupied the Bursar's Office at 619 Clark St. They chained the door and began the first major sit-in the history of Northwestern."

*1969 - Evanston Peace Center Members:"In 1969, members had begun visiting a nearby veterans hospital. They also started to provide draft counseling, which included advising people how to attain deferments."

Women for Peace: Part 2, the Vietnam War

113th Military Intelligence Group (MIG) was headquartered in Evanston around 1969 and according to multiple sources online they focused heavily on domestic surveillance during the height of the Vietnam War and civil rights era. Officially they played a role in " monitoring anti-war groups and protests in Chicago, gathering intelligence on potential threats to military operations and security." They were connected to Army Reserves and worked closely with Fort Sheridan.

We moved from the Van Nuys/Burbank area in 69/70, where I was born. Where I was baptized by someone the back of the photo "Fr. Patrick Peyton", the Rosary Priest. My Godparents standing at attention, I didn't really know and they are a hard trace, he has a Scottish/Irish last name. My dad was an ambulance driver for Snyder, a company owned by someone with Chicago roots. He hung out with cops and actors in the Burbank area.

My mom spoke about knowing Jay Sebring and having met him through a friend at work, a hospital. All prior to knowing my Dad. My Dad spoke about a well known crime drama, one in which a novel was written by the same author of Helter Skelter-Manson Murders, Vincent Bugliosi. The book was called Til Death Us Do Part. Dad spoke about something on being among first to a scene. All very eerie, alone, but combined - I have questions. Wouldn't you?

So, yes, we moved from California right about the time MIG was being headquartered in Evanston. We moved to Dad's hometown, and lived on Chicago Ave in an apartment, right across from the newsstand. The first time I was molested and it was by an older teen boy in the complex. A few years later, we lived on Washington Street.

It's a story - backed by facts and my lived experience.Are they seperate swirls of happenstance or pieces of a puzzle?

There's more to come...Amazing Grace hits the Evanston Connections, next.

John David Norman - Evanston - The Connections and Catholics pt2

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Fri, 03 Apr 2026 07:18:00 +0000

Continued from pt 1

When Dad got into trouble at school it was for debating the Brothers. Which, from what I can remember through the chuckles, was quite a bit. Dad would debate anyone on anything - it was his nature. He didn't do it to promote his intelligence or argument, he sat back and watched how confident you were in yours - anger was a clue, you weren't. His punishments, in his mind, confirmed it - a chess player's form of strategy and that is who he was - although most thought he was the jock type just by his natural extra large, extra tall build. That build was a disguise and behind it all was a man with a highly intelligent mind and could be found at home with a book in his hand, and a smirk on his face.

That was Dad. And St. George High School for Boys was where he fine tuned his skills, his craft and that attitude so sharp with sarcasm you almost didn't feel that blade beheading your argument.

I went everywhere I could with him, when I could - fishing down by the pier or on errands throughout town after seeing his barber on Howard St and stopping by the bars owned by his pals, friends he grew up with and went to school with at St. George. There were bar owners, barber, and cops alongside laborers from Mark Controls (Clayton Mark) where he worked and would become the local UAW president.

Dad knew a lot of people, especially when you throw in that tight knit German community, many of whom were old world Catholics from my grandparents' region of East Prussia. And a lot of those people and their kids went here:

St. George High School- Midwest Christian Brothers Photo

Having that history is making it helpful in piecing this story together, somewhat. My father was born in 1933 placing his high school years in the middle to later part of the 40s. A time period where no one spoke about abuse behind the scenes-regardless where it came from, but enough time has passed and a few brave souls came forward to help show that the Christian Brothers denominations (Catholic) in the Chicago area did in fact hold a track record of abuse within the walls containing their branch.

The reports do not pinpoint one specific person at St. George, but considering the scope and time period it is not a stretch of the imagination as they ran a handful of school across the region, one of them being Brother Rice, which has its campus in Chicago. And while the reports didn't pinpoint anyone at St. George, they did something else. The triggered the a reason I started looking into cold cases and it dealt with one that began for me in Wisconsin and during the time I was writing for a paper. I was fascinated, well beyond fascinated, with a couple of cases up that way - unsolved murders from the 80s and one solved case from 91.

That solved case was known back then and because media pinged it as such, the Sex Slave Case. It happened in Lyndon Station, WI. A woman was held hostage for a few days and sadistically raped while being cuffed to furniture. Joseph D Schmidt was convicted. The pair knew each other from Illinois, where they both were originally from, ironically, she actually lived in my old area and attended Maine East High School at least one of her high school year. I found this out through a conversation with her mother who has since passed and while I was researching the murder of Barbara Blackstone, 1987 - Lyndon Station, and Betty Jean Kawczynski (also spelled Bette Jean) 1991, Monroe County, a skip past the border of Juneau County. A retired cop, actually a couple of them, turned me on to the Sex Slave Case. I had heard it discussed in the past but never dove into it before. Since then I learned his family shows up in a 1950 census (Chicago) are residing in the same building of a relative of a future Illinois unsolved murder, Lorraine Bieze. This would have been 7 years before his birth- but places his family next door to another future victim's family. I find that odd.

Betty was from Illinois -Chicago area

found in Wisconsin and didn't drive.

The mention of drugs dealt with her lifestyle

not death. She was strangled with a rope, half naked

and dumped on a country road

He went to Brother Rice in the 70s. After that he attended school in Niles and lived in Skokie- right there next to Evanston and Rogers Park. Happenstance, it all very well could be, but it's also a lesson to all of us, pay attention to your surroundings. I say that as someone who has been surrounded since birth by predators and while others knew, they remained silent, even when I was reaching out.

As for the infamous John David Norman, well in the mid to late 40s he was transitioning to Northwestern placing him in my father's world. My grandfather happened to work at Northwestern- in maintenance and landscaping.

As for the 70s when the area was exploding with scandals, he was in the Chicago area, sometimes in jail, other times out wandering about. While in jail he was still active in producing his newsletters and sending them out. How Does THAT Happen?

I feel a need to mention Francis Shelden, of North Fox Island fame, that was also happening during this time period, along with Brother Paul's Children Mission who had a strong Catholic institution/org client base. The perfect get-a-way to explore nature, so they advertised.

Do you see the problem I have in telling this story? There is a spider web of connections from community, family, religious and even, military- it spans decades and a few key areas. One chapter kicks off three more - but somehow you see those connections and it hits different. Did I mention my mom has a very large family in Michigan? Yeah, I am hitting those paths, too.

It's bizarre.

For instance- Schmidt, the victim and I all end up in Juneau County - I, a decade or so after them. All of us from the same area, and all of us landing in another area 3 hours away. It's bizarre when you factor in all the other connections and see John David Norman's path and trail.

Now my next trek may help align these swirls of connectedness to where it may help understand who and what- Evanston in the 1960s and 70s - it was quite the active city no one paid attention to, except the government......

One last thing. I see comments and quotes all day long on social media. I am pretty homebound and in bed a lot as I am most comfortable laying flat. The joys of weird health conditions- and because of this I see a lot of comments about letting go - each day is anew - type of stuff, I get it -believe me I do, but this is beyond. A part of me kinda hopes its all bullshit but then another part of me now understands why it has felt like I've been holding my breath my entire life. It the outcome of trauma and adverse childhood experiences- all of it, everyone touched. The very thing we should all be aware of as we scream about the Epstein files - when you see the scope, it is not going to match up with the script in your head. That, in itself, is what is scary.

I don't know if it is easier having these connections in telling this story or not.

John David Norman - Evanston - The Connections and beyond pt1

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Fri, 03 Apr 2026 02:47:00 +0000

It was always in the late night when I would find myself searching to see if anyone else suffered child sexual assault in my old neighborhood in Evanston. Nothing would surface. I tried tracking my old neighbor down - I didn't have a last name. I wondered about other children, how many came after me. I'd fall asleep frustrated, feeling that anger and fear I did as a little girl. Decades of this - And, I know others do the same.

I'd skip over reports that didn't match mine, knowing that predators usually have a certain victim type they go after - it wasn't until I started digging into some unsolved murders of women in Wisconsin that certain stories kept reappearing, and then I saw him, John David Norman, a side view of his , his profile, and immediately my stomach churned. "He was the man on the bike", my mind said, "the one who was a "teacher" and he lived with John, the Nam Vet, who molested me. " I clicked the article, and nothing matched. Just him and that face.

It nagged at me. It was him, I was sure- but how?

And the rest of that story, up to this moment, plays out on the pages of this blog in many, many, posts and in many ways. My need to know and face those horrific memories was that intense.

They are years that formed Asha's Beginnings. I was a child with an enlarged spleen. I was sick all the time. I had tried killing myself and because I was carrying the burden of child sexual assault, and I did tell my mom only to be met with disdain, told it was disgusting, not to say anything to my father as it would kill him, and then sent to California where underage I did work for a short time on a factory floor and placed there by relatives.

Why?

Even as this story has spilled out of me, I keep asking why. Why isn't there anything about it in Evanston? It was him, my mind kept screaming. That neighbor boy did always want to play pretend photographer without clothes on - they grew pot on the roof of the apartment building, walls in the apartment the men shared were painted black. Why?

After all this time, and only a day or so ago, I finally found it. Something that helped to tie it all together for me personally and how it played out in Evanston - the connections. I've been absorbing this knowing no matter how this turns out, all hands created it but I am also that survivor who has carried this in me for half a century knowing there had to be more to it, why my life kept parking me as a child next to predators - knowing it sounds insane as I utter any of it.

Then I saw it in an article about a beloved attraction in Evanston, the newsstand on Chicago Ave and Main. Everyone knew it- Everyone has stepped through it's doors. Kids loved the place. My first home in Evanston was across the street. My mom worked at the bank on the other corner. It was part of my daily existence my entire time living in Evanston during the 70s.

The Chicago Tribune article; Evanston haunt back in business, was published in 2001. They evidently helped to nap a pronography and a rogue undercover FBI agent and then there was also a murder there. Now I need to explain something here, my dad, he grew up in Evanston. He knew a lot of people and was in the UAW at Mark Controls/Clayton Mark which sat over on Dempster and Dodge. He would become the local's president. He, and his brother, attended St. George High School.

While not concrete, it started making sense. Things I've written about and things that remained unsaid. I started remember Dad taking me with he had excursions - we'd go to his barber and a few bars along Howard, the dividing line between Evanston and Rogers Park/Chicago. I'd get handfuls of quarters for the pinball machines and jukeboxes and I would be well supplied with Shirley Temples.

Remember all of that I looked into it and found something that tied it up, that newsstand and at least one of those bars and Dad- they all knew one another from the neighborhood they grew up in, specifically St. Mary's parish and St. George High School. An obit led me there.

Seeing all of that, knowing they would have been teens when John David Norman first came to Illinois to attend Northwestern in Evanston, and then knowing how abuses with clergy spiked in those decades, including with the Christian Brothers who ran St. George and Brother Rice, the connections felt stronger.

A lot stronger -just not concrete.

This post was to introduce you to how I am going to present this story the best way I can - in segments.

I think to get us there we need to look at main threads first, and one of them that stands strong in this, beyond John David Norman, is St. George and the Christian Brothers.

The next post will concentrate on that.......

The Sorrows are not the end.

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Fri, 27 Mar 2026 06:58:00 +0000

Our Lady of Sorrows

Image by leandro_monsieur from Pixabay

It's been a tough week or so, flaring like crazy and purposefully not taking medications I had been on, like Gabapentin for nerve pain. It's a battle. These types of battles are exhausting. The flare has been bad, toe-curling at times, but I think I am coming to the tail end. I hope.

This is life with a chronic condition that keeps you pretty much homebound and isolated. It's frustrating.

I've been trying to write more because, I don't know why, but it feels right for me and always has. In spite of the fact that typos are aplenty and my fingers ache, I feel like I am honoring a part of me that has always been there, a little girl yearning to learn and sharing what she has.

Although I couldn't muster up the energy to do many posts, I did peck at the keyboard and utilized copy and paste for searches. I did research into John David Norman, Francis Shelden, and all the rest, including my own intersections. And it's heavy.

I've learned I've never been told the truth about anything in my world in my childhood, and I am speaking more about the child sexual assaults and other physical traumas I suffered. It's a long, dramatic story and has played out in the posts on this blog and then more silently in my heart and mind as I went down the path.

Decades ago, when gaslighting swirled all around me from every angle, along with other abuse and my health nose-diving, I was a very suicidal young person. The first time was a year or two prior to the attempt I told my mom about. I was maybe 11 or 12, then around 13/14. Then again around 22, after I was out of my childhood home and living in a DV relationship. It was either a short time before or after the first time I was choked. That time period is very hazy on the order of those events, a lot was happening. A natural occurrence of two extremely wounded people converging.

Those flashes came in hard this past week. All of them did. Survivors will understand, and I am sure the world stage is triggering many.

There is nothing that has happened in my life that didn't start with that first domino of CSA. That is something I am sure of, and this week has convinced me, bad and good. And yes... it's a stretch, but I can name some good. One of them is this is a topic I consider myself an expert on, unfortunately. If that makes any sense.

There is a reason we now understand Adverse Childhood Experiences and their impact on individuals and society.

That is one of the reasons I've tried to use my voice to highlight systems over individuals. When the systems are not there to help heal wounds and provide safety, the problem compounds and spreads. The dynamics spin harder and faster around every turn. The more they pile on, the worse the gaslighting, the more likely the target goes into hyper-survival mode. And that takes dissociation to make the next step to live, or else they will collapse and they know it. Survival in the moment, exactly what we are all not admitting we are either in the middle of right now or fear for tomorrow.

This shit has got to stop. People are pissed off at me for writing about what I have, and they've let me know in their own ways. I don't care. Blanketing the word LOVE is nice, but damnit, it's all the same players, system-wise, doing it.

It feels like a honeymoon period and not the good kind, more like the kind while you're carefully camouflaging your bruises so others will not know. I don't see dead people, I see drones, and sometimes dead people, but that's a topic for another day (sarcasm, kinda 😁). It's hard to stomach. I cannot be the only one feeling this way, am I?

We are here in this mess because of wealth, power, and greed. We are here because segments of our society, each feeling they know best and their greater good is the only greater good.

I am laying in this bed, in a hell of a lot of pain-physically and emotionally-knowing that when the flare is over I am still pretty much homebound due to circumstances, pain, and mobility issues. And wondering why I am not suicidal like when I was a kid. I mean, the light at the end of the tunnel isn't shiny. But there is something in me absolutely not willing to allow this bullshit to end my life. I've crawled too long to give up now.

I have anger-oh boy. I have regrets, a ton. But I guess there is a glimmer in my heart that the little girl I once was and that young woman couldn't find, and I do not know why.

Do y'all feel it too?

As corny as this may sound to some, I do think about The Sacred, Mother Mary, during times like this, and The Scarlet, both more alike than different. How did they hold on? What kept them going? It's the same thing as a woman carrying her child and running from human coyotes and border patrol. It's the same thing that makes a Ukrainian wife stay in a battle-torn area to support the troops in any way possible. It's why we smile when a child smiles at us, no matter who gave birth to them. No matter what our lives have been, we've all been touched by innocence. It's what has propelled me on this blog and when I could in life, knowing that every child should remember being innocent, pure light, Love.

The things I've discovered down this road make my stomach churn. Vile is the only word I have to describe it all.

Yeah, I am ready for innocence, light.

Mother Mary, hear our tears. Our Children are Not for Sale.

It's been a while since I've written a long journal-type post, and I am sure some reading will not understand, but I do.

I guess it's time.

Be well...💜🌹💜🌹💜🌹

She gave a damn and we abused her - Mary Magdalene, The Scarlet

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Mon, 23 Mar 2026 05:43:00 +0000

My coffee thoughts from this morning -

Tabernacle Colors- Blue, Purple, Red, woven together with cherubim.

White represents our birth - the innocence.

Blue is often related to Mary and Purple ..nobility, kingship. royalty

But Scarlet red ..sacrifice and redemption

I'm seeing it differently- Blue representing the Sacred Mother Mary, Purple representing a wholeness when you combine in the fierce passion of a scarlet letter worn for centuries, Mary Magdalene (The Scarlet), with that Virgin blue. Duality coming together and creating a perfect convergence of Love, how humans were meant to be, bruised yet strong so that other may never feel their pain - Not good vs evil in everything for everything but rather duality creating a beautiful trilogy all captured within one, deep - at our core #HolyGrail where our blood is purified with every moment of life.

ok - and now cherubim means (Google summary) "Biblical cherubim are powerful, complex angelic beings associated with God's presence, serving as guardians of Eden, chariot bearers, and throne occupants. Described in Ezekiel as having four faces (human, lion, ox, eagle), four wings, and being covered in eyes, they differ from modern childlike depictions."

Enter paganism that the stories of the bible........

Anyhow - Look at what we've done to her - Mary Magdalene and all because she gave a damn

Truth? Fantasy? Prophecy? Symbolism found during the Holy Month? You decide.

Be Well.

💜🌹💜🌹💜

And - if you are a non-believer- ya gotta admit it is one heck of a story...

Let Our Spring Grow -Tuesday Coffee Thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Tue, 10 Mar 2026 17:18:00 +0000

We haven't a clue about life, zilch, nada. We should probably get over ourselves soon.

Pro-life protesters explode Planned Parenthood centers while shouting about protecting life, hurling vile comments at women who may very well be victims. They don't know. They assume.

Pro-choice activists dismiss the voices of the faithful and those who pray for the unborn. I know, I've been behind those scenes too.

All these lives telling the other what life is.

Meanwhile bombs explode around the world.

The vulnerable are yelled at to pull themselves up by their bootstraps , while standing barefoot.

Another crowd offers dignity only as a footstool, something to stand on while pointing fingers and assigning blame for the sake of the next election campaign.

All sides with outstretched hands and plastic smiles.

Meanwhile the rest of us cannot breathe.

Over and over and over we ask in disbelief, “Why did they stay?”

Perhaps they understand something we do not, that we can change this.

We are the largest echo on this planet. Everything we do carries downwind to the next generation.

Right now that echo is mostly screams of pain, not empowerment.

No one can flip that switch but ourselves.

Like the Holy Grail, it dwells within.

Let our spring grow.

More Tuesday Coffee Thoughts.

Be well 💜🌹💜🌹💜

Be Someone's Miracle -Hear the People Sing

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Mon, 09 Mar 2026 18:28:00 +0000

Homeless Children.

The sick who can't get healthcare.

People literally hiding from an Ice storm with no regard for aim.

Sides playing politics to appease someone else sitting on a throne of gold.

Happy Monday -

Oh - this is St. Frances of Rome. Today is her feast day. I still look up "Saint of the day" - yes (it's a thing) from time to time and I do it mainly for the history aspects, the glimpses into life, culture, and mindset -

St. Frances of Rome was a 12ish yr old girl forced into a marriage she didn't want - he was nobility and she, simple - a young girl who only wanted to be a Nun .

Well, there would be NUN of THAT - the marriage was an alliance builder- both came from noble blood.

The little girl she was had no choice but she did have visisions to comfort her ache. St Alexis came to her - he had left a forced marriage. It is said that at the time she was on her deathbed. He gave her a choice, embrace the marriage or be allowed to pass on at that time.

She spent the next 40 years opening her heart and providing love to the community, as she would have done as a Sister wearing her habit. Lorenzo was deeply in awe of his young wife.

There's far more to the story and probably a heck of a lot more we will never know -

But right now let it serve for symbolism for your fears - get out in those communities and help the fallen rise again. We're going to need it-

Eight hundred years ago a little girl lost the life she dreamed of. Yet she still turned the life she was given into service for others.

Maybe that is the reminder today.

If the world feels like dark clouds gathering, we don’t wait for the thrones of gold to fix it.

We step outside and become the miracle for someone else.

My Monday -What the $#@! are we thinking coffee thoughts?!? -

Be Someone's Miracle !

Be Well 💜🌹💜🌹💜

Image created using Canva premium

War- is There a Silver Thread of Care?

noreply@blogger.com (Eva Marie) — Mon, 09 Mar 2026 05:41:00 +0000

I was a sponge when I was a kid, information and the unseen, the unsaid - those emotions that swirl in any given environment. Being the youngest, I was often reminded I didn't know anything and that I spoke too much.

You come to rely on those skills and as you travel life in the haze of c-ptsd. Unfortunately for my generation, there are far too many of us. We did in fact grow up feral because of it - trying to juggle wars and terrorism and love, peace, and fight the system - while we raised ourselves....being those sponges.

Duality was our existence.

We were still part of the crowd who faithfully went to church and returned home to see terror on the news.

I have those uneasy feelings I had as a kid..

Maybe it is flashes of that or being around Grandma Woywod when she'd get lost in her memories of war and everything it took from her world.

All I know is if I had to describe this feeling in a visual , it feels like impending dark clouds.

The little girl still within me wants to scream those questions of innocence, "why?" And remark how none of it makes sense - war leads to more war, never has it lead to sustained lasting peace.

Logically we all know this, right?

So, why?

Do you go there? That place still in you, that little piece of innocence hopefully you managed to hold on to from your childhood, and ask why?

I try not to dwell there but at the same time I also don't want to turn away like so many did in 40s and the years leading up -

The mess with the Epstein files do not help. It's obvious intel agencies had a field day...decades..with that operation, and still are - it's the layer to all of this that adds more dread.

We've never healed the wounds from the prior battles -

Take it from someone whose had a lot of trauma - this shit isn't healthy.

I worry about kids taking this all in...

Their parents, already dealing with stress and added can collapse an already bad situation..

Less resources for them all.

It scares me. I remember the days of volunteering and trying to get things together, roofs over heads against a wave of naysayers and "those people" comments along with support from the most unlikely places - I'd end the day exhausted and often in tears - sometimes happy ones and most times frustrated that we couldn't do more.

That work, believe it or not, helped me to cling on to something -for me-I could do when I knew my health was spiraling, I knew it long before moving to Wisconsin about my health, chicken pox at 30 put my system in overdrive.

But even so, volunteering during those years, in a weird twisted way, helped me to stay alive - Strange dynamics being seen as a strong person when you know you will be crawling into bed and crying real tears from real pain into your pillow and no one will ever know. I had many conversations with God and Mary - a few good arguments, apologies, and my regrets and dreams shared.

It's a haze. The need in the community was great, it was the recession. I think greater than most realized when we started. With it came all the baggage within a community too. Those unhealed dynamics caught in cycles within homes. It spills into everything, absolutely everything.

I cannot believe how many times people thought there was an agenda attached to the work we did, when we could. If anything we tried hard to keep agendas and barriers away- restrictions from other programs is one of the reasons the need was great. I know, right now, there are a lot of people who relate with those words and you are holding on by a thread, #silverthreadofcare - the others need to open their eyes and see you/ hear you. And you need to allow them to - because, when we lose those ones, we lose the heartbeats in a community - I say that in honor of women I knew - Carla Von Hayden and Lois Lawton - both from Juneau County and both some of the most diehard volunteers I've ever witnessed, opinionated ones, too ;).

Watch out for those types, sometimes their hearts get in the way of selfcare.

Maybe I shouldn't, but I worry for us all about the weeks to come-

Guess I needed this out of my own system for some selfcare and make it easier to sleep -

Wars, unfortunately, will still be there in the morning -

I wonder what would happen if we all just sighed out loud the fears from that piece of childhood innocence buried within?

Would Mother Mary Hear our Tears?

Sleep Well - Be Well

💜🌹💜🌹💜