Archive for April, 2017

Source: Fighting at the Gates of Hell

February 2015 – A little strange, what am I missing?

Meeting Pat at O’hare airport was kind of like meeting up with an old friend. We talked continuously all the way out the door, all the way into Chicago, all the way down the street in zero degree weather and I don’t think we stopped talking until we checked into my room at the Congress Plaza Hotel. I remember looking out the window at the frozen landscape, sitting back on my bed to tell Pat another story and zzzzzzzzz that was it.

I don’t know if he was embarrassed or confused that I fell asleep in mid sentence because I’m always moving so fast all the time that  I tend to do that sort of thing. He poked me a little to wake me up and said, should I leave? I said, No of course not. There are two beds, stay. You are safe with me.

It’s funny how people always assume a woman is in danger when she is with a man she doesn’t know well. Now we hear about crazy women who hurt men, and I’m beginning to believe it’s more prevalent than we thought.

Either way, Pat is a sweet man. You know the type. Most young women never date guys like Pat because they were too nice for the women who enjoy pain, misery and all that crap. I’m not one of those women.

Early in the morning Pat’s phone rang. It was his ex-wife, concerned that Pat’s youngest son Ethan was playing a basketball game and there was no one to watch him because she said she and Pat’s older son Connor were away at another function. She told Pat he needed to be at Ethan’s ballgame.

Pat explained the situation to me and asked me if I would mind driving to Muskegon, Michigan to watch his son’s game. I thought this would be fun, I had never been to Michigan and it would be fun to see where Pat lived, and meet his kids and ex-wife.

Muskegon is several hours from Chicago and it took longer because it was so snowy but we got there before the game started. We sat outside in his car and talked until it was game time. Suddenly a text from Connor. “Are you at the game?” Pat texted back “Yes. When will you be here?” Connor’s next text was, “in a few hours.”

Just as Pat was reading the text out loud, he looked past me and got this weird look on his face. Almost like disgust. I followed his gaze and saw two people walking down the sidewalk toward the car. They did not see us but entered the door of the building.

I asked Pat what was wrong. He said, ” that is my son Connor and my ex-wife.”

“Connor the guy who just said he wouldn’t be here for a few hours?”


“Are we at the right game? Is the basketball game at another facility?”


This of course should have been a huge clue. Most women would have asked to be driven back to Chicago and headed back home as fast as they could fly.

I didn’t understand the rules of the game because I don’t play games.

After entering the auditorium we met a few people who were teachers at the school. As it turned out we were at the boy’s school. Muskegon Catholic which turns out to be a private Catholic school. At the time it had very few accredited teachers, a huge embezzlement problem, a money pit for the Catholic families who pay tuition, a free hand out to black families from the hood who pay no tuition just as long as their kids play ball, and the ‘head of schools” has been caught with his penis in the bookkeepers mouth more than once. But of course,  I’m not sick to my stomach yet because it took me a year to learn all this.

Pat loves watching his son play ball. I could see how proud of him he was. Oddly enough not only was Pat’s ex-wife Maureen at the game but so were both of her parents and Connor.

At the time I didn’t understand that the phone call was an attempt to control Pat. In fact it’s nothing I would have ever though someone would do. Maybe an ex-wife but certainly not a sixteen year old son. But then this was just the beginning of my lessons in abusive relationships and I didn’t recognise it.


A former wife. Did not take marriage vows seriously. Probably was emotionally detatched or cheating for months or years with women, all the while leaving her blissfully ignorant husband thinking that everything is fineWill usually do that for monetary or social benefit.
Will gain overwhelming sympathy from all mutual friends and her family, making the husband seem like the bad guy. Will get custody of the children 9 out 10 of the times, even if she can’t afford to support them…but that’s ok, because the “justice” system will make sure that you support her like you are still married.

Won’t let your kids stay with you for more than 12 hours if you live more than 2 blocks away from her. Will do her duty to lie about you to all her friends, family, and every girl she sleeps with.








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January 2015

I used to have a firm set of rules for dating. No ex-wives, no children. I had already seen the mess people make of their lives with nasty ex’s who can’t let go even twenty years after the divorce and the kids rarely treated the new spouse like a human being so I was never, never, never going to invite that into my life.

Fast forward to January 2015. I received an email from a man in Michigan. He said he   had listened to an interview I’d done on  “It’s Rainmaking Time” and he admired the work I’d done in New Orleans in the aftermath of  Hurricane Katrina. He read what I had to say while working with the animals in the aftermath of the Moore Oklahoma Tornado,  and if I ever wanted to have a friend in Michigan he would like to be friends.

I told him that would be fine with me.  I have friends all over the world, in fact I am one of those people who has keys to houses all over the country where I am welcome to come, stay and carry on as I saw fit whether my friends are home or not. I by the way have worked very hard for that honor. I never come empty handed. I’m honest but never to the point where I’m not blind in someones home. Meaning if you are not tidy I don’t notice. If you don’t dress well I don’t notice. Drink too much? It’s none of my business. Ask me if I think you should lose a few pounds and I’ll tell you I don’t know. Are you healthy? Do you feel good? Is there anything I can do to fix what ails you? Ask me for anything and I’ll be happy to help and never bring it up to you again. I’m not here to judge the good. We all have a path and I happen to know that this is the place you get to try all kinds of crazy stuff before you return home.

Was it growing up in a military household during the Viet Nam war that gave me such empathy for other people? I don’t know. Is it the training I received when I joined the Guardian Angels so many years ago in Venice, Ca. that made me feel like I could protect people who need help? I don’t know. Was it that I was raised aware of the fact that I’m the direct descendent of Kenneth MacAlpin, king of the Picts and the first king of the Scots that made me know that more was expected from me? I don’t know. But what I do know about myself is my integrity is my foundation. Without it you have nothing. You are worth nothing. That doesn’t mean I can’t be wrong in my choices or my beliefs. But if I am, it is only because I lack the information or the knowledge from which I based my beliefs.

I’ve spent hours sitting in the sun beside highways waiting for a dog to get up the courage to come to me. I’ve spent nights watching homeless women lying on the street alone.  I cover them with blankets I’ve purchased at Goodwill and kept in my truck for just this occasion. I leave them with a loaf of bread, water and a package of meat or cheese from the 99 cent only store. I have sat in my truck and watched over them as they slept never taking my eyes off of them until morning. I believe it is my duty given to me by God to protect and watch over things as much as I can. I have that list and many of the people who know me are on it.

Does that mean I’m kind to everyone? No. I am at war. I have been at war since the first time I was beaten by a toe headed kid and left in the desert bleeding and scrambling to get home before he returned. And I was at war when I fought off the rapist in Omaha. I not only put my fighting skills to good use, but after he untangled a wild cat off his face I chased him down the street and made sure he was caught. This man had raped six women before he made the mistake of choosing me.

There are good guys in the world and there are bad guys and I can smell the difference a mile away.

So back to January 2015. I met a very good guy. We became fast friends over the phone and on Skype. At the end of February I sent him a script that was in the finals of the Beverly Hills Screenwriting competition. It had won it’s category in the Table Read your Screenplay at Sundance prior to this and I was happy to let him read it.

When I next spoke to him on Skype, he told me he had written a song for my lead character. I was like “sure sure, that’s nice.” He asked if I would like to hear it. Uhhhh sure! I said, a little bit shocked. He picked up a guitar and started to sing this beautiful, amazing song that was exactly what I would envision for my character.

I was blown away. I was weeping by the time he finished singing the song. Who does that? I had to meet this man in person. So at the end of February 2015 I flew to Chicago for the week-end to get a closer look at Pat O’Neill.

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Sometimes I think if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.

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