When I was ever so small, my grand mother Brockmire took to calling me Gypsy Rose. I was one of so many grand kids she had and she use to sit me down in the afternoon when I could not take a nap yet all the others seemed to have no trouble and say,"Gypsy Rose, gaze into that ball and tell me your story" and I would come up with some concoction just anything to get out of a nap. That early in life I was able to run away and hide in a play world. I suppose I never stopped doing that. This could be a good thing in times of extreme stress. It allows the brain a little time to regroup. If the memory was to bad it just went somewhere in that brain where it no longer frightened me. My grandma believed my brain was special, though just a little off to the left and somewhere that got tucked away until yesterday. She lived a rough life. She raised 10 kids during the depression with a husband who in later years developed Alzheimer's. Grandpa was an unemployed carpenter and would just take off walking to Egypt Mills to find work. My grandma would call my aunt Luella and we would go to find him and give him a ride home. She knew me pretty well but never tried to change me. She died when I was sixteen and never got to see the true Gypsy Rose come out in me as my 'Ol Hippy days emerged. Travel always called me to the next adventure and I see now that even then my brain was not as others but luckily the "Rose" side stepped in to smooth things out. How could she have known this in her point in time? She had a staircase with an ever so tiny air opening into the dining room. I use to sit there and watch her in the kitchen. She'd never let on like she saw me and then would say,"You done dreaming?" "Come down for some koolaid." Sixty three years later I find people who excepted me with all my faults. In that day and time I don't think children were so harsh. One would take care of the other. Don't get me wrong. I have always been the caregiver, but some times there has to be a rose in the flower bed to keep people from walking through and smashing everything and I guess that has been me , on occasion.
My Neurologist tells me I was born with Epilepsy and should have out grown it but never did just developed more somewhere else.You know what, I no longer care. I am what I am in that flower bed and those thorns may come in handy fighting for my causes. The gypsy I hope will keep me moving....and moving and moving. Thank you Grandma Brockmire for all your insight into a little girl with freckles who just loved life real or made up.....love Pokie