Friday, November 11, 2011


I somehow feel I will get in trouble for the next upcoming chapters.
Punished. Revisiting that time takes me back there. It is a place I visit rarely.
Dark scary days. Hopeless days. They are all gone now and can no longer hurt me but remembering sometimes is like reliving it.
My heart beats quicker and I hold my breath just typing in the safety of my home.

So, instead today, I will remember the good days at the orphanage. Bright sunny fun, kid kind of days.
I have forgotten many of the kids that lived there with us but a few I could never forget.
The little girl in the bed next to mine for example. 
Brenda was .... How do I describe Brenda. She may have been a bit neurotic at 6 or 7 years old. Is that even possible? Some horror must have happened to her in her young life. I would love to know the back stories for some of those kids but then again, perhaps not.

Brenda's bed was right next to mine in that huge dormitory style room with all the iron beds so close together.  Crammed so close you could touch the next bed by just stretching your arm out.
Every morning Brenda would wake up in bright red pools of blood soaked sheets. Brenda would pick and claw and tear at the skin on her arms and legs and chest and even her face. She walked around in a bloody scab. Big dark red globs of pain.  At night, she would pick her scabs and the process would start all over. I used to fear Brenda and her war-torn body and her blood!
Ragged, torn, uneven dark and bloody scabs on the floor and in her bed. Dried blood and pus. 
 Keep those things on your own side... I don't want to sleep with pus and dried blood. 
Poor Brenda. 
When I think of her now, I wonder what traumatic thing had happened in her young life to cause such behavior or was it as simple as self loathing that she wanted to pick herself apart and end up a bloody scab that never healed?
I will never know.
Then there was Starr. Starr was so misunderstood. She would sit for hours in her favorite rocker. Never ever touch her rocking chair or YOU would become the next victim of her ruthless assault.
How would tiny little Starr assault you?
Her song.
Her endless inane absurd song. Rocking and swaying back and forth.
Back and forth.
Sucking her thumb in between words.
"I knoooowww who I hate. Her naaaaa-aame is Laaaa-nnnnna.
I knoooooowwwwwww who I hate. Her naaaa-me is (insert any name that annoyed or aggravated Starr for the day or the minute)
On and on for hours. 
Days. Endlessly hate on anyone who dared to affront her. That sing-song voice. 
Endlessly. I can still hear it.
"I knoooo-oooow who I hateeeeeee"

We had been there probably 3 months and were called to the head masters office. We were all 3 going someplace. Do they ever tell children what the plan is? No.
Had I known the destination, I would have passed.
We were packed into the car of our Case Worker and taken out. A day pass.
3 little kids in the back seat of her car totally clueless where we were going. 

The City Dump.
The house we lived in when our mom left us was condemned. Torn down. All the contents disposed of.
All of our toys and clothes and our lives were there in the dump. The wind blowing, dark and menacing. Fluttering pieces of paper and garbage whirling around our ankles as we sifted. We were told to find what was ours and dig thru the trash to pick what we wanted. Items that belonged to us.
I found my favorite toy. It was a tin pie.  It had a crank and played the tune to "Sing a Song of Sixpence." Tiny black birds would pop out of holes in the tin pie as you slowly turned the crank. 
Sing a song of sixpence a pocket full of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.
When the pie was opened the birds began to sing,
Oh wasn't that a dainty dish to set before the king?
The king was in his counting house counting out his money,
The queen was in the parlour eating bread and honey
The maid was in the garden hanging out the clothes,
When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose!

I loved that pie and the song. I loved the blackbirds. I remember being so happy to find it and scraping off the sludge of the dump and feeling like I had found buried treasure. My sister found her favorite doll. It was like Christmas Day at the dump.
I wonder what ever happened to my pie?


  1. I hope Brenda learned to love herself I'm glad you made it through! xxxooo

  2. Your story makes me so grateful for my childhood. I am so happy that you made it out the other side Lana. Thinking of you and Henry. xoxo Jeanie

  3. Yours is a story that proves that one should never judge a book by it's cover. I'd watch your videos and wonder about how awesome and glamorous your life is, admire your beautiful face and warm, bubbly personality. Never knowing the full story of what lies beneath.

    Not to say your life isn't awesome and glamorous now, even after all that has happened these past few months, but it gives me a new found appreciation for you, your blog, videos, and my own life.

  4. I tell people to read your blog and I say "IF LIFE EVER GAVE ANYONE LEMONS AND THEY MADE LEMONADE" its LanaIndiana. You inspire me !

  5. I know that writing about certain aspects of your childhood must be so painful Lana, because, as you say, it's like reliving some traumatic events that you have since put behind you. I think though that it must also be cathartic. This book is your testimony and personal triumph, written by one utterly outstanding lady. God bless you dearest Lana, my love and prayers for you and Henry. Leyla :) xxxooo

  6. Lana you're such an inspiration to me and others. I love to read your blog and doing so is somehow therapeutic to me. When I'm feeling down for no reason in particular (just the craziness of everyday life) I watch one or a few of your videos or read your blogs and you teach me that at the end of the dark tunnel there is definately a bright light. You teach me to put one foot in front of the other and walk forward! My mom advised me to always try and surround myself with positive people and life would be easier. And i see now how true that is. But enough about me... I love you Lana and know that I'm praying and praying for Henry, you and your family. Thanks again for sharing your life with me and never forget that you have tons of friends here waiting to listen. (((big hug))). Xoxo

  7. Lana, when I read these chapters I feel that I am there. You have a gift.

  8. Hello Lana, Stephen King could have written my childhood. I lived with the monster who gave birth to me on and off until I was 11. Then my maternal grandfather saved me. He came to my 6th grade class room and told me I was going to live with him and I didnt have to go back. He was an amazing man. It was hard at times not having a female around but we figured it out. Thank you for sharing your story. I love reading your blogs and watching your videos.

  9. I really have no words....what can I say?
    you are astonishing...

    We should all be grateful for what we have....and take time to make life a little better for those who have not..i will try to do that today...and everyday.....

    Thank you....for putting things into perspective..

    Love to you ....and Henry


  10. ((OH, Lana)))) I just want to hug you so tight. I love you!~Marilyn

  11. I feel numb... wondering what will come next.. you have only just started. Thanks for sharing. God was with you for sure. He has brought you thru each trial of your life. You and your husband are in my prayers.

  12. I feel sick thinking of the horrors children go through. I don't know your whole story yet but you've risen above the muck. I can never understand how anyone can hurt a child. What kind of monster hurt Brenda? I'm glad you can talk about your childhood. I'm sure it's good to get it out and get rid of it. Did you ever know what happened to your Mother. I pray for you and all children. God bless you & Henry.

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