Facebook ... I guess FB owns whatever is posted there...along with all the changes that FB wants to plop on one's material.

All of which sort of pisses me off, with every new interlope into my thoughts. Bummer.

so...here is a little of this n that about high school. ,,, on FB I mentioned the following (following a lot of computerese that FB mutters under its breath):

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Barbara J Brown
4 hours ago · Edited
Just in case you wonder, St Thomas was and is in Ann Arbor and Chadsie is in Detroit, last I knew...maybe it has been closed, bartered or flat out sold for bad debts at this point. Anything seems to be possible these days in my old hometown of DEtroit City. Oh, and Saint Gabe's was on Vernor Highway in Quite Near the River, Detroit.
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Barbara J Brown
4 hours ago
Not that anyone actually wonders where I went to High School but I graduated from South Lyon High when there was only one of them instead of two. I went to St Gabriel High, as a freshman and also, as well as could be expected given my personal history and weird lore peculiar only to myself there was an extended stint with some fine arts training at Chadsey High in Detroit.
Not to leave out St Th...omas High School where I was expelled for wearing an engagement ring. The nuns thought I was not a very good model for the other girls...wearing a diamond.... really...! it just wasn't done. All or none of this can be found on my intermittent blog @ something like the following internet address: Journalscape.com/sprtcs


Thing about high school is that I was the subject of a whole lotta gossip because I was some kind of pretty when I moved to town with my family in ...gee, I guess it was my sophomore year, which would have been in...1955 or was it 54? Thing was, I was this sort of hip chick in rural So Lyon where there were two parallel halls in the school into which I was enrolled after leaving Detroit and its 'burbs in the mid fifties. So... My folks were trying to protect me from the city and its ruder, cruder types. That's why we went there from Detroit,Dearborn, Allen Park and such...places we inhabited before they went back to the land
before it was even cool.
But, lo, their efforts were unsuccessful since I linked up with some folks from the American South...who landed in South Lyon by way of Detroit after escaping places south east like maybe Tennessee or Kentucky or somewhere like it or them.

The family of youngsters who rode my big yellow school bus (we lived in the actual country outside of the tiny town of S. Lyon...which at the time had nothing even slightly resembling a suburb of its own)...um the above youngsters were comprised of my first husband, his sister who was my age and their very big and darkly good-looking brother. (all of whom happen tohave left the planet I learned a couple of years back) They had a little brother at home,as well, but of course he rode a different bus...one that brought him to half days being as how he was just a bit more than a toddler. He is still on the planet, I understand. But, he can hardly remember me since he was so young when I knew him, maybe 5 years of age, and trapped in the nightmare that was his family due to his insane father who no doubt is also dead...and never did a guy deserve that fate more than he. The bastard.

The husband guy who turned out to be a spouse rather than a husband was the son of a man, the above mentioned bastard, who was into incest. The sister, herself,had been being raped by her father for so many years that she could not remember the first time he used her so badly. I have written else where about the family, and the drama associated with it. How it came to light that the incest had been taking place and how it all came to an end...or at least some of the story is here somewhere for anyone to peruse given that you might be interested in such stuff. I. myself, am not one to enjoy sordid tales so, it is unlikely, without some seriously motivational encouragement that I might look for it all and try to put it into publishable form. I am not sure there is a good reason to do such a thing. But, maybe sometime I will see it and or other bits and pieces of my life differently.

I dropped out of high school to marry the guy who asked his sister to introduce us, after a number of months of dating and becoming lovers and former Detroiters in the tiny sort of inbred and/protestantish town of Lyon Southerly, though it wasn't south of anything much other than New Hudson with an ancient bar along the pony express route to places west...and Milford which town has nothing I ever heard of to distinguish itself, other than being the place that had a Catholic church in it that would marry us...because we were "...in love...." Father Haney was much more than merely dismissive of our earnest young love and called it most disparagingly "Love? That's not love, it's LUST." His collar almost melted with the disdain that oozed from his every pore. I was 15, he was 18 and old Fr. Haney was probably right.

I also have among these pages a book in process about a woman artist who is modeled on myself with a certain amount of fiction intertwined within her person being a character whose name I have never settled upon. More likely I might go back to that book, since it is more interesting and even some kind of fun to write. Not to mention that my old mentor from the art department at Michigan State University is interested in hearing it. Plus I had another notion there a few weeks ago that I might want to inject into the thing that limps along somewhere among these blogulations.

Maybe later. Sounds like a good thing to concentrate on in the studio I am considering renting in Whitmore Lake area...maybe if the owner decides it would be reasonable for me to use until he can sell it.