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Monday, October 29, 2012

Wrong day yesterday, today is October 29.

Yesterday I started to do this blog and my little mind wandered and I think I wound up chasing the cow down the ditch bank.  This is my older brother.  He is about in about the eighth grade in this picture.  I think that because back in those days, it had to be a special occasion to have our picture taken.  Those were few and far between and usually marked a very big event in our life.  See that scar on his cheek?  Today I will tell you how he got that.
Like I told you yesterday, we were living on the Stroh place right outside of town.  One day Dad went to the sale and came home with a Shetland Pony.  Oh, we were in seventh heaven.  We had our own horse.  Now why we needed a horse is more than Mother could fathom.  Years later as I put the pieces together I came to the conclusion that Dad was probably drunk and meant to buy a milk cow since ours had died.  In his befuddled mind he decided that we would get more use out of a pony then a cow any way.  The mere facts were that my father did not know he had children most of the time and while he did provide for us, the pipe and slippers and kiddies on his knee were not pictures I recall of my childhood. Back in those days, men were not "soft" like they are today and I was not the first nor the last kid in those days to only feel my fathers hand in anger, never love.  More about my father in a different blog, when I can deal with it fully.
But all that aside, a horse it was.  I remember seeing it unloaded in the moonlight.  It was the most beautiful horse I had ever seen and coming down the ramp from the trailer it looked very tall.  Daylight would bring many surprises.  I could barely sleep that night as Jake and I talked into the night about the wonderful horse our wonderful father had brought us.  From sounds drifting into our sleeping area we gathered that Mother was not near as happy as we were.
Morning found us gazing into pen where the horse was.  He was spotted and not very tall.  He had a long mane and it was spotted too.  There was a sort of star looking spot on his forehead so we named him "Star."  He came with his own saddle and blanket, but we were not allowed to saddle him or ride him until Dad was there to show us how.  We had never been this close to a horseso the chances we could saddle it up and ride away were very slim.  Unfortuneately Dad was not feeling well that day, so we only got to stare at the horse through the fence.  I think that we thought if we looked at Star long enough he would grow taller.  Ever see a Shetland pony?  They are by nature much smaller than the big ones we watched Dad work with.  See, my Dad was one of the last men in the area to give up the "team of horses" and go to a tractor, but more about that later.  This is about Jake and his scar.
Mom and Dad played cards once a week with friends and that evening the friends came and brought there kids and we were left to our own devices.  Of course we wanted to show off our new horse, so we gathered at the corral.  I do not remember the exact chain of events, but I do recall the chaos that followed.  Jake was always curious and tonight and the showing off for the kids was no exception.  I remember the kids all screaming and Jake holding his face as blood squirted every where from his right cheek.  Very quickly Mother and Jake were loaded in the back seat of the car and the couple visiting whisk them off the 11 miles to Hutchinson and the nearest medical attention. 
I do remember being so afraid that Jake would die.  We were sent to our beds and the visiting children were made pallets in the front room.  I surely drifted off, because some time in the night Jake woke me up to show me his bandaged face.  I cried.  He had been such a handsome boy and now he had this horrible injury and he would carry the scar the rest of his life.
Over the next few weeks the story of what really occured that night in the moonlight came out in bits and pieces.  Dad was going to shoot the horse and Jake confessed that maybe it was not all the horse's fault.  Seems one of the boys visiting "dared" Jake to creep up with a stick and "goose" the horse.  The horse reacted just like one would expect a horse to react and kicked backwards at the offending stick.  Jake just happened to be on his hands and knees right behind the horse.  And no one could see that coming?
Over the days and weeks ahead Jake slowly healed.  Star remained in the corral because we were all afraid of him.  Sometimes I would try to pet him and he would let me.  Dad did finally saddle him and ride, but the horse was way to short for Dad.  Josephine finally ended up riding him most.  She would put us on his back and give us a ride around the yard, but we were always terrified that Star would kick us so that was really not much fun.  I do not know if you know about Shetland Ponies, but they are mean by nature and I think they were looking right at Star when they wrote that definition.
So, my dear brother carried a very ugly scar on his right cheek until the day he died, but no one seemed to notice.  He was such a charamatic kid that the scar never mattered.  Nothing could have detracted from the personality that was my brother.  And why am I telling you about him today?
Today is October 29, 2012.  On October 29, 1965 I lived in Garden City, Kansas.  I had two daughter's ages 2 & 3 years old. I had a daughter who would turn 1 year old tomorrow.  I had a son who was 25 days old.  Tomorrow  would be my 5th wedding anniversary.  And today, October 29, 1965,  my brother, Jake, was returning home from a day at work and the driver of the pick up he was riding in went through a stop sign near McPherson, Kansas and ran into the side of a loaded gravel truck. 
Tomorrow I would not have parties; tomorrow I would travel to McPherson, Kansas to visit my brother as he lay comatose in a hospital bed with his right leg kicking as if to apply the brake.  He would not know I was there.  He would not know my mother sat by his bed from the moment he was brought there.  Or would he?  I like to think that on some level he knew.
He died early the next morning....Halloween. 

My dear brother, Jake 
 
Delbert Leroy Bartholomew
10/ 4/ 1937-10/31/1965


Sunday, October 28, 2012

Today is October 28.

And this is my brother Jake when he was in about the eighth grade.  See that scar on his cheek?  Do you know how he got that?  I remember.  We were living on the Stroh place on the edge of town.  Lot of memories there.  Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and it was the general consensus that they could cut the head off, but the turtle would not release her finger until the sun went down.  Seemed nothing ever stopped until the sun went down.  Kill a snake and it would wiggle until the sun went down.  And then when the sun did finally go down, the boogie man would come out and get us if we were not very, very good!
I was going to write about Jake, but memories of that period are very fresh today, so I am just going to remember them.
The year must have been 1947.  Sister Dorothy was born while we lived on the Stroh place.  Mom laid in bed for 10 days and missed harvest.  Dad was not happy about that, but 10 days was how long one laid in bed after giving birth.  At that time Josphine was in charge of us while mother helped with the farming.   That would have made her 12 years old at the time.  About right.
Mother always went to "Club" once a month.  I do not know what "Club" was, but she drug us along and we all had to set in a row up against a wall with all the other little kids until club was over.  And we had to stay clean.  That was not hard to do unless there was a mud hole on the way to club, where ever it was.  I know it was close because we walked.
The chicken house was where all the action was.  Something was always getting in and stealing a chicken.  Once dad thought it was a fox, but laid a trap and found out it was a weasel.  No way to keep a weasel out of the hen house. 
Once while we were setting in the back yard, the old yellow tom cat came up with a baby chicken in his mouth.  Mother immediately sent Jake and the tom cat into the forest.  Jake carried a hatchet and was under the strict orders that the tom cat must never be seen again.  Shortly after that mother could not find her potato peeler. It seemed I recalled Jake taking that to the forest and told mother so.  She said I was a trouble maker.
The best part of the whole day was when we brought the cow up.  See, we had a milk cow and the grass was very green along the road that ran in front of the house.  So each morning Jake would take her out and stake her along the road.  He went several times and moved her, but when it was milking time, I went with him to bring her up to the barn to be milked.  She was very slow, but if we grabbed her tail she would run.  Sometimes we did that.  More fun than you can imagine, but sure made milking her hard because she was upset and would not release her load!
Dad had three sons before he married mother.  They had been placed in an orphange when his first wife died, as I recall.  I remember when Gene Barthololmew, the oldest got out of the Army and came for a visit.  I do not remember Richard or Earl coming during that period, but they had been adopted and had thier own family.  I did meet them in later years.  Richard Nichols and Earl Siefert.
One memory that is so vivid it hurts of that period is our hair care.  When we needed a hair cut, mother would set us on a box on a chair, place a bowl over our head and cut our hair to that length.  Then she trimmed our bangs.  Wish I could find one of those pictures! But the worst part was the washing of the hair.  We did not have running water, hence no hot water.  What we did have was a pitcher pump that pumped water by raising and lowering the handle.  When hair needed washed mother would grab the kid that was next in line which in this case was me and tuck me under her arm.  Josephine would pump the handle up and down and water would pour forth and mother would jam my head under the water, the apply soap which I am sure was lye soap and work it into my poor scalp.  Then back under the pump I went and my God that water was cold!    Since I was only 6 years old at the time my memory of a lot of things is not real clear, but on that one thing I am sure.  Bath time was once a week and it occured in a galvanized tub.  Littlest kid got the first bath and the reasoning behind that was that the younger they were, the cleaner they were.  Josephine always got the last one and by that time there was a soap scum floating on the top and bath had a whole new meaning.  To this day I stand under the shower with the water as hot as I can stand it.
I remember the old cow dying and we had to move her body to the pasture because there was some sort of disease and the only way to get rid of it was to burn and bury the carcass.  Must have been anthrax, since I think that occured about that time.  Not sure she had it, but we did it anyway.
That was also the first time I was ever allowed to go to the store.  I felt so big walking that mile to Flemings grocery with my hanky in my hand and the money for the loaf of bread tied safely in the corner.  I remember Mr. Fleming gave me a piece of candy because I did such a good job.  I recall that it was very scary being alone out in the big world when I was 6 years old.  But I look back on that simple life and it breaks my heart that our kids today will never know the simple joy of a mud puddle, a dying turtle, or a trip down the dirt road to bring the cow up!
307728_Save Big - 240x240

Saturday, October 20, 2012

Oh, those silly geese!


For several days the geese had been acting strange.  Now I been herding these geese, thirteen of them, around for several years, so I know strange when I see strange.  Their living quarters consists of a wooden shed about 10 feet wide by 14 feet long.  This has a big door on the west side that I go in to fill the feeder and such.  On the south side down low is a small door about 12 inches wide and 20 inches high that leads to a wire enclosure that is the same size as their house and is covered and has a big door that they enter and exit from.  When it is just dark I go out with my flashlight and they all go into the wire part.  I close that door and secure it and they are snug and tight for the night.  They can go into the house or sleep out in the wire part.  Every night this happens like clock work.  In the morning I open the wire door and they all come running out and over to the water tank which serves as their pond.  Not so the last few days.
They began by being afraid to go in the enclosure.  When I got them herded inside they would cower in the corner.  The first night I actually went into the goose house to see if perhaps Brer' Fox was lurking their.  Nothing amiss.  The next morning they did not rush out as usual, so I just latched the door open and in due time they ventured forth.  Same scenario that evening and the next morning.  I was beginning to be concerned and checked everything I could think of to make sure nothing was able to get near enough to frighten them.  It was a mystery and it really upset me to see them act like they were terrified.  Yesterday was the clincher.
I opened the wire door and no goose came out of the goose house.  I could see them in their milling about so I went and opened the big door.  They cowered in the corner and my eyes finally spotted the "intruder". Yes!  That is it.  A piece of blue plastic cord that fell off of a tarp!  That was blocking the door!  I remembered it laying on the ground in the wire enclosure. 

 
It sure seemed harmless enough to me, but then, I am not a goose.  Did they think it was a snake?  I am a thinking I would have been getting the hell out of there if I were them.  Geese have the herd mentality and I do not know how they communicate, but they were all 13 of them scared to death of this piece of cord.  After I took pictures of the offending item, I dropped it into the burning barrel.  I think the geese now look on me as some sort of hero because they gather at the fence around the yard and stare at me.  And then they take thier naps.  So I take my cue from them and dose in my chair knowing that once more all is right in my world!
 
 

 
************************************************************************
This is the novel I have for sale . Do not be confused by the title. Chapter One simply means this is my first book. There may never be another, or there may be many more. I am very proud of this endeavor and guarantee you will enjoy the book in it's enirety. Lou Mercer


From the back cover
Chapter One...Loose Ends
Lou Mercer

Meg Parker led a simple life.  She was a widow of three years and lived on a chicken farm at the foot of the mighty Rockie Mountains.  Life was good and her little store on eBay made her extra spending money.  But snow and wildlife were not the only things lurking in the forest above her house.  Nor did it stay in the forest for long.

Marshall Purcell came home a wounded veteran from vietnam.  He still had his dreams, but they were of an incestuous past that threatened to consume him.

When Meg and Marshall met it seemed an inconsequential meeting, but it changed both their lives forever.  And change is not always a good thing.

This is adult fiction at its best without all the sex.  Well, maybe just a little bit. 

About the author.  Lou Mercer was born in Nickerson, Kansas. She came to Pueblo, Colorado in 1977 and is now a product of the majestic Rockie Mountains

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Memories of Great Grandma Hatfield.

The summer before I started my high school days, I was sent from my home in Nickerson, Kansas to Plevna, Kansas, to live with my great grandmother and my grandmother, both on my mother's side.  My dear grandmother had suffered a stroke at some point and since great grandmother was over 100 years old, the family thought she should have some help and I was a likely looking candidate since the only girl cousins I had were of marrying age and I was barely into puberty.  So off I went.
The grandmothers had a two story frame house.  Two bedrooms upstairs, one down, a large living room, a dining room, kitchen and located in the hallway under the stairwell, a commode.  That is to say a bathroom stool and that was it.  No sink, no nothing and I was not allowed to use it.  I might either break it or wear it out.  It was for grandma Haas only.  Great grandma and I could just trot on out back and use the "outhouse".  And so we did.  Rain, sleet, heat, or snow could not stay us from our several times daily rounds.  Had a "chamber pot" for night time needs cause God only knew what was out at night.
I was not allowed to sleep upstairs in one of the beds because Lord only knows what was up there.  So I slept on the couch right outside of thier bedroom.  My clothes were kept in a box inside the stair way on the second step.  I took a "bath" once a week by setting an enamel bowl on grandmothers stool and using a wash cloth.  I missed the big zinc tub we had at home.
Great grandmother was a very regal lady.  She was small boned, but tall.  She always held herself in a very formal and staid position.  At least I thought she had regal bearing, but as I think back, the woman was over 100 years old!  She probably couldn't have bent if she had to.  I am not near that old and I am beginning to get a little formal bearing about my own self!  She was very hard of hearing (again the age thing no doubt).  The high school was only one block from home, so I ran home for lunch every day.  When I would come out the door and start home I could hear great grandmother's old stand up radio broadcasting the market prices for wheat and corn.  The only time the radio was turned on was at straight up noon and that was to hear the market report.  She did not always have it tuned in exactly and the news would bleed in also, but she was happy as she sat in her rocker and nodded her head to the man giving the report.  No doubt she was lost in another time and place.  Farming runs in our blood.
Every evening we set up the kitchen for breakfast.  3 plates on the table each with 1/2 an orange and silverware. A dripolater was filled with water, coffee grounds were put in the basket, and it was set on a pilot light.  The egg poacher was filled with water and set on the other pilot light.  3 eggs were placed in a bowl on the table near the stove along with the bread.  Jelly was in the center of the table and the table was covered with a cloth.  Next morning the coffee was pulled to the burner and the fire started under it.  Same with the poacher.  Eggs were broken and placed in the poacher tins.  Bread was placed in the toaster and it was plugged in.  The toaster toasted the bread on one side and that side was opened and the toast slid into place so when I closed it the untoasted side would be next to the bare wires and it could be toasted.  In the meantime the dripolater magically sucked the boiling water up into the top of the pot.  I then turned it off and it magically let it come back down through the grounds again.  Time elapsed making breakfast...5 minutes.
I was allowed to put the dishes in a dishpan and set them under the sink to wait for evening.  Great grandmother had a sandwich for me at noon and I could add those dishes to the pan.  When I came home from school I immediately put the kettle on to heat the water to do the dishes.  Those being done and put away in the cupboard, I then went outside to water the plants.  Sometimes I stole a leaf of mint off the big mint plant and chewed it.
You should know that the 85 year difference in great grandmother and myself was most evident in my schooling.  She was very strict and very set in her ways.  I was not allowed to read books for enjoyment.  If I had time to read, I must read the Bible.  Every evening I read to them for at least an hour.  What we read was never discussed.  It was the holy gospel and that was that.  Never question and interpret the way she said.  Needless to say, I got a goose egg for a book report.  Mother explained that one to the principal  and while he understood, a book report was required.  So I gave him a synopsis of the Holy Bible.  Kept me from flunking.
For fun she taught me to crochet.  She gave me a hook and a ball of thread and I started the world's longest chain.  Every night after supper, we would set in our chairs and "take up" our needle work.  I will say this...I made some beautiful doilies under her watchful eye.  If it wasn't correct, it was ripped out and the mistake corrected and done over.  Guess that was where I got this perfectionist attitude I deal with today.  Damn!
My introduction and education into matters of sex education took place one afternoon when great grandmother was at the outhouse.  Grandma said, "Have you started your woman thing yet?"  Since I had no idea what she was talking about I said, "No" and she replied, "When I did, mama let me stay in bed all day."  I decided I sure wanted that to happen to me! 
When they needed groceries great grandmother would ring up Mr. or Mrs. Hinshaw at the store and she would tell them what she needed.  They would deliver it to the house.  Some times if it was just a loaf of bread or something small, she would tie the money in the corner of a handkerchief and I was sent to the store which was a block away, being trusted to remember what I wanted. I really felt like a big girl then!
Grandma used a walker and the only time she got to get out of the house was to go to the doctor.  But she was so sweet.  Her smile would melt the heart of the devil himself.  I am so glad I got to spend the little time with her that I did.
Next time I pop in here I am going to tell you how this chapter of my life played out.  So stay tuned.
 
 

 
************************************************************************ This is the novel I have for sale on Amazon. Do not be confused by the title. Chapter One simply means this is my first book. There may never be another, or there may be many more. I am very proud of this endeavor and guarantee you will enjoy the book in it's enirety. Lou Mercer


From the back cover
Chapter One...Loose Ends
Lou Mercer

Meg Parker led a simple life.  She was a widow of three years and lived on a chicken farm at the foot of the mighty Rockie Mountains.  Life was good and her little store on eBay made her extra spending money.  But snow and wildlife were not the only things lurking in the forest above her house.  Nor did it stay in the forest for long.

Marshall Purcell came home a wounded veteran from vietnam.  He still had his dreams, but they were of an incestuous past that threatened to consume him.

When Meg and Marshall met it seemed an inconsequential meeting, but it changed both their lives forever.  And change is not always a good thing.

This is adult fiction at its best without all the sex.  Well, maybe just a little bit. 

About the author.  Lou Mercer was born in Nickerson, Kansas. She came to Pueblo, Colorado in 1977 and is now a product of the majestic Rockie Mountains

Monday, October 15, 2012

This is friggin' unbelievable!

Do you see this picture?  Of course you do.  I was bringing my big Philedenron in and happened to wonder what I kept in the trunk it sets on, so I opened it up and riffled through the papers inside.  There was a plastic bag which contains a "Slip and Slide" Plastic thing that fits on an iron to make ironing of clothes easier.  It appeared to have my sister Josephine's handwritting on the outside.  Inside was the thing for the iron along with this picture.  This is 5 generations.  Well, it was at the time. 
Since Mary Jo was born in 1951, this picture had to have been taken in 1952.  That is 60 years ago!  The lady in the upper right corner is my great grandmother, Helen Hatfield.  She is a history lesson in herself.  She was born November 22, 1861 in Madison County, Illinois.  I have diaries that show her younger years in Abbyville, Kansas.  Her mother was Julie Calame and her father was James Gottlieb Gagnebin.  He was born  July 13, 1830 in Geneva, Switzerland.  Apparently they migrated to the Abbyville, Kansas area, because he was a farmer and raised sorghum for molasses and geese and turkeys for meat.  He hired the brothers out to farms in that area, but here is the best part: my great, great grandmother Julie was a nurse/doctor/midwife of sorts.  When someone was sick they sent for her and she would leave the family and go to the home where she was needed.  I can see a lot of her in my way of life. Great gandmother died in 1964.
The next lady is Josie Haas. She is the daughter of Helen Gagnebin.  She was born Josephine Miller on January 8, 1881 in Nevada, Missouri.  She married Christoph Haas and begat my mother along with 3 brothers and a sister.  Grandmother died prior to 1964 because Great Grandmother took care of her until her death.  Than she moved to Coldwater, Kansas and lived with Aunt Mabel until she passed in 1964.  Mother is there on the left end of the top row.  Can you imagine the history in the picture?  I am going to elaborate on these women in the next couple weeks. 
Then down on the bottom is my sister Josephine and her daughter Mary Jo.  Mary is the only one left in that picture.  I am so happy I found that!  Also in the same trunk is a picture of my brother when he was in about the 6th grade.  And that is not all, there is a picture of him as a grown man.  I had been lamenting that I had no pictures of him as a grown man and up pops this picture.  I did not even know it existed.  So my work is cut out for me!  I shall regale you with memories from now until Thanksgiving.  I just love to relive the past, so stay tuned!
 
 

************************************************************************ This is the novel I have for sale on Amazon. Do not be confused by the title. Chapter One simply means this is my first book. There may never be another, or there may be many more. I am very proud of this endeavor and guarantee you will enjoy the book in it's enirety. Lou Mercer


From the back cover
Chapter One...Loose Ends
Lou Mercer

Meg Parker led a simple life.  She was a widow of three years and lived on a chicken farm at the foot of the mighty Rockie Mountains.  Life was good and her little store on eBay made her extra spending money.  But snow and wildlife were not the only things lurking in the forest above her house.  Nor did it stay in the forest for long.

Marshall Purcell came home a wounded veteran from vietnam.  He still had his dreams, but they were of an incestuous past that threatened to consume him.

When Meg and Marshall met it seemed an inconsequential meeting, but it changed both their lives forever.  And change is not always a good thing.

This is adult fiction at its best without all the sex.  Well, maybe just a little bit. 

About the author.  Lou Mercer was born in Nickerson, Kansas. She came to Pueblo, Colorado in 1977 and is now a product of the majestic Rockie Mountains

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Getting rid of the frail old body and moving on up!



Not to be alarmed, kiddies, it is not me!  But yesterday I got a phone call.  A friend is dying and would I come?  Of course!  I left the sewing job I was working on down stairs, put on my bra, and drove across town.  I joined her husband, the minister and a girl from Sangre de Cristo Hospice at her bedside.  She had grown even frailer than the last time I had seen her a week before.  She is at home in a hospital bed in the front room surrounded by the remnants of her life.  Throughout the afternoon a few friends stopped by, more of hospice stopped in, and flowers were delivered.  She did not know it, but we all did.

I looked around the room at pieces of art that represented her life.  There were framed tatted doilies that she had made.  Art work by her daughter.  Pictures of her and Doug when they were young.  Pictures of the kids, the grandkids, the dog, and where had the cat gotten off to anyway?

And everywhere reminders of the activism in thier lives.  I do not know when I met these people nor where.  It seems I had always known them.  The Peace Flotilla, Meals on Wheels, Ghandi Peace Garden, Rally against Amendment #2, on and on.  Always Doug passing out flyers or leading the march and always Dorothy on his arm.  We belong to the same church, and apparently belong to the same causes!

I believe that on this level words are not needed.  I believe the person preparing for the journey knows exactly what is going on and can intercept our thoughts.  So I gave her good ones!  Green valleys, cool sunshine, soft clouds, and the gentlest rain.  I gave her soft music, beautiful flowers, and sweet smells.  I gave her soft kittens and butterflies; and I hope a glimpse of the Holy City where she will live after she flits around the world and fills her head with the knowledge of the ages.  And finished with the face of Jesus, so kind, caring and welcoming with his out stretched arms.  "Come home, Dorothy.  I am waiting."

I had to come home for a while in the evening to do chores.  When I went back Dorothy had quieted.  Her daughters arrived about 10:00.  I think she was waiting for them.  I took my leave so they could say thier goodbyes without a stranger there.  I have not heard this morning and it is kind of early to call, but if I were a betting person, I would bet she is free from her body that held her prisoner and is soaring above us, smiling down and touching us with a peace that is not attainable on this level.

God speed, Dorothy!  See you soon!
 

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Did I watch the debate last night?

Well, yes I did!  I was a little late getting into the house so I missed part of it.  My first few moments were spent watching Mitt Romney and the moderator parrying about whether his time was up and should Barack Obama be allowed to make his point.  Sorry.  I very quickly decided that this was too much chaos for my little mind.  Two minutes is 2 minutes any way you look at it.  Aren't there rules?  Something like you get 2 mnutes and then he gets two minutes and then you each get one miunte for rebuttal.  That is what I want to see.  Yeah, order out of chaos would have been good.  After that is it down hill. 
And something else that bugs me is this Mr. Obama and Barack Obama.  It is President Obama and Candidate Romney.  President.  I was taught way back when I was barely big enough to pee hard on the ground, a little thing called "respect."  Whether it war President Roosevelt, Harry S. Truman, Richard Nixon, or Clinton, they were always prefaced with "President."  I remember mom and dad listening to the radio which was a precursor to television.  They would stare intently at that little box and await words from our leader.  Vaguely I can remember the one announcement that announced the end of World War II.  "The war is over.  The allies have prevailed. The world is at peace."  It was my president speaking.  I had no idea what he looked like at the time, nor if those were his exact word, but he was the leader of this United States, and he was speaking to me.
We have come a long ways to end up on such familiar ground with Barack and Mitt.  The respect is gone.  They stood before me last night two men, debating or argueing, what ever, and I was saddened that the world has come to this.  Not only did I grow up with President Harry Truman and President Dwight Eisenhower, but the principal at Nickerson Elementary School was Mr. Houston.  My music teacher was Miss Barkiss.  The man next door was Mr. Rienke.  That was how it was.  Anyone who was our elder was called by something that showed respect.  Well, almost everyone.  The exceptions were Whittlin' Joe and Johnny Carson over on the highway and Hank Windiate, the old guy up the street.  Those guys were characters.  So does that mean that the President of our United States and the man opposing him in the election are now relegated to become "characters?"
Now follow my train of thought here for just a moment.  Could it be that this is one of the reasons our great country is in the shape it is in?  The man who is head of our country today was elected by the people of this fair land.  Doesn't he deserve any respect for that?  I was in court yesterday and we had to stand up when the judge came in.  She was referred to as the Honorable Judge of such and such.  Then we could set down.  The plaintiff called her "Your Honor."  Slap that fellow with contempt if he doesn't.  Just goes to show that we know the terms, we just don't use them.  I think we need to get back to some of the basics and I rather suspect we should teach our children this little thing called "respect".
So this is my rant for the day.  I shall get ready for the next debate between President Obama and Candidate Romney.  Maybe Washington has turned our leaders into objects of ridicule and that is sad.  I just wonder if we will ever be able to return to any semblance of what was long ago normal?

 
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This is the novel I have for sale.   Do not be confused by the title. Chapter One simply means this is my first book. There may never be another, or there may be many more. I am very proud of this endeavor and guarantee you will enjoy the book in it's enirety. Lou Mercer


From the back cover
Chapter One...Loose Ends
Lou Mercer

Meg Parker led a simple life.  She was a widow of three years and lived on a chicken farm at the foot of the mighty Rockie Mountains.  Life was good and her little store on eBay made her extra spending money.  But snow and wildlife were not the only things lurking in the forest above her house.  Nor did it stay in the forest for long.

Marshall Purcell came home a wounded veteran from vietnam.  He still had his dreams, but they were of an incestuous past that threatened to consume him.

When Meg and Marshall met it seemed an inconsequential meeting, but it changed both their lives forever.  And change is not always a good thing.

This is adult fiction at its best without all the sex.  Well, maybe just a little bit. 

About the author.  Lou Mercer was born in Nickerson, Kansas. She came to Pueblo, Colorado in 1977 and is now a product of the majestic Rockie Mountains

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

I am almost done.

Very soon this will be a part of my past.  Last weekend we had the estate sale.  Last night Ross and I emptied the house almost completely.  I will go over there today and load a couple boxes and run the vacuum.  Then that goes in the car along with me.  Wednesday we will empty the garage. 
It has been a long 2 1/2 years.  I would like to say it was all smooth sailing, but it wasn't.  Dealing with  death is never easy for anyone involved.  I will say this for Sherman, he handled it with  more grace and acceptance than I thought it was possible for one human to muster.  I hope I can do as well when my time comes.  He set the bar pretty high and I am just not sure I can reach it.
I had been a widow 7 years when I met Sherman.  Following that I will be 78 years old before I date again.  Wonder how that is going to work?  If you look carefully at the porch trim on the top you will notice that one of the white pieces is missing.  It was not there when I met him and we always meant to finish that, but never quite got around to it.  Kind of like life, isn't it?  There is always one more thing that needs done!
Miss you Sherman.
 

Another year down the tubes!

Counting today, there are only 5 days left in this year.    Momma nailed it when she said "When you are over the hill you pick up speed...