loumercerwordsofwisdom.blogspot.com

Saturday, August 19, 2017

It was a black and white world back there on Strong Street.

I see the news and it makes me sick.  We are consumed with fear and hatred of the "Radical Islamic Terrorist," the illegal immigrants, the gays, the blacks, and God only knows who else that we are killing  in the name of "peace and tranquility."  My dying ass!

We have elected a man to the white house who embodies all the hatred rolled into one ball and he does it in the name of "Keeping America Great."  I ask you just how great we are now?  And when I say "we elected,"  I mean just that.  Everyone that cast a "protest vote" or skipped voting because it "really doesn't count", or worse yet, the ones who actually marked a vote for a man who spews hate through every pore got us where we are right now!  Blame it on Russia if you so choose, but had we been United as we claim, they could not have gotten their foot in the door.

When Donald Trump was spewing his hate and "Lock her up!" rhetoric I, like most other Americans, just chalked that up to showmanship and politics as usual.  The majority of American's laughed at his antics knowing that no way would he be elected.  But the electoral college bit us in the fanny  And little did I realize the fact that this world is filled with frustration and hate that is mostly directed at our governement.  This and the fact that church attendance has fallen to a new low tells me we have a real problem  Back in Nickerson we hid our heads in the sand.

Oh, I knew that there was a "colored family" that lived outside of town some where, but we never saw them.  We also knew the Klu Klux Klan operated every where.  I never actually saw any cross burnings, but a small town is good for gossip.  I never really knew who was in the Klan and at one point I thought probably my dad was.  Seems he had a rather colorful past that was tied to the Chicago mafia, but like I said....

My mother was probably the hardest working, most honest, and kindest woman who ever graced this earth and she taught me well.

If someone is hungry, feed them.
I someone is thirsty, give them a drink.
If you find something valuable on the ground, it is still not yours.
A lie is a lie.
Some women are just born to be old maids.
Some men are just "momma's boys."
We are all the same color when the lights are out.

Most of her wisdom could be dispensed in a sentence of less than 10 words.  No sense spewing out a bunch of useless words that no one was gonna remember no how!  Gotta love my momma!

But back to my rant of today.  I live in the county where all the gardens are.  Beautiful Mesa!  In the summer the fields are alive with workers picking the crops.  On a 100 degree day I see them in thier long sleeved shirts and pants with hoods over thier heads.  They keep thier bodies covered to keep the hot sun off of thier skin.  I need shade and a breeze when I am outside.  Inside I need my central air. They move across fields in tandem and behind them the fields are empty and beside them the trucks are full of green peppers, buckets of tomatoes and bags of onions.  A sight to behold and the graneries are full.

Well, that is how it is supposed to work.  But this year is different.  I see Black SUV's driving the back roads.  I see no workers in the fields.  I see crops going to seed and not being harvested.  Way to go America!  This will teach Mexico that we mean business!  This will show them! This will teach them to take our jobs!

Sorry folks, not seeing it here.  I do not see any of the locals out there bent over picking me a carrot.  Not happening.  I do think a few of the locals may have went out to make some of that "easy money" but they aren't going back.  It is sad that the system that has worked for so many years for both farmers and workers is no longer happening. 

I hear the arguments that by taking down statues we are rewriting history.  I do not see it that way.  As far as I am concerned, the rebel flag waving off some rednecks truck is a flagrant reminder that we had to fight a war with our neighbors to free human beings from the yoke of slavery.  Ever study how this came about in the first place?  In nutshell, a bunch of rich men needed workers and needed them cheap, so they went to Africa to capture black people that were not doing anything anyway to come and live over here and work for room and board.  Far be it from their little pea brains to think perhaps that property they now owned had a mother, father, siblings, wife, husband, children or anything that mattered.  Not a pretty sight and I am pretty sure that they do not need to see a bunch of statues, flags or anything else to remind them.  Much like a statue of Hitler in the town square is not something any of us intelligent people need to remember the Holocaust.

Does anyone remember back when Vietnam was happening and we had all those refugees?  Different
nationality, same reception.  America has always been a melting pot, so to speak, but we tend to forget that our ancestors were the first to be integrated in this land!  The people that were here when we landed on Plymouth Rock are the only ones that really belong here.  Call them Native Americans, Indigenous people, Redskins, or Indians they are the real owners of this land.  Sadly they made one mistake.  They took pity on the pious immigrants who came here on the Mayflower to make a new life.  They fed them.  They helped them survive the elements of a brutal winter in a strange land.  Then they were killed by them.  Talk about biting the hand that feeds you!

America, the land of the free and the home of the brave.  Sometimes I am just not as proud of America as I should be, but then I remember!  I can only control the thoughts and actions of one person and that is me!  So I shall take my optimistic little self and keep waving my banner and hearing the chants that have been echoing down through the years. 

"Remember Stonewall!"  "Hell no! We won't go!"  "Black or White, all is right!"  And all the ones I have forgotten. 

GIVE PEACE A CHANCE


Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Catalpa Trees, Clothesline, and Muscovy Ducks

Now what do all three of these have in common?  Oh, I know!  There were all an integral part of life at 709 Strong Street.  They are also things we do not see much any more.  For instance, the clothesline.  Back in the day it was used at very least once a week.  The clothes were washed in a washing machine with an agitator.  Whites were first.  The hot soapy water was wrung out through a wringer and the clothes went into rinse water tub number 1.  The second rinse contained a drop or two of "bluing".  Now the bluing was a very important addition as it gave the whites a bare hint of blue which actually made them appear more white!  This was important in case anyone saw your clothes hanging on the line.  If the whites were not white you were going to be discussed around the supper table that night!

The wash water was always one degree below boiling when the wash was started.  After the whites came out, the light clothes were put in and that was followed by towels and such which was followed by darks.  The last load of clothes were dad's overalls.  If there was any water left at that point we could throw in blankets or rugs.

As each load came through and ended up in the basket, it was taken out to the clothesline and hung to dry.  There were more rules to the hanging of the clothes then even I can recall.  Underwear were to be hung by the waistband with the crotch facing any direction except the road as a pervert might see them and loose control!  If the said underwear had a hole, the item must be folded so the neighbors could not see it and know we were poor.  Shirts, blouses and overalls were hung by the bottom.  Dish towels were never hung by clothes.  Baby clothes were washed and hung very first as babies were delicate.

When the washing was all done, the drain hose was called into action and buckets of dirty water were then lugged to the back yard and dumped in an area that was designated as "the water dumping area."  This is when the Muscovy Ducks were in high heaven.  I do not know if you have ever seen a Muscovy Duck, but they are nasty.  They are usually white and black with a green sheen to the black.  The males are huge with a neck as big as my arm and the females are very small.  I seen them breeding one time which was enough for me.  That was nasty and I am not sure my perception of the Muscovy is not influenced by that experience.

Any way, they would get in the muddy water and root around with thier beaks, seeking God only knows what and that made them very dirty and seemed to make them very horny.  As I side note here, they are the only domesticated duck that (to my knowledge) can fly.  They also chatter to each other.  I hated wash day for that very reason.

Our kitchen had a "pitcher pump" and a sink for the washing of dishes and such.  The drain consisted of a pipe out the bottom that made a hard right angle and disappeared through the wall and drained into the back yard.  You guessed it!  Another hang out place for those damned Muscovy Ducks!

Ah, but my solice lay in the front yard.  In the front of the house by the road that ran by stood 2 tall Catalpa trees.  I have noticed in later years it is fashionable to top them short and they then have a ball on top.  Ours were "ala naturale".  They were both the same height and appeared to be twins, but they were vastly different.  The one on the left had lots and lots of little limbs and it was impossible to climb.

But the one on the right was my friend.  It had only smooth branches.  I would get a bucket and stand on it making it possible to reach the first branch.  I would grab it and hoist myself up, throw my right leg over the limb and survey my kingdom below.  From the bottom branch I would grab the next branch on the left side of the tree and work my way up the left side of the tree.  When I reached "my place" I would set on a branch (always the same branch) and be alone in my head.  At this point I was probably 25 - 30 feet off the ground.  I could see down Strong Street and up Strong Street and I could while away the hours dreaming of things and places I would someday see.  I lived a very happy life in my head.  Had I but known where my life would lead me I would have never come down from that tree.

Momma cleaned houses for the ladies in town and most of the time she walked to and from her jobs.  I always looked towards town and when I seen momma coming I would jump down and run to meet her. I do not know what we talked about or even if we did, but I loved my momma and for just a few minutes she was mine alone.  Of course when we reached the house I had to go get the little kids from Ory Ayers's house and momma was no longer mine alone, because those little brats were so needy!

I can close the door on that part of my life, but I can not make it stay shut.  I have heard it said that as we age we revert to our youth.  I do know people with Dementia and Alzheimer's lose short term memory first and I am thinking, maybe that is a good thing.  My childhood will always be my salvation.  It will always be the one place that I feel safe and when I die I hope I go back to Nickerson and Strong Street with my brother, sisters, and momma.

Yep.  That would be heaven!



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...