Talk about a nightmare!!

 I just woke up from a nightmare to end all nightmares!  I dreamed I got married and the reception was in Miramount Castle!  Apparently, the wedding was early morning because the reception was breakfast fare.  Lots of bacon!  That part was good, but for some reason I got separated from the wedding party.  I never did get a look at the groom!

The point was that I had fixed a "to go" box and put it in a gunny sack and placed it under my table and then wandered off to explore the castle.  I did my exploring alone.  When I realized that time had slipped away and I was going to miss my ride I panicked. I could not find any of the people in my wedding party and my gunny sack full of food was no where to be found.  That was the part that upset me most.  While I looked under every table in the giant hall, no one paid any attention to me.  It was like I did not exist.

I did finally find my gunny sack, but it was empty.  Since I was crying hysterically by this time, a very nice man offered me a grilled cheese sandwich, but since a bite was gone out of it, I declined.  He was very shabbily dressed and appeared to have been drinking.  He pointed down the hall to the exit door which I scurried forward to and opened.  The parking lot was completely empty of vehicles and only one person stood there.  I approached her and she shoved me over the edge of the cliff. That is all I remember of that dream.

Now, let's just analyze this little dream in the cold hard light of day.  I had been to Miramont Castle because Rebecca and Ron took a few of us to a high tea there a few months ago.  It was a delightful experience so that would explain wanting to go back to the castle.  Now as for the wedding, I do not know where that came from!  I do have a man friend in my life, but it has definitely not advanced to the wedding bells.  Not something either one of us has contemplated nor discussed.  Friends indeed, but getting naked at my age might not be a good idea from either his or my point of view!

Now, the bacon part is the part that I can understand.  I love bacon.  I do not eat much bacon because it is messy to cook and is best savored in a BLT with farm fresh tomatoes.  Farm fresh tomatoes are a little hard to come by here in Colorado in the middle of winter.  I do confess, a really good BLT is right on the top of my favorite foods list, but let us analyze further.

A gunny sack to hold my wedding gifts?  Really?  What kind of friends do I have?  And what kind of friends, not to mention the new husband, would leave me to wander a castle alone on my wedding day?  And who was the woman in the parking lot who threw me over the cliff?  Did I die?

Enough of this!  I rarely have dreams that I can recall so vividly and odds are this one will fade from my memory rather quickly once I start my day.  I sure hope so!

If my former therapist is reading this (and you know who you are) please let me know if I need to get back into therapy.  Most of the time I tend to be pretty level headed, but this one had me talking to myself when I woke up.  Probably scared my neice to death!

First lucid thought of the day!

 Setting here with my first cup of coffee of the day and Sam Seeger and Richard Meyer pop into my head with  brief memory from long ago.  Sam was in Central High here in Pueblo.  Richard was a son-in-law of Kenny's.  Sam was probably a Sophomore at the time.  One of his subjects was the German language.  He would come in and spout off phrase he had learned in school that day and sometimes I could decipher it, which always surprised him.

Just a little background here.  My grandfather came into America via Ellis Island when he was 9 years old.  Most of my ancestors were fluent in the German language and at family gatherings the elders would converse in German, so I had a passing knowledge of the language.  My first husband was probably more German than I was.  When he proposed, he did so in German.  So, like I said, I knew a little German, but not enough to guide Sam through the language with any degree of competency.  Back to the story.

I had told Sam that Richard spoke German and I felt if he wanted to learn it would be nice to have Richard for supper and they could converse.  Sounded good to him so the invitation was issued and Richard accepted.  I told him Sam would be trying his German skills on him and he agreed to the plan.

The night arrived and supper was cooked and the table "laid".  Now "laid" was the term that the grandma's had always used for "setting the table." Grace having been said, conversation could begin.  Sam and Richard exchanged "Guten abens" and then Sam uttered something in German to which Richard replied with several sentences in fluent German.  Sam once more more replied in his halting German to which Richard replied with a fluency that I had not heard since leaving grandma's house.  Then the table fell silent except for the conversation between Kenny and Richard about the "job".  

Sam and I were cleaning the kitchen after and the men had gone outside to the garage, which meant Kenny had gone out to smoke his pipe and visit with Richard away from the domestic stuff inside.  

Sam began our discourse with "Good Lord!  You did not tell me how well Richard knew German!  I just made a complete ass out of myself and you let me!"

I replied that I thought the conversation had gone rather well to which he replied, "Oh, yeah!  It went well, but I do not think Richard gave a damn how fast Tom can run, or how far Mary walked to school!  You didn't tell me how well he knew German."

I asked him if he understood anything.  He replied that he did, but that was our one and only discourse.  He went on to go to the German club, I think and maybe learned a little German.  Since coming to Pueblo I am no longer around people who speak any German, except for my friend, Jerome.  

So, this is what is on my mind the very first thing this morning!  

Hope you all have a good day! 

Guten Auben. (I think that is right.)

His name was Gene.

 It was a long time ago, but it still haunts me.  I had divorced my first husband, and my second when I met him.  I owned a restaurant on Fourth Street in Hutch at the time.  I had dated my soon to be third husband, but discarded him as a lost cause when I met Gene.  He lived in a small town up near Kansas City.  He loved to dance.  He had a sense of humor.  He loved my kids and most importantly, he loved me.  He worked with my sister's husband and that was the downfall.  He and his wife were in the middle of an amicable divorce and I was all set to become Mrs. Happy Wife when fate intervened in the shape of my sister.  

He stopped calling.  He changed his phone number.  Communications back then were not the convenient little texts and stuff that they are now.  So, I gave up on Gene.  I started dating Charlie.  I never for a minute forgot Gene.  My sister told me he had gone back to his wife.  But one night as I was alone after closing the cafe, there was a knock on the window.  There he was.  He came in and I made us coffee.  It was a very strained conversation as he explained that he had gone back and he and his wife, although not happy, were comfortable in a marriage of convenience.  It was then that he explained that my sister had called him and told him that I had married Charlie and we were very happy so he should just move on.  She was married to his friend and co-worker, so why should he doubt her?

Maybe because she had lied?  Now it was too late.  Time had passed and while he still loved me and I him there was his wife to consider.  And Charlie.  He just wanted to see me one more time and tell me that while he was not happy, he and his wife were comfortable in their marriage of convenience.  And of course, there were grandkids now.....   I knew I would never forget him, and I was right.  Here I am 50 years later and I can see him as clearly as that night in Lou's Kitchen on 4th street.

I confronted Josephine and she explained that she did what was best for me.  Water under the bridge.  There is no going back, is there?

I do not think of what might have been, although it does pop into my mind from time to time.  My sister is gone and I am sure he is also.  I came to Colorado and have now been here fifty years.  I do think of the time we spent together and that will probably never stop as long as there is breathe in my body.  I will remember how we danced and laughed.  The last time I danced it was with him.  I woke up in the night last night remembering him and I can not see that ever stopping.

I never really forgave Josephine for her duplicity, but we never spoke of it.  It was a betrayal and a betrayal by any other name is still a betrayal.  

I have had a good life in Colorado.  I spent 20 years with a wonderful man whom I loved and he loved me in return.  I would not give that up for all the dreams I had.  

So rest in peace, my sister.  Rest in peace Gene.  When it is all said and done and the nails pounded in the coffin, it is all just a memory of what happened on our way to our destiny.

Good night sweet prince.

Oh, the memories!!!!

 It is almost 5 AM and today is Christmas Eve.  I have my coffee and there was a time I would be enjoying (?) a cigarette.  Not any more.  I checked with my friend Cathy who quit the same day I did.  It has been 12 years!  My lungs are clear which amazes me since I smoked for 54 years.  God has sure been good to me in that area.  Well, let's face it, God has been good to me in every area of my life.

First he gave me the wisest mother that ever lived and definitely the one who was the best mother for me!  Momma always said that I thought she was the best because I never knew any different.  She might be right on that!  I do wonder if I had been born into money and prestige if I would be the same person I am today?  I wonder had my first husband been the one I stayed with my whole life, would I be the same person I am today?  

I can look at my kids and see shades of my mother in each and every one of them.  Debbie is the oldest and the most like me.  She even looks like me.  She spouts things mother would have said.  "What don't kill you will make you strong."  She is a pioneer woman to the core.  She lives with her husband in Eastern Kansas and is raising 3 grandkids on a 40 acre dryland farm.  Her husband, Hammer, bought her a new backhoe or something like that for her birthday or some such occasion.  Mine used to send me flowers!

Today is Christmas Eve.  Holidays are not my strong suite.  To be honest, I could function very well with out any holidays, but nobody asked me.  Tonight I will attend the Christmas Eve service at my church.  Christmas is the holiday that marks the birth of my saviour.  I will go alone and I will come home alone.  I will make oyster soup for supper because that is what Kenny and I did for years.  I guess I am a grinch!  So be it.

The end of the year is for me to look back and reflect on how things went and how I can improve and do better next year.  I spent New Years Eve of 2003 watching fireworks on Pikes Peak.  I set alone in the cafeteria in a hospital where my husband lay on life support.  While I do revel in the baby in the manger, I am a realist. I know how the story ends.

So, to my friends and family, Merry Christmas!  The babe in the manger is our hope for the future.  Take time to reflect on just what that babe did for us.  Our hope for the future and the remembrance of things past.  New Years is coming and we have a chance to make this next year different.

So when you think of the baby and the manger remember it is all part of a much grander scheme than we could even imagine.  It is the birthday of our saviour!

Welcome to my life, Jesus Christ! 

Competitive little waifs!

 Following instructions runs deep in my veins and I rather suspect I have passed it on to my children, but I did not know until tonight, just how deeply it was ingrained in my son.  I have been referred to as "anal retentive" a time or two.  He is a vegetarian, bordering on, if not completely vegan.  Tonight we were talking about a visit to his doctor in which he was instructed to collect all of his urine for a 24 hour period.  Now being the obedient patient, he did just that.  Needless to say he drinks a lot of water.  LOTS of water!  

To say the doctor was surprised at just how much urine he actually collected would be an understatement.  Apparently his doctor has a bit of an accent.  When Sam produced his specimen jars, the doctor exclaimed that this was a lot of urine for 24 hours and he must drink a lot of water!  When he was relaying the conversation to me he used the accent.  Of course I got to laughing.  The upshot of the whole conversation degenerated into a laugh fest and I asked him if he had hauled it in with his little red wagon.  I never did find out what the doctor learned from all that urine or what he was even looking for.  Apparently the little specimen bottles from days of yore are not used in this doctors office.

Sam and I have much the same sense of humor.  Our conversation had started because I want to sell a china cabinet and he thought I needed money. I explained that it was not full of what it was supposed to be full of and had now become a "catch all" so I wanted the space more than the piece of furniture.  When I finally got it across to him, he was good with that.  Little guy just worries about his mommy going around the bend!

I go once a year for my annual exam.  The doctor does not actually touch me.  He does wave the stethoscope at me  which is anti-climatic since he does not use it.  The nurse does take my blood pressure and it is always a tad bit low unless I have just made the dash across the parking garage and up three flights of stairs.  

Well this may be short as the cat is wanting to lay on the keyboard and if I do not yield to her wants she does tend to bite me and that hurts.  That and the fact that cats, by virtue of their  use of the litter box, are actually filthy little germ bombs, makes me give her a very wide berth!

So enjoy your day and remember, you can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself!  

I missed the "dirty thirties!"

 Momma, Dad Josephine and Jake were there for the "dirty thirties", but I was but a mere gleam in my Daddy's eye at the time.  I think they were called that because the wind blew and there was no vegetation to hold the soil.  I could be wrong, but I think that, "therefore it is!" And we do all live by what we believe to be true, don't we?

I do know that I used to have a bunch of ration stamps.  I think I sold them on ebay because every time I looked at them, it made me sad.  There is just something about poverty that seems to eat at my very soul.  I am not poor and I am not rich by any means, but I am "secure" and that is what I have clawed and scratched my whole life to attain.  I guess I may fall in the category of the "working poor."   

Poverty seems to have a hold that goes to the bottom of my soul.  I have my house, car, savings and am secure, but I still have little habits that irritate even me.  I have all kinds of things I do to make a few extra dollars.  I am a seamstress and the money I make from that goes into my third bank account which is known as "my third bank account."  That money is designed for things I need and want as opposed to my first bank account which is for my retirement check which supports the house and feeds me.  I also have a savings account with a minimal balance in case the other two dry up.  To say I live from hand to mouth would be a good way to describe it.  But be aware that I do this not because I am dirt poor, but because the memory of when I was dirt poor is ingrained into my very being to the bottom of my soul.  It is an empty part in me that can never be filled.  It is what guides every thing I do from the time I get up until I go to bed at night.

First, I am a hoarder.  My closet is filled with clothes I have never worn and will never wear, but still I keep every stitch.  I went yesterday to buy new panties and bras.  I came home with 3 bras and forgot the panties.  I went through my old bras and did not throw any away.  The new ones are in the back for a "special occasion" and I want to ask you just what in the hell that means?  I can not foresee every wearing them until all the straps and fastners fall off the old ones and can not be stitched back on!  When I put a pair of underwear on and they slide down before I can get my jeans on, out they go.

It does not stop there!  I eat alone most of the time.  I do cook and I try to cook for one, but that does not happen.  I was trained in "institutional cooking", which means every meal is built with an army in mind.  this means that if I cook a pot of beans, I will eat on that pot until it is gone or until it grows a soft, green mold across its top whilst setting in the refrigerator waiting to be "warmed up one more time".

I am looking at plastic tubs in the middle of my front room full of yarn.  I love yarn and am now in the process of crocheting "market bags" since I hear plastic bags are going to be discontinued at the end of the year.  Sadly, most of my yarn is polyester or some such synthetic that for some reason I can not bring myself to use on my "recycle bags."  You do notice that the beginning of this paragraph uses the word "tubs" with an "s"?

It does not stop there.  Every scrap of paper must be used on both sides.  Any container with a lid can be used for storage of something that should have, no doubt, been thrown out long ago.  I have probably 6,000 yards of fabric down stairs that I will use "some day".  When I do make a quilt I go buy "new fabric" just for that purpose.

I have 2 heavy duty mixers and one Kitchen Aid.  Also have an assortment of ladles, mixing spoons, measuring cups and spoons, cutting boards, knives of every size and shape for chopping or cutting anything that does or does not move.  I have five different sizes of roasters!  One for a very small piece of meat all the way up to a 20 pound turkey and beyond.

My mother is the one who pointed out to me that I was a hoarder and why.  Kenny's mother used to wrap up a tablespoon of leftovers and put it in the freezer for "later".  

We save containers.  We save boxes.  We save change.  Nothing is save from us and everything that crosses my path has more than one use.  It is sad, but you know what is sadder?  That our society is not geared to people like me.  Drink a pop, throw away the can.  Eat a half of a sandwich, throw the other half in the trash.  Thirsty?  Spend $1.50 on a bottle of water and drink half of it and throw the rest in the trash.  I wonder how many tons of trash are generated every day on this poor planet?

The longer I live the more thankful I am that this world is not my home, I'm only passing through! click here to play

People who forget the past tend to repeat it!  Just something to think about!

Company's comin' up the road!!

 Back in the day when life was laid back and summer days were long and winter nights were cold, a visitor was a rarity.  Cars were few and far between and if a car pulled on to our road leading up to the Stroh place we knew we were going to have company and they probably would spend the night.  I remember one such visit, but I do not remember who it was.  Only thing I am sure of was that it was Aunt somebody and Uncle somebody.  

Apparently mother had received some sort of message either through the mail or a phone call from somebody and the visit was expected.  Momma would spend days cleaning the house in preparation for the big day.  I do recall the time Uncle Ode came to visit.  What I remember is that he was tall and smoked a pipe and it smelled so very good.  He asked it I would like a puff and of course I said yes.  Momma said "NO" but Uncle Ode stuck the stem in my mouth and told me to take a deep suck on it.  Oh, my good God in heaven, I damn near choked to death!  Of course Uncle thought it funny but mother did not! 

When Uncle Ode came he only stayed a few hours, but I recall one visit from Aunt and Uncle Somebody.  They had a new shiny black car.  I might note that back then there were two colors for a car, black or blacker.  Later they would add a dung green, and then brown.  I was  allowed to be lifted into the car and I could set there and look around, but do not get it dirty!  I wallowed in dirt all day long so I had to be "dusted off" before I was allowed to set on the pristine seat!  

Starting the car entailed poking a "crank" into the front of the car under the radiator and turning it firmly until the engine "caught".  Then the driver would engage the clutch, engage the transmission and when he released the clutch  the car would move forward and they would disappear in a cloud of dust!  Cars were few and far between in our little world, but we liked to see them.  Jake and I used to set under the bridge and hope one would pass over us, but not break the bridge down so as to kill us!

Jake always wore overalls and us girls always wore a dress.  I recall in high school one day a year was designated as "tacky" day.  We could wear jeans that day, but I did not have any.  When school started momma made each of us girls dresses and of course I inherited the ones Josephine grew out of and passed mine down to Donna.  When clothes were "worn completely out" they were then taken apart and went for another use.  The worn parts were rags for cleaning.  The still good parts were cut into one inch strips and a slit cut in each end.  These were then lace together and rolled into a ball.  When mother had enough balls she took them to the "weaver lady" who wove them into a rug.  Nothing was ever disposed of until it was completely used up.  We even had a "button jar."

I know that sometimes when I write on here it seems that my childhood was very sad, but it was not!  Back in those days it was different.  We had an outhouse, but a lot of people did.  Inside plumbing was a rarity and non-existent on Strong Street.  Meals were mostly pots of soup or beans.  We heated with a wood stove and cooked on one also.  We played "Kick the Can" when we were lucky enough to find a can.  Our quiet place was the cemetery behind the house.  Momma made our soap with old save up lard that was first used for cooking and then strained and turned into "lye soap" with lye she made by dripping water through soft, gray wood ashes from the cook stove.

There is not a day that goes by that I do not thank God for sending me to the mother he sent me to live with.  She was a pioneer.  She was honest to a fault.  She was dependable.  Her heart was broken by me many times, but she never gave up on me and never once ever told me I was a disappointment, even when I knew I was. 

So, fancy cars, running water, a cupboard full of food and a home that stays the same temperature all year long with the touch of a dial, are all taken for granted.  My ancestors were pioneers and I thank God every day for them.  And you know the best part of all of this?  I see it reflected in everyone of my kids.  They are all honest, dependable, God fearing little creatures that are always in touch with their momma!

And I am as proud of them as I can be!  And there is a song that reflects all this.  It goes like this;

Count your many blessings, name them one by one, 

and it will surprise you what the Lord has done!click here

It isn't always the words that count.

Did you ever have your tender little feelings hurt by something someone said?  Or didn't say?  I have been on the receiving end of both those scenarios.  I have to say that I appreciate the former to the latter.  When someone says something hurtful at least I know where I stand and honesty is, after all, the best policy.  My momma drilled into my head that I must be honest under any given situation.  And in all fairness, I learned early on, that a lie is hard to remember, so mostly I just stick to the truth because it is easier to remember.  This works well in most areas of my life, except my marriages.  Some times I shave off a couple, not because I am lying, but because a couple of them were not worth remembering.  I call this my "lie of omission."  Mostly when I divorced I took my previous name back because it matches my kids name.  I went from being Louella Bartholomew to Louella Seeger.  There was an Ivey, Bayless, Gonzales who all morphed into Lou Mercer.  And that is who I am today many, many years later.

Much like Mae West, I never met a man I didn't like and that is true to this day.  I have, however, not met a man that I felt like giving up my retirement check for to this day.  I also love Black Walnut Ice Cream and Wintergreen Lifesavers, but I am not adverse to a big bowl of any kind of ice cream and Spearmint Lifesavers work well too.  This just shows I am flexible!

There was a time in my life that I thought my given name was "stupid bitch".  When I left that man and had 5 kids to support with no help from him nor the welfare system, I was 103 pounds of next to nothing with no self esteem.  I had no life skills and no work experience except  3 weeks that I had worked at a laundry in either Garden City or Liberal.  But I had a vision!  I could see me someday in a home of my own and my kids would be fed and clothed.  It was a dream I clung to and by sheer determination I made it come true.  Granted, it was not the best house in town, but the roof did not leak and we were warm.

I worked for several months on the "shake table" at the Ineeda Laundry just up the street from my house.  Nights I washed dishes at the Blue Grill down on South Main.  It was there that I met a man named "shall remain nameless".  He was a writer.  My dream from the first day I held a Red Big Chief tablet and a lead pencil was to be a writer.  Nameless  and I were friends and he let me read a novel he was aspiring to publish.  I knew I could do better!  To make a long story short, he went on to be a news director at one of the local radio stations.  We dated briefly, but since I had a nest full of kids and he was a "man about town" that did not work out well.  I did run into him a couple years later and was amazed to see he had gone completely bald, was fat and still full of himself!  Very glad I dodged that bullet!

Shortly after meeting him I  discovered a lady who lived 3 doors down on 5th Street wrote for several of the "romance rags".  True Confessions was her favorite source of income.  It was from her that I learned that True Confessions and every other romance magazine was a figment of someone's imagination. They were all in the same form, woman meets man, man is not interested, man pursues woman and they kiss and then live happily ever after. 

I look back on that period in my life and realize that nameless was part of what made me into who I am today even though he was only in my life a short time.  He fueled me to write and journal and all the stuff that today is my salvation.   I did google him a time or two, but found nothing.  I at least published a book and collaborated on a second one.  I still have visions of being a successful published author, but if that never happens, and chances grow slimmer every year, I am still happy with my life.  

Mother always said "If you can come to the end of your life and count your friends on one hand, you are a very successful person." and I can!  My friends are legion, my dreams are many, and with God at my side I may still conquer the world!

Here's hoping!

Rode hard and put away wet!

Momma said it, so it must be true!  She also said, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions!"  "Hindsight is 20/20 looking back."  "Easier said then done!"  Now for some reason, I think these little quotes come under the definition of "idioms".  It might be fun to note here that "idiom" is seperated in my paperback dictionary by only 2 words from the word "idiot!"  That is just a little tidbit of meaningless trivia to start your day off right.

It is now 3:09 AM and I have been up for about an hour.  I made a cup of coffee in my French Coffee Press since I am too tight to go buy another percolator for the sole purpose of making one cup of coffee every morning.  I have finally mastered the fine art of making exactly one cup full with no coffee left over.  Living alone has lots of advantage this being just one of many.

As a single, live alone woman, I am free to step out of the shower completely naked and dash down 2 flights of stairs to answer the phone.  I am also free to take my shower at any given time of the day, or night.  Lunch may occur at 3:26 AM and breakfast at 3:26 in the afternoon and ice cream is liable to happen about any time and is not considered a snack, but rather a meal depending on which other 2 meals it occurs between.

When someone says, "I will call you," that means nothing to me.  "What day and what time are you going to call?"   "Friday" is not a definite time.  If you think I am going to set home all day on Friday waiting for your call, you are on some sort of ego trip and that is a game I am not going to play.  "Soon" is also not a definite.  When one reaches my age every day is a gift!  While your call may be important to both of us it is not what my life hinges upon.  And, if you are 3 or 4 days late in calling, I will assume you are dead.  (Note here that "assume"  makes an "ass" out of "u" and "me".)

Sometimes I wander out the back door with a purpose in mind, like opening the goose house for the day.  Then I see something I have been needing to do, like sweep the leaves out of the tin shed, and that leads to pruning the choke cherry bushes, which then leads to trying to find the damn Dremel that has "walked off"!

The cat understands me, and that is all that really matters!  Right now she is over under one of the tables that holds ebay items and she is digging in a box.  I am assuming she thought she smelled a mouse or rat, or maybe she is just trying to get a rise out of me for some reason.

I am thinking of all the things I need to do and people I need to call and I am pretty sure no one on the list wants me to ring their phone at 3:21 AM!  And, anyway, I am mentally running through my friend list and coming up dry as to who I could call now and hear a welcoming voice.  I could call Bernie since she is 3 time zones ahead of me, but I just talked to her a couple days ago.  I know Debbie is up in Eastern Kansas, but I will talk to her when she calls in about 2 hours, so....

Maybe I will make another cup of coffee.  I am trying to organize the lower basement where the sewing room is, but the Centipedes are doing the "centipede thing" and I do not want to deal with them right now.  So, I am going to re-read this and publish it and do something that I do not know what it is right now.  No doubt, the 6:00 news with find me asleep in my recliner!

Remember, "All's well that ends well." and God will never give you more than you can carry!

Peace!

My new bedroom.

I recently had a major renovation in Sam/Bret/'s old room.  It entailed  a bathroom "remodel".  It was a majorchange and I want to tell you that the man in charge of said remodel is nothing short of a genius.  He knew more about what I wanted in a bathroom than I did.  Suffice it to say, I am now in the process of moving my bedroom down stairs so I can be closer to "my bathroom."  I do realize that as the homeowner, every room is "mine", but this room is special.   

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When I paint a room, it changes the color, but when a room is redesigned by someone else and reflects my wants and needs so in tune to my desires so perfectly, it is damn scary.  This man  even knew what colors were in my head.  Few men even know I have a head much less one with a brain rattling around up there,

but Mitch is one in a million.

So, now I have a house full of kids for my "Happy Birthday Weekend" and I am down here in what will soon be "my room".  Right now I have a twin bed in here, but that shall  change,   Kay has an old  (I mean antique old, not old "old"} which she is giving me and as soon as I get this room carpeted and buy a mattress and hang a curtain on the window, it will be my sanctuary.

As I bring this to a close know that I am setting on a paint can with my laptop on my knees and this is not my best work, but it is what it is.

I am on the up side of the sod and that is good!!!

Into each life a little rain must fall.

I remember back when I was a kid that life was so simple.  One of the highlights in my memory is crouching in the dirt and watching through the chicken fence as an old brown hen laid an egg.  I recall her looking at me a time or two and wondering if she was ever going to get done.  I do not recall it being any kind of "bonding moment" with the chicken, but in that few moments we were alone in the universe.  After she laid her egg and left the nest, I picked it up and took it into the house to momma.  While she was pleased that I brought her the egg she was upset that I had bothered the chicken it her egg laying business.

So, now to the crux of the matter.  Looking back I can see the folly of my experience.  First, laying face down in the dirt I was subject to all kinds of bugs and spiders.  Not to mention the fact that snakes also slither around chicken houses looking for prey.  And had the chicken not been engrossed in the act of laying an egg, she could have pecked my eye out!

Living on the farm was a constant learning experience.  The chicken experience was mild compared to the life and death struggle that went on constantly.  I recall the "dead animal wagon" coming to pick up our old Shetland Pony, Star.  Dad had gotten Star back when we lived on the Stroh place.  As I recall that was one of Dad's biggest follies.  He had gone into Hutch to join some of his old cronies for "a drink" and returned many days later with Star in a horse trailer.  That was the meanest damned horse that ever crossed the pike!  As Dad was unloading him he was kicking at the sides of the trailer and when he was finally on the ground, he made it clear that no one was going to set on his back! Or pet him! Or brush him! Or do anything but feed him and stay the hell out of his space!

We moved to the Strong Street house about the time I started second grade and Star died about a year later.  I recall the "dead animal wagon" coming to the house and the man taking a wench line out of the back of the wagon and into the barn.  Mother made us go into the house at that time and let us out as the truck left the yard with a horse leg sticking straight up in the air.  The demise of Star was complete.  He would be made into dog food.  I learned that from my school chums.  "Yes!  Dog food.  And his hooves will be made into glue."  Now how in the hell 7 year old kids knew that was beyond me, but it sounded true enough to me that I spent several nights crying myself to sleep, mourning a horse that was meaner than hell and no one could get near. 

There was a big Mulberry tree in the back yard there and under it I started a cemetery.  Donna squeezed a baby rabbit to death and  I buried it under the tree and put a stick to mark the place.  Dead birds were eulogized as well baby chickens that did not survive.  A mouse made it in also. And then I lost interest.  

Jake went off to the Army and I entered high school.  The days of sand and shovels were behind me.  Time to grow up and plan my future.  I would be a missionary.  I read about Africa and how the natives needed saved and brought into the grace of God.  Reverend Barnett gave me books to read.  I  learned that a lot of them were cannibals!  That kind of scared me, but at 15 years of age the world was my oyster!

And then I went to live with Grandma Haas, who was crippled by a stroke, and Great Grandma Hatfield, who was caring for her.  And the rest is history.