Queen of the Silver Dollar!

Many years ago, when I was 18 years old in Hutchinson, Kansas, there were three taverns, better know as beer joints down on south main street.  They were known as the 3 Queens.  You should know that it was also about the same time the Navy base was being phased out.  Now brother Jake and I liked to drink and I liked to dance.  In Kansas, at that time any bar worth frequenting had a dance floor.  So, let's set the mood here by clicking on the title of the song!  queen of the silver dollar

So, this oasis down on South Main Street in Hutchinson, Kansas housed a plethora of bars.  Brown Derby, Manhattan Club (which was my favorite), Anchor Inn, another one that slips my mind, and the Crystal Ballroom.  The Crystal Ballroom, which had a giant crystal ball mounted high above the dance floor, was only open on Saturday night.  It was mostly for old people.  There actually was a bar called the Silver Dollar, but it was clear across town on Highway 96 on the way to Nickerson.  I was only there once or twice. I did not like the ambiance there.

The Manhattan club was owned by a man known as "Dutch" somebody.  I would sometimes work the bar so he could go do errands in the afternoon.  A few notes here.  At that time it was illegal to sell alcohol to Indians because it "made them crazy".  It was hard for me to differentiate between them and Mexicans, who could drink until they fell over.  Sure different from now when you are required to serve people of every nationality. 

 There were whores who worked the bars.  I knew only one and her name was Seabiscuit.  That was not her name, but it was her "working name." I do recall she drank White Horse Scotch with cream.  Pretty sure those two things together would curdle, but not my circus; not my monkeys!  I came to know her on a different level.  She once had a family and a home like normal people, her husband had left her and taken the kids and South Main Street became her home and prostitution  her means of survival.

There was another one who was a little "pudgy" and giggled a lot.  I am not sure she charged for her wares, but rather did it for the sheer enjoyment of the work.  Her name was Berniece.  

My step brother, Gene had frequented the bars and they both remembered him.  Since my maiden name was Bartholomew it was easy for anyone to link us together.  Gene Bartholomew, Delbert (Jake) Bartholomew, Louella Bartholomew.

Fights broke out fairly regularly at the Manhattan Club, but as soon as the police arrived the fights stopped and they were warned not to do that again.  I still carry a scar right below my ankle from a beer bottle someone threw across the floor that broke and went into my heel.  

The last time I went to Hutch, I was going to go to South Main Street and check out my old stomping grounds, but I didn't.  The next time I am going to make it a point.  I am willing to bet that the bars have turned into antique shops. That time of my life was over 60 years ago, and time marches on!

My kids will no doubt, cringe in horror when the read this post.  But then again, they may actually be relieved to know that momma was young once and wasn't always a prude.  And they may understand how I figured out what they were doing because Momma done been there and done that!!!

Pecan pie and a thief in the walk in.

 

Somebody said something about a pecan pie over on facebook and I immediately remembered back to my days at the Red Carpet Restaurant and the boss's venture into the bakery on south main.  The bakery was in trouble so Bob leased it at t very low price.  Mother had a husband who had a grown son who needed a job (Dammit! I forgot his name, but maybe it will come to me.  The son, not the husband.  His name was George.)  Seems like I had an in with Bob so George asked me if I could talk to Bob and get (I will just call him dipshot for short until I remember his name.) Dipshot hired .  So I did.  Course Bob let me know that I would be responsible if Dipshot screwed up.

I would close the resturant kitchen at 10 o'clock and head by the house to pick up Dipshot and take him with me and we would head to south main to bag the bread that had been baked earlier.  First we had to slice it and then bag it and twist tie it shut. This usually only took a couple hours.  Then Bob decided to add pies to the line.  So cases of pies were delivered to the Restaurant.  I baked these while I was working and returned them to the case which was then taken to south main and sent out to the stores. 

Now Dipshot was not the brightest bulb in the box and honesty did not run deep through his soul!  I was however, mildly surprised when I opened the refrigerator in my kitchen at home and found 6 freshly baked Pecan Pies. Upon closer investigation, I determined that they were from the stock in the walk-in at work.  The fact that there was a piece gone out of one led me to believe that perhaps Dipshot had releived the boss of a case of pies.  A conversation with him later in the day proved I was correct.  I had a thief in my house!  This did not set well with me.

He, of course, promised that this was a one time thing and he would never do that again.  My mind, however, knew that "once a thief, always a thief".    I explained to him that we were going to take the pies back and he could just explain to Bob what he had done.  Of course, he swore he would never do something like this again if I just let this one slide.  Confessing  to the boss was not an option that interested him.  However, being the purist I am, I could not let this go unpunished.

I loaded the pies in the car, retreived my house key from him and bade him a fond farewell.  He had been a friend for a time, but honesty is paramount in my world.  So I drove to the restaurant and explained to Bob what had transpired.  I put the pies back in the walk in.  My heart was heavy at the loss of what had happened, but Bob never brought it up again.

I do not know what ever became of Dipshot, but the last I knew he was living in Western Kansas with his sister.  I lost my brother many years before and for a while I was happy that I had a replacement.  But you know what?  No one could ever replace Jake!  Jake was one of a kind and all of us kids were raised to be honest and respectable people.  And there was something else momma always said that rang true in this experience!

Don't let the fox guard the chicken house!  That woman was always right on!

Peace.   

Spring time back home in Kansas.

I wonder if I will ever be old enough that I do not miss Springtime in Kansas.  Oh, I love Spring here where I am at in eastern Colorado, but it is not the same.  When I had Bret back when he was smaller I used to plan trips back home over Spring Break.  Sadly those days are over, but not my missing the Lilacs, Spirea, Iris, and the cool spring rains that brought all that to fruition.  I would leave here as soon as school let out on Friday.  Saturday morning would find us headed East.  A short stop in Lakin and then on to Donna's house.

My sister, Donna, has a big house with a full basement and two bedrooms along with a bathroom and a shower.  So that was home for the week.  In the front yard is a tree that I forget what it is called, but it would be in full bloom preparatory to throwing down some sort of big seed covered with sharp thorns.  Hutchinson is very temperate most of the time and in the springtime it clothes itself in a floral cloak just for me!  Forsythia, Spirea, Lilac, Iris, Tulip trees, Catalpa, Redbud, Hyacinth, Maple.  Hutchinson is very humid and my skin thrives on it.  At least it does most of the time.

Donna and Karen own Skaets Steak Shop.  Skaets is Steaks spelled backwards and has been in our blood since I started working there when I was 17 years old.  I was the dishwasher at the time and when I moved back after having my kids and divorcing my husband, I waited tables.  Skaets sets right on the main entrance to the fairgrounds, so best not to go in the first week of September.

Needless to say, they have very good food.  This is son Tommy choking down a Moon Burger.  It is one of their specialties.  It is a cheeseburger with bacon.  Bacon makes everything taste better.

But we are not here for the food.  We are here for the scenery, the trip down memory lane, and to just leave Colorado behind for a week.  I usually go check out the 2 fishing holes I used to frequent.  Maybe next time I will climb up the levee and visit the Arkansas River where I used to take the kids wading.  We would stop at B & D Carry out and get a box of burgers which was 8 hamburgers and french fries, all for one dollar.  Probably was not the healthiest meal in town but it fed the 6 of us and we liked it.

I have only a few friends left in Hutchinson.  I do have a nephew and 2 nieces.  Oh, and 2 cousins, Darrell and Steven.  I think that is about it.

All this talk of Kansas is just making me homesick.  Rest assured, Colorado is my home now and I have no intentions of moving back there, but I do have fond memories of Hutchinson and Nickerson.  I married my first, second and third husbands in Hutchinson.  Four, five and six, were all Coloradans.  I owned my home in Hutch, but gave it back to my mother when I left.  It has now been torn down and an apartment complex covers the lot.   I have lived in 3 different houses in Pueblo. I have been in this house 37 years and figure I will just do the toes up thing here.  Maybe.  Lord only knows what I may run in to out there in the real world.  Have to be pretty special to make me look twice and poke out that ring finger, but I digress.

Time to get ready for church.  Sunday is the one day that I make no commitments and I think I will keep it that way.  Just sort of drift with the flow and take a long nap while watching the cooking shows.

Peace!

Raised by wolves? Yep, pretty much so!

I think back to when I was raising 5 kids with no child support, no welfare card, no health care and rarely the same baby sitter 2 weeks in a row, and I shudder.  Lucky for me it was back in the day when you could actually leave your house unlocked and went to bed and woke up still alive.  We lived at 217 West 5th in Hutchinson which is now an apartment complex.  It was located across the street from Dillons Supermarket.  5th Street was also Highway 96.  Highway 50 and 96 both run directly to Pueblo, Colorado.  But that is a moot point.  (I just love to say "moot point".)

The kids could walk to school if they were in school at the time.  They went to Allan, as I recall and it was about 4 blocks.   Near the school was a lady named Ferguson who had kids that were mean to my kids.  She watched them after school.  If they were not in school they went to Mrs. Bensing's to be baby sat by  her.  She was the regular babysitter for my day time, 6 days a week job.

To supplement my income I waited tables at the bar on 4th Street.  That was the Dutch Mill.  Back in those days you were allowed to dance in the bars.  Usually there was a juke box, but some times the Mill had live bands.  Oh, those were fun!  I must confess that I did a lot more dancing and not a whole lot of waiting on tables, although since they did not serve food, it was just delivering beer.  Mini skirts were the thing back then and I had pretty legs, so my tips were good.

On the nights I worked I had a lady who came from South Hutch to watch the kids.  She had a car.  I am trying to remember her name!  She was a little short, stout lady and she had a beard.  I swear, more hair on her chin than on her head!  Ida Mae?  Does that sound right?  We will go with that.
Addie Mae was the sweetest little lady.  She was about my height and a little heavier.  She always smiled and never spoke above a whisper.  She always brought a handful of candy.    Always had a secret smile on her face.  The kids were scared shitless of her.

"Is  she was mean?"  "No."
"Does she holler at you?"  "No."
 "What does she do?"  "Nothing."
"Does she give you candy?"  "No."

While at the Red Carpet, I hired the bosses son's wife to babysit and since Allen Ray was in Vietnam, I moved her in with me.  She was pregnant at the time.  That was nice.  When I came home from whatever job I had been to, the house was always clean.  The kids were always quiet and if it was night they were always in bed.  Very well behaved kids.  And then one day I noticed a bruise on Sam's face.  Upon close questioning I determined that she had hit him across the face with a stick she used to paddle all of them with.  I immediately called my boss and told him to get her out of my house before I killed her and proceeded to throw her belongings on the curb so they were easily accessible.  Seems the babies I worked so hard to feed and clothe were being intimidated by (dammit! I forgot her name.  Debbie just called and her name was Janice.)   Bob understood.

Evelyn Decker moved in for a while and between us, we got them up to an age where they were traveling back and forth between their father and me.  They even began to go to school in Garden City and then Lakin.  By that time I was in love again and married and moving to Colorado.  By then Susie was starting kindergarten and was the only child I had at home.  Over the years they took turns living and going to school either in Lakin or out here with me.  Sam is the only one that actually graduated in Pueblo.  Central High, go Wildcats.!  He then attended the University before going to Wichita for his post graduate work.

The years in Hutchinson are mostly a blur.  I do not know whether it was working all the time, or drinking or what, but I am pretty sure I did not earn a "mother of the year" award or the "Susie homemaker award".  I did manage to have all of them survive with no broken bones and no jail time.
Would I do things differently if I could go back?  I sure as hell would.  Momma always said "Hindsight is 100% looking back, foresight: not so much."  I would not have stayed with their father, and I am not sure how I would do it differently, but I would have done something.  The one thing I did learn from those years and the years that followed is this:  "I did the best I could with the tools and knowledge that I had at the time."  My momma told me that.  Momma was very wise! Course Momma is also the one that said my kids were raised by wolves!

Footnote:  I did attend college after Charlie and during Henry and before Kenny.  I received my BA with a 4.0 grade average.  I have a diploma around here some where and it says something about me being an Accountant.  I worked one full time job and one part time job while doing that.  And I drank a lot of Mountain Dew!

How would you like to live in my head?

I woke up this morning with this song by Frankie Laine playing in my head and  thinking of when I left my first husband.  I do not for the life of me know why he had picked this song out of all the songs in circulation to describe me.  I certainly did not feel like a temptress of any sort as I loaded my worldly belongings in the trunk of a green 1957 (?) Chevrolet Belair.  Nor did I shine with pride as I backed the car down the driveway .  All the kids were jumping up and down in the back seat.  As I look back on that day I realize just how many things have changed.

I would be required by law to have everyone of them in a car seat.  That is a good thing that has happened.  I stopped and filled the car with gas and then pulled onto 50 Hwy heading east.  There were several stops along the road so the kids could pee.  Tiny bladders do not understand waiting until a rest area is available.  That was alright, because traffic was light at that time.  Very few cars were going any distance and we were on a 200 mile trip.  At some point I pulled out a package of bologna and a loaf of bread and we had a picnic.  And that evening we pulled into my mothers yard.  My new life was beginning.  Thank God for my mother.

The next morning I faced the fact that I was now on my own and I had a family that needed both a place to live and food to eat.  I knew my husband would not help me in any way.  In his reasoning, I was the one who wanted out, so it was my responsibility to provide a place to live and everything that this little brood of mine required.  I had no skills and no training, but I did have a will to work.

Years ago I had worked at Skaets Steak Shop as a dishwasher, so I went there.  I was immediately hired so I had my foot in the door. I knew if I was going to survive that I could not do it on a dishwashers wages.  So a part of my first paycheck went to purchase a white uniform.  That was standard attire for a waitress back then.  White uniform and white "waitress" shoes.  And a bottle of shoe polish.  With those things in hand I went into the Red Rooster Restaurant and told them I was experienced.  I was hired on the spot.

So I waitressed at the Red Rooster in the day and Skaets at night.  It was at the Red Rooster  that I met a young man who would turn out to be a very good friend of mine and teach me acceptance of all things.  We remained friends until his death.  It is because of Gibby that I became an AIDS activist. I have always thought people are placed in our lives for a reason and we will learn from them if we are open.

Soon I had money to rent a little house.  Working 2 full time jobs left me in a stupor most of the time.  So on my way home one day and on the spur of the moment, I stopped at the Red Carpet Resturant.  I knew waitress work did not pay as steady as cook wages, so I applied for a cook's postition.  I had never even been near a grill in my life, but being a good liar, I landed the job.  I quit the Red Rooster and Skaets Steak Shop and went full time at the Red Carpet.  That job actually paid insurance!  I worked from 2 until 10 at night.  Fry cook was fast, hard work and I loved it.  But I knew that the heart of any restaurant rested in the hands of the dinner cook.  That was my next move.  When Emily quit I stepped into her shoes.

It was then that I learned how to cook in quantity.  I was still fry cook and cooked the orders, but I also made all the gravies, sauces, potatoes, and home cooked meals.  I also made the dinner rolls, cinnamon rolls, hash browns, French fries and anything else required to fill the steam table.  I came back at night and backed up the fry cook.  I hired a live in girl to watch the kids.  Now, this is all background and has nothing to do with what I had on my mind when I started this entry.  I was thinking about uniforms.

When I go into a restaurant now, it is anybody's guess what the cook or the waitress (or wait person) will be wearing.  Usually it is some sort of t-shirt or shirts that have a logo on them.  Back in the day, the waitress could have left the place of preparing and serving food and gone to work at her second job as a nurse.  Waitresses wore clean, white, starched uniforms.  They wore white, polished, lace up shoes.  Sometimes the owner furnished an apron with the logo of the place on it.  Nurses wore little white hats and that was the only difference.  Time was spent every night getting the uniform ready for the next days work.  A dingy uniform would get you sent home.  A spot that would not come out better be painted with shoe polish, because a spot meant you were dirty and you were a food handler after all.

Oh, and the smoking thing!  Every table, booth or stool had an ash tray.  Some times the blue smoke hung in the air until I thought I would choke.  It was better when I was cooking because I could keep the ash tray on the shelf between the grill and the french fryier.  The smoke was pulled up into the exhaust fan and if I was careful and did not drop ashes on the grill it was a good day.

 As you know, that all changed and the ash trays are now collectors items.  White uniforms are not to be seen any where and the white shoes are definitely a thing of the past.  The kids are grown and gone.  The husband is long since deceased.

But my mind still clings to the old days.  I go back home and my sister and her partner own Skaets Steak Shop.  I watch the cook and I watch the waitresses and I wonder if I could work an 8 hour shift now.  I rather doubt it.  They do tell me that anytime I want to move back they will find a place for me.  That gives me pause, but I think I am better off just staying here where I am and doing whatever it is I do.  At least when my back hurts I can set in my chair and when my head nods and I dose off, nobody is disappointed.

By all intents and purposes I should be lonely, but I am not.  I have the cat and the dog.  I have the geese and the weeds.  I have the sun in the morning and the moon at night.  ( I guess you know to click on anything underlined and printed in blue.)

Mother, Aunt Helen, Werthers Originals , and a very high curb!

My mother died when she was 80.  At the time she was living with my sister, Dorothy.  Dorothy has since joined Mother on the other side, but prior to that Mother lived in a small 1 bedroom apartment on 15th Circle near my sister Donna.  Lordie!  that was a long time ago.  I managed to travel from Pueblo to Huchinson 3 or 4 times a year. I would spend a few days and then back to Colorado.

Now let me elaborate on the title of this missive.  I am not sure exactly how Aunt Helen was my Aunt and not even sure she was.  I do know that Aunt Helen and Uncle Skinny had been in my life when I was in first or second grade in Nickerson.  They were very rich.  Aunt Helen gave me my first and only store bought dress.  It was gray/green over glaze cotton with a white collar and a string tie around the neck with 2 daisies on the ends of the tie.  I wore it until I could no longer get it on.  They also gave me a brownie uniform and paid my dues for one year.  That was a waste of money, because I sure did not fit in with those girls and I only attended one or 2 meetings.  Mother gave the uniform to some one who gave it to someone who would wear it and attend meetings. The gray/green dress ended up in a rag rug.  But I digress.

When I would go to visit mother it was a big deal that my Aunt Helen looked forward to with anticipation.  Uncle Skinny had died by then and Aunt Helen was now alone since they had never had children.  They did have a niece named Paralee who was a school teacher.  She was married and had a daughter and maybe other kids.  To the best of my knowledge Paralee was my cousin.  Or mother's cousin.  Or some shirttail relation anyway.

Back to Aunt Helen.  She visited mother several times a year.  She did not like to drive the "damn big boat of a Cadillac", and for the most part, did not need to leave home.  Ah, but a visit to Christine was something she would drive for.  And when she arrived she would produce from her enormous purse, a bag of Werther Original Caramels.  No other kind would do!  It was those or nothing and be hell and damned that she would arrive for a visit empty handed.  Hell and High water would not stop her from bringing those every time she came.  And she would not leave until every one of them had been eaten.

On one of my later visits, she was late arriving.  Where could she be?  Mother thought she might have became confused and sent Donna  ( I think it was Donna) and I out to the parking area in front of the condominiums  to see if she had gotten "confused".  It just was not like her to be late and she was now over 90 years old and had been known to get a little confused when in a strange area.  She was not in front of the area mother had been designated as hers.  We started up the street and were soon rewarded with the sight of the big green and cream Cadillac coming out of one of the parking areas up the street.  As we watched, it got back on the street and proceeded to turn into another parking lot, or at least attempt to turn in.  She was trying to turn left between the entrance and the exit.  Sadly the curb was in the way.  As she backed up to make another charge at it, she seen us and immediately turned the car in our direction.  Donna and I, fearing for our lives, made a run into mothers parking lot, with her hot on our tail and the Cadillac roared toward us.  I am not sure, but I think Donna was making the sign of the cross on her head and chest.  Hell!  We are not even Catholics!

By her second run at the curb, I had managed to get the door open and leapt in the car.  She smiled at me, her innocent smile of the patron Aunt.  "Oh, dear!  Why do the make these parking lots so hard to get into?  I got confused and tried to go into the wrong one.  My God!  They all look alike!  How are you dear?"

I talked her into getting out of the car and standing with Donna while I drove into the parking lot through the driveway.  Driveways sure make life easier.  Then we went inside and ate the carmels.  All of them!

I do not remember how long, but the next time I went, Aunt Helen was no longer driving.  I loaded mother up and we went to Aunt Helen's house.  Her little dog had been run over and she showed me the pictures of his dead body.  Then we set in the parlor to visit and in front of us was a bowl or Werther's Original Caramels.  We ate them all!

That was the last time I saw Aunt Helen before her death.  I still have only the fondest memories of those days.  Paralee died young.  In my family we either die young or live forever.  I am afraid I will fall in the latter category, but I will never live long enough to not think of my dear Aunt Helen when someone offers me a caramel.  I never buy them.  I should, because it would be my favorite comfort food.  I will never eat one without the memories of the comradery around the kitchen table on 15th Circle in Hutchinson, Kansas all those long years ago.

Some memories never leave us and they come me at the damndest  times.  There are only the two of us left.  I will try to get down to see Donna some time this winter.  There just does not seem to be enough time to do any thing any more, but I do think I will make time for that visit.  We just never know when we will get up in the morning and not make it to our bed at night, so we should try to make all our words kind, all our actions meaningful and all our thoughts good ones.

Life is far to short.

Let them eat toast

Back in the late 60's and the very early 70's I worked at the Red Carpet in Hutchinson, Kansas.  I think I was there a total of 6 or 7 years.  My mind does not retain dates well at all.  The point was that I was not married to Duane any more and needed to work to feed 5 kids.  I was cook, kitchen manager and baker.  I decorated cakes as a side job for extra money.  I also worked in the Bakery down on South Main.  I did that at night.

Any way, if you know anything about restaurant work, you know that it all revolves around the cook.  If the cook does not like you, the orders are slow coming out of the kitchen and might not look quite as neat as other orders, so it is a good idea to stay on the good side of the cook.  My waitresses loved me.  Any excuse for a holiday was reason to shower gifts on Lou.  One birthday I was sent to Wichita to the Charlie Pride concert because I loved that man!  Also that entailed a plethora of 8 track tapes being bought and delivered to my hand by my workers.  I miss the 8 track players.

This morning I lay in my bed remembering those days.  And I remembered that one birthday they gave me a 4 slice toaster because I had mentioned that my toaster no longer worked.  It was a very nice toaster, all shiny and clean.  As luck would have it I kept my empty freezer full of bread because that was more efficient than running an empty freezer.  And bread was cheap.  I think it was 5 loaves for $1.00.

I also had a live in babysitter.  Her name was Janice and she was married to the boss's son who was in Viet Nam at the time.  That is a whole 'nuther story.  She was not the most ambitious person I had encountered, but she did keep the kids off the streets at night.

My regular shift was 5:00 AM-2:00 PM.  Then I came home and had a nap and went to work at the bakery at 10:00PM-till the bread was all sliced and sacked.  On Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday I came back to the restaurant and was back up cook, dish washer, salad girl, or whatever needed to be done.  This one particular night, after I received the toaster, I worked backup.  So I was there from 5-10 and then at the bakery until 11:30.

When I drug myself home, it was almost midnight.  The house was dark and everyone asleep.  I let myself in the back door  and flipped on the light over the kitchen sink.  My eyes fell on a plate full of toast on the counter.  And then another!  The whole counter on both sides of the sink was filled with plates full of toast.  So was the kitchen table!  And the stove!  And the wash machine!

I was still staring at the piles of toast when Sammy came out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.  He came over and hugged me.  Then the mystery was solved when he said,

"I made you supper!  I ran out of butter, but I thought you could get some more tomorrow."

It is 50 some odd years later and I still remember the look on his face.  He had made supper for him momma.  He was so proud.  I am not sure just how much toast he thought I could hold, but this was a bonding moment.  He and I were alone in the half lit kitchen while his sisters slept and we ate dry toast in the middle of the night.  Probably the best mid night snack I have ever had.

I do not remember what became of all that toast, but I am sure some where there were birds that enjoyed a feast.  (At that time we did not know that commercial bread was not good for ducks, and crows and other feathered things.)

I kind of miss the good old days with the kids, but I rather imagine they are glad those days are behind them.  But just for old time sake I think I will go make a piece of toast for my breakfast.  I actually have butter!

I have miles to go before I sleep.

Spring is here and this is the time of year that I get itchy feet.  I left Hutchison, Kansas in 1977 with my then husband and with everything in a U-haul we moved to Pueblo, Colorado.  Since he had lived here before, it was a returning for him, but for me it was a leap of faith and a complete 180 degrees from my life in Hutchinson.  I gave my mother the keys to my little Lou's Kitchen on 4th Street and fired up the engine on my 1973 Chevy and headed West to seek my fame and fortune.  I was one naive little girl back then.  The husband turned out to be a little less then I hoped.  We did start a business so I had a job to do.  

The husband soon became an ex husband and the job a former place of employment.  At that time I thought about pointing the (now a Cadillac) east and leaving Colorado, but I could not go home a failure, so I stayed.  I went to  College and got a degree in Finance while waiting tables at a small cafe in Bessemer.  I married a local guy and divorced him 2 months later.  Then I met and married Kenneth.  The rest is history.  Through all the years, I made trips to Kansas in the Spring to see the Lilacs.

And, of course, a trip to Hutchinson also called for a stop at Skaets Steak Shop on the corner of 23rd and Main which is the entrance to the State Fairgrounds.  That was the first place I ever worked and a member of my family (sometimes more then one member) has always been on the payroll there.  My sister, Dorothy, had a heart attack and died there.  Luckily they hit the restart button on her and she lived several more years.  

I would meet my friend Joe there for a 2-3 hour coffee.  That was always fun.  I do have a gold elephant I need to send him someday.

But, those days are behind me.  The days of throwing the pistol in the suitcase and driving 8 hours to get anywhere are now behind me.  Water under the bridge.  Lately I have been studying the family tree and I was surprised to find that I am now the top nut on the tree.  I used to ask someone older then me about our lineage, but now I find that the buck stops here.  There is no one to ask.  Damn!  When did that happen?

I think about the trips to Hutch and I get sad that they are no longer.  I have my own Lilac in the back yard.  I feel much like Robert Frost must have felt when he wrote this poem.  Am I really done?  Is this where it ends.  Wait!  I have so much left to do...….

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

So, from someone who knows, life is short.  Love your neighbor, brighten the corner where you are and if perchance you think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, stretch your neck over there and have a bite!  You may be right.

Now I realize my mistake!

Fifty years later, I see my mistake!  Well, it is way to late in the game to correct it, but I can look back on it and laugh.  Trust me, there are not a lot of mistakes that are not funny, but this one is.

Let me set the scene.  I had divorced my first husband and my 5 kids and I were living in the 5th street house.  I was working at the Red Carpet Restaurant.  I was dating a long legged guitar picker who was in a band that played around the county.  He was not the brightest bulb in the box, but he was a warm body and while he still lived with his mother and father,  he was a step up from nobody.

Christmas came and of course gifts were exchanged.   He arrived with his arms full from himself, his mom and his sister.  By the time the unwrapping was over, all the tags were lost.  I do not remember what all was in the pile, but I did know the tags were lost.  So here I set with 3 pairs of sturdy cotton underwear, a pair of electric scissors, and a new Bible and a study guide and tags that said, mom, sister and boyfriend..

 No clues.  All three gifts could be referred to as they.  The scissors were pink, the underwear were white, and the Bible and Study guide were black.    I was sure his sister had given me the Bible.  Which left him giving me cotton underwear which made sense because I needed new underwear and had remarked that I would buy some just as soon as I got my Christmas bonus.  He did not remember who sent what, so when I called his mom to thank her for the gift I was vague.

"Oh, thank you so much.  How did you know exactly what I needed?"
"Well, I thought they would come in handy.  I hope they are the right color.  They had several choices."
"Of course!  That is always a safe choice."
"They looked pretty durable so I got those."

For some reason, by the time the conversation reached this point, I decided she had given me the electric scissors.  I would go with that.
 

Then she said, "Well, I hope you make good use of them."
"Yes, I think I will use them tonight!"
"Good idea!"

Looking back, I could have said, "Listen, your dipwad son lost the tags and I have no idea what you gave me, but I am sure it is nice whatever it is, because I know you bought all three and just put their names on the tags."  But I didn't say that, did I?  Hell, no.

I was always a little sad, that she never became my mother-in-law, because I think I could have grown to like her.  But it was not to be.  It was a few weeks later I saw his sister and she asked how the scissors cut.  Aha!  She sent me the scissors.  That meant his mom gave me the Bible.  Since I could not keep my finger off that phone I called her to tell her how much I was enjoying her gift and how confident I was since I was using them every day.  She seemed a little strange after that conversation for some reason.  I thought she would be pleased that I was studying the Bible.

And then I decided to actually wear a pair of my new underwear.  When I opened the box and took out the top pair a gift tag fell out.  It said simply "Delores"  (or what ever her name was).  And then I remembered our conversations.  They took on a whole new meaning.

Our friendship seemed a little strange after that.  Not long after that the guitar picker wandered off in search of some big boobed woman with no kids and who liked to set it the bar and listen to him twang away on his guitar.  I moved on, but that Christmas has always lived in the back of my mind.  It is nothing I talk about but it still pops up in memory every now and then.  I am sure his mom is no longer alive so I can write about it now.  He may still be around, but who knows?  The whole thing is just one of those things that transpired and then was gone.  It was important at the time, and in hindsight was really nothing at all.

Just goes to show you that sometimes what really wasn't stays in memory and becomes just that, a memory.

The road is a lot shorter than it used to be.

I think back to Nickerson and Strong Street and as I recall, my future stretched before me and the road was very long.  Days were filled with running up and down the dirt road barefooted and playing "Kick the Can" at night.  That was summer.  The sand pit was up the road behind the house.  We were not allowed to go there.  We knew that.  So where do you think we spent the hot afternoons?  Correct.  The sand pit was cool.  We knew we would get a lickin' sure as shit if Momma knew we were in that water, so we made sure we were dry before she got home.  Seems like the name of that sand pit was Vincents.  Athey's sand pit was over on the highway and Mummy's was outside of town near the Arkansas river, so this one had to be Vincent's.  It was not a working pit, so no one was ever around.  Of course there was a "No Trespassing" sign, but we were too little to read it and if we had been able to read it, we had no idea what trespassing meant.

I could not swim when I was little so I always stayed in the low part with the little kids.  To be honest I did not learn to swim until about 10 years ago.  Kenny did not know how to swim either and we took the boat out every weekend in the summer.  I think we were pretty naïve in that area, but it all worked out.  I had made sure that all my kids knew how to swim, but I never thought it was important for me to know.  About 10 years ago, I decided that I should learn the art of that and off I went to the warm water pool at the "Y".  I learned the art of survival and decided that swimming was not for me and I gave it up for other things.  I just never liked the water up my nose or in my ears.  Sorry.  Just not my bag.

I do not think most of you know just what Kansas weather is and how we survived back then.  It is hot in Kansas.  Hot and humid.  There were no air conditioners in those days.  The best we could hope for was to lay under a tree in the shade and with a little luck, a soft breeze would blow across our bodies and that was how we cooled ourselves.  Churches used to have cardboard fans in the rack where the hymnals were kept.  We were not allowed to steal those either.  It was not unusual for the temperature to soar above the 100 degree mark.  And of course on days when it was that hot and a cloud came up there was a damn good chance that it was bringing a tornado.  Feast or famine.  We knew if  a tornado came we were to run for the cellar, but I have already told you that no way in hell was I going down in that hell hole.

If we thought summers were bad, we knew winters were worse.  We had a wood stove in the front room, but it burned out in the night and had to be rebuilt every morning.  That was Jake's job.  Since we walked to and from every where.  When it snowed we followed in Jake's footprints going to school.  I do not remember having boots when I was little, but I do recall at one point Jake grew out of his and they were handed down to me.  Does anyone remember galoshes?  They were black and had 4 or 5 buckles on the front to hold them on.  I would rather have been caught stark naked in a snowbank then to be caught dead in those things.  Of course mother gave me that lecture on "pride going before the fall and a haughty spirit before destruction" and I wore the damn things to school.  In later years I worked and made enough money to buy my first new pair of boots.  I went to Warringtons Dry Goods and they had two pairs in my size.  One pair was brown rubber and the other was white with fur around the top.  I wanted the white pair so bad I could taste it, but I bought the brown pair so as not to be prideful.  What a friggin' moron I was in those days!

I recall mother making me a new coat.  It was light teal corduroy and had been something else previously, but she carefully took it apart and cut a pattern to fit me.  I was so proud!  I wore it to school as soon as it was finished and some boy said, "So you got a new coat.  It is still old and it is not pretty."  Kids are so mean at that age.  I would like to say it did not bother me, but it did.  Until you live in a world where everything is hand me downs, you can not know the feelings.  I tried to just be happy that I had a coat that no one had worn before me, but somehow the joy was gone.

When I entered high school it was in Plevna, Kansas and I lived with my Grandma Haas and Great Grandma Hatfield.  I stayed there for 5 months until Grandma Haas passed away.  Then I was moved back to Nickerson and enrolled in Nickerson High. 

I would like to say that my life got better and I was happy at school, but that would be a lie.  I do look back on my early childhood in Nickerson as the happiest time of my life, but not at school.  I was happy at home, but I was an outcast at school and I grew to resent the snobby kids.  My best friend all through grade school was a girl named Barbara, but when we left grade school she drifted away.  By the time I reached my Sophmore year I had new friends and weekends usually were spent sneaking into Duke Bankey's home brew.  We moved to Hutchinson the year I was a senior.  I dropped out of school and my formal education was behind me.  I was now an attendee in the school of hard knocks and I graduated at the head of my class although I was never sober enough to know it. 

And then life picked me up and spun me around and landed me here on the Mesa.  So here I set looking down a very short road at what remains of my Golden years.  Sorry, but that is such an asinine statement.  I am once more reminded of one of Mother's jewels of wisdom.  I was beating my chest once and she had told me I was my own worst enemy.  At the time I thought she was nuts, but as I contemplate that next hill I have to climb I hear the echoes of another of her adages and I think this was her best.  It was "Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind."  She was right.  I spent many years sowing the wind and now it is time for my harvest.  I gotta' say, it got here a whole lot faster then I thought it would.  Yesterday I was young, but the stop sign is coming up fast!

My dad loved his horses; us kids, not so much.

As far back as I can remember my dad had horses.  He used them for farming.  They were what pulled the plow, and the harrow , as well as the hay rack and the buckboard.  Hank Windiate had one old horse and he used it to pull the wagon he used as his means of transportation.  Every morning Hank would harness that poor old bag of bones and hook it to the wagon.  I know there is a name for that kind of wagon, but I forget what it was.  Hank was paralyzed on one side of his body, but he could still drag himself up over the wheel and onto the spring board seat and off to town he went.  I think all the old farts went up and set on a bench that was right outside the jail and watched the world go by.

Now the jail in itself was another story.  It was very small.  No!  Smaller than that.  It was probably about 10' x 10'.  I heard that it could hold 4 prisoners, but I found that hard to believe.  Maybe they slept standing up.  I asked Dad once if there had ever been a prisoner in their and of course he gave me some bullshit story about a bank robber or some such nonsense.  I know I never seen any sign of a prisoner.  I did hear all the old men arguing one day because some one had spit on the street and that was just so disrespectful and that man should be put in the jail.  The sheriff would take care of it when he came back.  No one was real sure where the sheriff had gone.  They were not even sure who the sheriff was, but they were all pretty sure he would come back and lock that man up, whoever he was.

But this is not about the sheriff now, is it?  No.  It is about my Dad's horses.  When we were still on the Stroh place he had bought us kids a Shetland Pony.  I am pretty sure he was drunk when he did that and I am pretty sure Mother pointed out to him that he was not very smart if he thought for one minute that he could go into town and do "whatever" and then come dragging a pony home and she would overlook his indiscretion.  I had to take her side in that one, especially after we got a good look at our new pony.  It was little, not like the big horses that we wanted to ride in the parade.  He was also furry.  He was kind of cute looking out the back door at him clear across the yard standing there all alone.  Looks are certainly deceiving!

My brother, being the oldest and bravest decided he would ride Star first.  He got the saddle and walked toward the horse.  Holy Mary, Mother of God!  I swear that horse had fire coming out his eyes and nose both.  Jake hesitated and Star began to emit sounds that only the Devil in Hell below could identify.  He began to rear up and kick backwards, and forwards and I swear that beast had 8 legs.  At that point Jake dropped the saddle and lunged on his back to ride him bareback.  With his hands wound in his mane he looked towards Heaven and smiled a very wide smile which was immediately followed by Star reversing directions twice causing Jake to do a half backward, followed by a full forward and then a side dismount.  Star turned to face us as if to ask who was next.  There were no takers.  About the only action Star got after that was for us to lead him around the yard and we could pet him, but make no mistake, he was not going to be ridden by any man, woman or child.

Little note here on the side.  My brother had a scar on his right cheek.  He had Star to thank for that. Well actually he had himself to thank for that.  Jake and some of his little friends were playing in the yard and they bet each other that they could sneak up on Star and "goose him".  Jake went first.  He also went last because at the same time Jake reached his rear end, Star kicked backwards at the unseen intruder and Jake went clear across the fence and was immediately rushed to the hospital in Hutchinson to get his face put back on.  After that he gave Star a wide berth.

When dad bought horses they were always a "matched pair."  A matched pair was some sort of big deal to the men who had a matched pair.  The last matched pair my dad ever owned was bought about the time we left the Stroh place.  In my 7 year old mind I seem to recall that this was a pair of "Strawberry Roans."  Not sure how to spell that, but I can still see them in my mind.  They were strawberry which meant that were sort of red.  Mostly off white with a kind of pink sheen and roan because of the spots.  Their tails were blondish red and dad spent many hours braiding the tails and putting a ribbon in the braids.

(Did I ever mention that my dad was in World War 1 and served in the Cavalry and his job was to take care of the horses.  He had a hole in one of his arms where he had been bitten by a horse.  I never attempted that horse riding business because I did not want no damned horse trying to eat me.)

I used to think my dad was mean, but time has softened my memories of him and I now see him as a sad little soul.  He was 30 years older then my mom and so I think kids were just something that had happened to him, because he certainly did not have paternal feelings towards any of us, although in later years he did dote on my sister Mary.  And when I had my first baby, Debbie he actually touched her and held her.  She is the only one I have a picture of with him.

Looking back I think he brushed his horses on a daily basis and braided their tails as an act of love. He was always tender with them, but if they did not obey when he "hee'd or haw'd" he was not above picking up a single tree, or whip or what ever was handy and beating them into submission.  Lord the things we did back then would get a man hung now days. I think maybe in my little mind I was afraid he would do the same to me.  He was always just a silent man around the house and we walked lightly.

When Star was gone, the Strawberry Roans were gone and Danny was gone there was no reason to stay in Nickerson.  Mother had gone to Salt City Business College and learned to be a bookkeeper/secretary.  She then found a job in Hutchinson and we moved there.  Dad used to drive to Nickerson every day to hang out at the pool hall there and play dominoes with his friends.  I guess he worked there.  I guess he never really left Nickerson either.

  I guess Hutchinson was too much of a change for me because I skipped school most of the time and finally dropped out completely.  I got a job washing dishes at Skaets Steak Shop.  Then I met and married my first husband.  Mom went to work there as did my sister Donna.  When I left my husband I returned to work at Skaets as a waitress until I opened my own restaurant.  Dorothy worked there.   And now my sister owns it.  A long time ago.

Lot of water under the bridge, so to speak.

And the legal drinking age was?

By the time I was in high school I was old enough to drink liquor.  Well, maybe not according to the State of Kansas, or my mother, but I had a friend who had a father who made and bottled home brew.  He also left every weekend and left the stock unlocked.  I soon became known in Nickerson High School as "Home Brew girl."  That is a title I am not quite as proud of today as I was back then.  But the truth of the matter is it set the stage for later days when we moved to Hutchinson.

About the time we moved I was a senior in high school and tired of going there every day especially in a big city like Hutch where I knew no one.  So I got me a job in a burger place out on 4th and worked 2 weeks.  That was pretty boring.  It was one of those places where a speaker was on the tables and the customer ordered and I carried the food out .  Whoopee shit!  Big future there. 

I found the beer joints up on Main about the same time.  The interesting part here was when they checked ID it was in the form of a question.  "Are you old enough to drink?"
"Well, I been doing it for quite a while now so I guess I am."  Duh!

Now the best way to get free beer is to work in the place that sells it.  Within a one block area on Main Street were 3 bars that were known as the "3 Queens".  The first was the Manhattan Club, then the Brown Derby, and lastly was the Brass Rail.  I had heard of these places from way back when we lived in Nickerson and dad used to go drinking in Hutch.  Years later I read about them in the old family history when one of my great grandfathers had kept a journal.  One entry concerned his sons who worked for other farmers for cash money.  They had gotten paid and had " gone into Hutch and blowed up $20."  He was very upset about that little trip and mentioned it several times.  $20.00 was a lot of money back then and "blowing it up"  was a cardinal sin.

Also when I was young my fathers son (my half brother, Gene) had came home from the Army and was regaling us with tales of the 3 Queens and a lady of the night named "Sea Biscuit" who could out drink any man.  Her favorite drink was White Horse Scotch and milk.  I was "lucky" enough to meet her on one of my forays into the night life of the 3 Queens.  Sadly, she was not at all what I had pictured.  She was old, skinny and could cuss like a sailor.  She still drank White Horse Scotch and milk.  She had given up the "lady of the night" business and was married to a very tall man who was very quiet.  I think of them  when I hear the song, Country Bumpkin (click to listen.)  Her real name was Delores.  No last name, just Delores.  She did not remember my brother Gene.  She advised me to make something out of my life and not spend my time down on South Main.  My brother, Jake, concured with her and so my life in the bright lights of the 3 Queens was very short lived.

Then I found a place way out on 4th Street called the Tiny Tear.  The Tiny Tear was a cafe that was friendly to teenagers.  Sometimes I cooked there which also entailed waitressing.  I do not remember how I got from point A to point B since I did not have a car, but I managed.  The Tiny Tear was more my speed.   The kids that hung out at the Tiny Tear were very possessive of the place and we did not like strangers coming on our "turf."  During one of our "rumbles"  I met a guy who would be the love of my life.  His name was Jimmie and he called me "bright eyes."  Had the fates smiled on us we would no doubt still be together and I would still be in Hutchinson, but sadly, they did not.  He had just broken up with his girlfriend and 2 months into our torrid love affair she announced that he would be a father.  Back in those days that was an automatic marriage guarantee.  Thus ended our future.  I do not know what ever became of him, but I do know they had a couple more kids and I think he still lives back there, but I am not sure.  I still think of him fondly, but I also miss my little black calf named Dennis that died when he was 3 days old.  Water under the bridge.

I have good memories of my younger days.  While I may not be real proud of some of my shenanigans they did lead me to who and where I am today.  I do not have a prison record, for which I am thankful, but I do have a lot of life lessons that I could share with the kids now, but they would not believe me, so I won't.  My memories are just that, my memories.  And while I am sure Jimmie will never read this, if he does, I hope he remembers me just a little.

How many years ago was that?

I woke up this morning in a black 1949 Ford on my way to Jetmore, Kansas.  One kid in the front seat and 3 more in the back seat.  Going to go see Grandma Seeger.  Jesus!  How many years ago was that?  It must have been about 1968 or 1969.  I was newly separated  and it was my day off so I was trying to keep some sort of continuity in my life.  I had shaken the dust of Garden City, Kansas off my feet and was living in a 2 bedroom rented house near the Reformatory in Hutchinson.    Just off East Sherman but I do not remember the name of the street.  I doubt that it is still standing, because it was barely standing then.

The first thing that happened was when I called to have the gas turned on, they condemned the stove which was the sole heat source for the house.  That had to be fixed, of course.  Probably should have left the gas off as it turned out later to be a thorn in my side.  It was a constant battle to keep the kids from touching it and burning themselves.

I was working nights and sleeping very little.  I had done the laundry and not folded it yet so it was laying on my bed which was located on the back porch.  I set down in the front room for just a minute and fell sound asleep, only to be awoken to cries of "FIRE!"  Shit!  Debbie threw water on me and I was awake instantly!  Seems dear Sammy, turned the kitchen stove on and poked a piece of paper in the flame to see "What would happen?"  He did not want to burn his fingers so he threw the burning paper on my bed full of clothes.  Need I go into detail?  Of course I do.  I immediately began dousing the fire with water and finally had it out and no smoke was coming from it.  To be on the safe side, I drug the mattress into the back yard.  I called a friend of my brothers and he came and hauled it away.  I am not sure the landlord ever knew where his mattress went.

Smith!  That was the name of that street.  That was my baptism by fire into the world of single parent life.  The girl who lived across the street babysat for me.  She also babysat my only pair of jeans I liked. Remember that when I left my husband I weighed 92 pounds so I was considerably thinner than I am now.  Actually, there could be 2 of me now!  She also releived me of my class ring and my wedding rings.  That was also where the kids got ringworm.  Sam filled the gas tank on the Ford with sand.  The old $150 Chevy that I arrived in Hutchinson threw a rod and I bought a 1949 Ford from Jake's friend, Clell.

You must know that back in those days, child support was optional and my husband opted out.  Welfare was there to help single mothers, but if you worked, they did not help you because you had an income.  Since I worked and could see no way to feed us if I quit, I never drew welfare.  No welfare, no alimony, no child support.  I must say part of the child support not coming was my fault.  My husband explained to me, as if I were a couple bricks short of a load, "You wanted the divorce.  I did not.  You have the kids.  I have nothing.  You should be paying me because you took them away from me."  And in my befuddled, insecure little mind, that all made good sense.

After a time the roof began to leak and the landlord would not fix it so my mother let me move into her house over on 5th Street.  That also brought a change of employment and began my career as a cook at the Red Carpet Restuant.  The husband moved to Hutchinson and took a job at Cessna.  We reconciled for a week or so and then he left town because he "just could not do the boring existence thing."  Welcome child number 5 and a tubal ligation!

I dated a radio personality and learned to decorate wedding cakes.  The radio guy turned out to be a real jerk but the cake decorating turned into a fairly lucrative part time job.  I dated a guitar picker and learned how to sing country!  When Christmas time came, his mom gave me 3 pairs of cotton underwear.  Never really got over that and so much like Glen Campbell or Hank Williams, I moved on.  Then  I found out just how good booze could be and it could always be depended on to see me through the rough patches.

And now I dream about those days.  When I was there it was a constant battle and there were times I wondered if I would survive.  There were days and nights when putting one foot in front of the other was the only hope I had.  Just one more day.  One more night.

Got to end this here because I am starting to feel sorry for myself and I do not want to do that.  That is how life becomes unbearable.  Just gotta keep my shoulder to the wheel, my eye on the prize and take it one day at a time.

Click to play

Wait a minute! I thought I was supposed to vote.

What happened to the primary?  I thought I was supposed to go to the poll over at South Mesa where I always go and cast my vote for my chosen person for the big election in November?  Apparently not.  It now appears if I want a say in who is the Democratic nominee for President I have to go to County High and attend a caucus.  When I register out there and they see I am really a registered Democrat then I will get a black X on my hand.  Then apparently both sides will tell me who I should vote for.  Now, sorry, but this insults my intelligence.  Does it appear that I have been living in a bubble all this time that Hillary and Bernie have been slugging it out with the debates an all?  I would have to be pretty brain dead not to have made a decision by now.

It was certainly a lot easier when I had all day long to run by the school and show them my identification, step in the booth, and vote.  Then I could see my friends and I always ran into some one I knew. When I was done I always got a little round circle that said "I voted" in the center.  Wonder if I will get one of them tonight?

And speaking of tonight, do you think I will actually make it out there?  I have to be there at 5:30 and I also have chores that need done at 5:30.  That means the geese will have to be locked up early.  They do not like that.  It also means my dogs will be alone and I will miss Jeopardy.  I do realize it is my civic duty to vote and like President Obama said "If everyone votes, it will not matter what the 1% want."  It was just so much easier when I had the whole day to take care of a 3 minute job.

This is what confuses me... I now receive a ballot in the mail.  No more going over to the school and doing that either.  I then have that mess to figure out and be sure I sign it and put proper postage on it, or load up and drive into town to one of the convenient drop off locations which I have yet to find one bit convenient and have had to park and go up to the second floor where I am once more questioned about whether I am a legal voter.  That in itself is amazing because had I put it in the mail they would not be able to confront me and make me feel like the criminal for exercising due diligence in voting.  Course when I mail it in I have to go to the postoffice and buy the stamps required.

So my question here is this, who decided to change the whole system?  Seemed like it was working pretty well before they fixed it.  And on what level of government was this decided?  Is the whole state this way?  Will we ever get back to being a civilized society, or is this the best I can hope for in my remaining time here on this little blue and green ball?  And how much longer is this little ball going to be spinning?  I love the advertisement where goat girl says "We have been fracking saftely for 65 years."  No we have not!  I remember an unexplained explosion near where I worked in Hutchinson  40 years ago.  I also remember the furniture store going skyward "for no apparent reason."  I remember sink holes opeing up in the streets.  That one may have had more to do with the salt mines that run under the city, but come on people!

Once more I have digressed, but old age does that to you or at least to me.  Makes me long for the good old days when a man's word was his bond.  When credit was extended at the grocery store on the corner because the owner knew who you were and knew you worked hard.  When mother stayed up late ironing clothes for the rich people in town and dad made a hot toddy because he did not want to get a cold.  And when President Roosevelt talked to us on the radio and all of us kids listened, because he was the President.  Then Harry Truman came and he said "damn!" and we were all amazed that he was elected when he used "dirty words."  And the words that I lived by then were words that I live by today.

And the world keeps turning and people keep killing each other, drugs are rampant, and the news is filled with what some movie star wore to some big deal in Hollywood.  And I really do not give a shit!

The ghosts of the past are alive and well!

I woke up at 4:15 this morning and was very surprised that I had a guy on my mind from my distant past.  Now I mean my way back there distant past.  My first boyfriend.  I was 17 years old and I thought the sun rose and set in that boy.  He took me to Joyland in Wichita one sunny afternoon.  We rode all the rides and when we got on the Roundup, my stomach had it's limit.  His name was Corky and he was so sweet and concerned about my welfare.  Throwing up on the Roundup was the high point of the day and we left soon after that.  We continued to for a while and then sort of drifted apart.  It was never a big romance, just a very comfortable relationship with some one with whom I could share my  hopes and dreams.

Years passed and I married and had a family.  I ended up in Garden City, Kansas.  When that marriage went south, I returned to Hutchinson.  There I met the second man in my life who would offer me comfort in a storm and ask nothing in return.  His name was Gib.  We never really dated so much as sort of hung out together.  He was a friend of my mom's.  He was also a cook and I was a waitress until I became a cook also.  He helped shop for Christmas Santa Claus gifts and helped put the things together on Christmas Eve.  He was engaged to a girl named Cheri, but though they lived together, they never married.  I never understood their relationship.  He and I were friends, but he and Cheri had something, and yet nothing.

The one thing both these guys and I had in common was that the relationships were purely platonic.  I never expected more and they never asked for more.  I can search the world over and never find 2 men that made such an impact on my life!  Ah, but hindsight is always clearer then foresight, isn't it?

Years passed and the AIDS epidemic reared it's ugly head.  Gib moved to California.  He died there.   I was in Pueblo by then.  Mother called and said Gib wanted to get together over Thanksgiving that year, but she was afraid.  I told her I could  and would love to come and see Gib.  I was not afraid.  I just wanted to see my old friend.  Plans were made, but he did not make it.  I know there was no funeral and he is in an unmarked grave.  I still miss him.  The very first panel on my AIDS Memorial Quilt is for Gilbert Fields.

I learned later that Corky had also passed.  He was also a statistic in the early stages of the epidemic.  Jimmy came later.  And Mark.  And Mike.  And a list that goes on and on and on.  I have always had a rapport with the gay community, even before I knew there was a gay community!  They have been my friends when I had no friends.  They held me up when I could have sunk beneath the waves.

I have no idea why these two guys are on my mind today, but there they are.  I just wanted to share with you, my readers, a small glimpse into my past so you can maybe understand why I am who I am today and why I do the things I do.  I guess I am trying to give back to the community that cared for me when I did not care for myself.