Another year down the tubes!

Counting today, there are only 5 days left in this year.   

Momma nailed it when she said "When you are over the hill you pick up speed."  I look back over the years and try to find that skinny little girl that ran up and down Strong Street barefooted.  If only my life could be lived in reverse!  I see all my missed opportunities and think, "Woulda', coulda' shoulda' ", but I didn't.  Now it is too late!

When I came to Colorado all those years ago, I did so on a temporary whim.  I would come and live, but if Charlie and I parted ways, I would move back.  We parted ways and I stayed, but only temporarily.  But then one year turned to 2, and then 3.  I stayed and married Kenny, but with the goal in mind that when he passed I would return to Hutchinson.  When he passed, I didn't leave.  Things and commitments kept me here.  I own my home.  I have 2 kids here, 1 in Lakin, two in Longton, one in Texas.  My last husband is buried in Memorial Gardens and my name is on the other half of his tombstone.

I live all alone in a 2400 square foot house.  My friend list gets shorter every year.   We adopted Bret.  I also acquired 37 ducks and 7 geese,.  I built a pond.  Kenneth passed away.  I said when the ducks and geese were gone, I would move to town.  The foxes ate the ducks.  I said when the geese were gone, I would move to town. We are at a standstill now! I have 7 geese that are ageless!  I keep buying feed and they keep eating it.  Every night I close them in their house and every morning I let them out.  Once a month I go to Big R and buy 3 bags of grain.

My grass is dead because I forget to water it.  The 98 rose bushes I had at one time are all turned wild and been dug up and tossed on the heap.  Bret married and moved away and started his second family.  I just keep getting older.  I think about going back "home".  Where is home?  Hutchinson?  Nickerson?  Garden City? Lakin?

Every year I think back to what I should have done and didn't.  It is probably a little bit late for me to put the toothpaste back in the tube.  So, I get up every morning and go to bed every night.  Habit, I guess.  I know any one of my kids would like me to come and live with them, but I just can not see that happening!  I keep hoping I will get lucky and just not wake up some morning, but so far that is a pipe dream!

So, I close this and go let the decrepit old geese out, throw a rock at the neighbors cats that have wandered into my yard and look west at the beautiful mountains and remember why I never packed up and moved back to the flatlands of Kansas!

Peace!

As another year ends....

 Another year is drawing to a close.  As I reflect back on this past year, I realize how much I have changed.  You may not think so, since my appearance is much the same.  Oh, a few more gray hairs and my complexion just a tad more leathery.  My weight remains the same and the hair is still white.  The changes are inside.  The changes are subtle.  I suppose it happens to all of us as we move forward from the cradle to the grave.

I moved into this house in 1982 with Kenny Mercer and my two kids, Sam and Susie.  They were both still in school.  Sam would go on to graduate college.  The kids are both gone.  Kenny has since passed and I remain here on my "Gods little acre."  with 7 geese and a calico cat for company.  The grandson that Kenneth and I adopted together is grown, married and has three  children of his own.

Today was Sunday, December 24.  Yesterday was December 23.  On December 23, 1983 Kenny Mercer and I exchanged our wedding vows in front of retired minister in Canon City, Colorado.  It was 15 degrees below zero.  We topped the ceremony off by enjoying a doughnut at the local donut shop. Susie was in middle school and Sam almost ready for college.

Sadly, I lost Kenny in 2002.  I have spent over half my life in this house.  I look around at where I am in my life journey and wonder how this happened.  It seems like only yesterday that I was surrounded by a vibrant loving family and the token dog and cat.  How many sunburns did I suffer while on a weekend fishing trip?  The children are gone, replaced by grand children and even great grand children.

I set here in my 2400 square foot house with a detached garage and an acre of land and wonder just where this will all end.  I can't sell the house and move into town, because I have 7 geese left from the good old days when I had 17 geese and 47 ducks and a pond.  They have only known this little acre  of mine as their home. 

And if I should move, where do I move to?  Do I go back to Hutchinson, where I have only one sister left?  I have no friends that I have kept in touch with.  Do I  go to Garden City, where I spent many years with my husband who is the father of my kids?  He is since deceased.  Do I go to Lakin where I have one daughter?  Or Longton where I have two daughters.  I have one daughter here and one son.  And one son in Dallas. 

Life would be so much simpler if the good Lord had not given us free will.  We should be born with some kind of handbook on how to do this.  But we weren't so I am stuck.  Guess I will just keep putting one foot in front of the other until one day I just cease to be.  Then it will be someone else's problem, won't it?

Peace!

The real state of your affairs.

 If any of you out there think you have your likes and dislikes and that you have any control over them being fulfilled as such, let me clue you in to this fact: Karma rules the universe.  You are but a mere spot that shows up as a blip on the radar occasionally, if karma so decides.  Sometimes it does and it is good.  Life is wonderful!  Sadly, this is the seldom ever scenario.  Usually it sucks.  Mostly we just plug along with one foot in front of the other until we get a little break and we are happy for a time.  Usually it is the "blow below the belt" and we are left picking up the pieces of our broken dreams.

If we are happy it is usually at the cost of someone else being unhappy.  I do not mean that we have to do anything to make this happen, it is just the way life happens.  If I go shopping, my wallet is sad, but the store is happy.  I smile and say "Hello" to strangers that I meet  on the street and am usually met with a smile and greeting back, but not always.

Then when I get home and flip on the news.  I listen to news about car jackings, murders, thefts, child abuse and some one waving a flag to save the planet.  Inflation in out of control and law and order went out the window a long time ago.  If your child goes to school and comes home without some nut shooting it, we thank our God.  

What happened to our old fashioned values?  You know, the ones about God and country?  The one about remove the moat from your own eye before trying to get the one out of your neighbors eye?  What happened to holding a door open for someone to pass through?  Or picking up what the lady in front of you dropped and handing it to her?  How much does it cost to smile at someone?  You may be the only person someone meets today and a smile from a stranger might be enough to brighten their day so they can survive the night.

No doubt they sometimes think I am crazy when I go to the local grocery just to pick up an Avacado, but I go through the whole store and smile and make remarks to every person I see.  Maybe it makes someone happy and maybe it is my way of socializing in this post Covid world, but it works for me!

So, just some thoughts today.  

Remember:  You cannot sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself!

Peace!

 

 abuse and somebody waving a flag to allow abortions. What And then I come home and turn on the news to en 

Skip a rope.

 I have pretty much lived my life as an open book.  Not many secrets behind my closed doors.  Oh, I may occasionally dash from the shower to the bedroom stark naked because I forgot to get clean underwear, but that is about it.  And I may have an occasional carnal thought crossed my mind, but for the most part I live a fairly honest and open existence.  Sadly, I find that is not the case with a friend or acquaintance.  And that gives me pause to think back to my mother's words.  Mother was the wisest woman I knew, but she also had a side that was what she called her "dark side."  I think I may have one also!

Oh, it is not that bad!  Just little things and thoughts that flash through my mind on its way to oblivion.  But I am filled with consternation when I learn of someone actually acting on their sick little fantasies.  Or maybe it isn't a fantasy, only a need to control someone else.  And when that someone is a child, it enrages me.  

Childhood is a time of sand and shovels!  A time of play and imagination.  A time to learn.  A time to build up and a time to take down.  A time of laughter and a time of reaching for the stars.  A time when home is a safe place to grow.  Not a time to be beat down and belittled.

I remember my childhood and while we lived in abject poverty, we had a safe home.  If we did something wrong, we were punished.  Not beaten down, but punished and we knew why we were punished.  Never were we struck because mommy or daddy was having a bad day.  In all fairness I do not remember ever being spanked.  I spent time with my nose in the corner thinking about what I had done, but never put there just because someone bigger than me thought it was a good idea.

Being a grandmother is kind of fun.  Little kids really want to please and they want to help.  Sometimes, it takes a lot longer to do something when I have help and the cookies may come out rather dry or lopsided, but they are still cookies.  We wash our hands, so they are safe to eat!

I let the grandson sleep with me when he stays the night.  He used to have his own bed, but then he decided he needed to keep me safe.  Not sure what had happened to make him think I was not safe, but if he needs to, he can.  Maybe it is not so much me he is worried about!

I guess the purpose of this post is to convey to the adults who read this that children speak a different language then adults.  The little body that is in the bed to "keep grandma safe", may be seeking it's own safety.  Listen to your kids.  I mean really listen.  Listen to the children when the play.  click here

Peace!

Momma and the mink jacket.

 I recall the growing up days in Nickerson as the worst kind of poverty.  Looking back there are a lot of things I endured that were worse than the stigma associated with the Strong Street years.  Many times, I have longed for the security of that dilapidated old house with the outhouse behind it.  Through all the times of trouble and strife Momma kept food on the table and Dad kept the wood box full of wood to burn for both heat and cooking.  I remember the first butane cook stove we had.  What a luxury that was!  It was only used for cooking special meals.  But I digress!

When momma finished her course at the Salt City Business School, she found a job with Franklin Fee Investment Company.  She wore a dress to work and set at a desk doing desk stuff.  We finally moved from Nickerson to Hutchinson.  We first lived on Avenue A, but then Momma got a chance at a house on Fifth Street that she could buy.  We became homeowners.  At that point in my life, it meant little to me. What mattered most was the house next door.  It had an enclosed front porch and a sign out front that said, "Elledge Furs".  Inside the window stood a mannequin wearing a mink jacket.  Her eyes were blank as she stared into the abyss that was her life.  But that jacket caught my mother's eye!  

Mother went to Mrs. Elledge and made arrangements to pay money on that jacket "every time I get a little extra".  And she did!  We never missed a meal, but sometimes momma would pick up a little babysitting or house cleaning and that was "extra", so it went on the jacket.  We never missed a meal and at some point, the jacket was paid for, and it came to reside in our closet.  I am not sure I ever seen her wear it, but the glory of it was that my Momma had it and it was real mink!  She modeled it when she brought it home and that was the last I saw of it.  I will have to ask Donna whatever became of it.

The last time I went to Hutchinson, I drove down 5th Street.  The plumbing shop was a sewing shop and Elledge Furs, along with our house and the next few houses around it was now an apartment complex.  Dillons was still across the street, but it had gotten a lot bigger.  So much has changed since I lived there!  I recall an old adage, "You can't go home again".  Momma said that and you know what?  Momma was right!

Momma was always right!

Peace!

Hindsight is 20/20 looking back!

 My momma, the wisest woman in the world told me that years ago. I sometimes wonder if my kids will ever look back and remember anything I said.  I sure hope they do.

Growing up in a house that was home to six kids we all had our place in the hierarchy.  When my father married my mother, he had 3 sons from his first wife who had died.  They had been placed in an orphanage because he could not care for them.  The younger two were adopted into homes but kept in touch over the years.  The oldest left the orphanage at age 18 and mostly wandered the world.  

Of my family growing up, Josephine was oldest because she was the first born to my mother.  She had a different father than my dad.  Her father was supposedly a gangster in Chicago.  Who knows!  Then came Jake, who was the only son, simply because he was the only son.  Then came me, a bright and shining star on the roster of children!  Not really.  That put me in the middle child position which is not a place anyone wants to be.  But there I was, nonetheless.  Then the others who mostly tended to favor my father in coloring and mannerisms.  Donna and Mary were next followed by Dorothy who was the youngest.  Her sole claim to fame is that she was the last one born to my mother. 

Mary was always my dad's favorite.  There was never a question about it: It just was.  When Mary went to Junior High School and they had a dance, my dad went to town and bought her a beautiful white prom dress.  It was so soft.  Mary met and married her future husband when she was 13 or 14 years old.  He was 15 or 16 at the time.  I think.  I am a little foggy on the ages, but they were both very young. I do know I borrowed her prom dress when I married Earl Duane Seeger in 1960.

I look back down the road that I have traveled, and it makes me very sad.  My mother tried to give us kids everything we wanted and needed when she herself had been through trauma that I would never know about.  There are only two of us left, me and Donna.  I wonder if Donna ever thinks about our childhood.  I wonder if she remembers it the same way that I do?  I do know she squeezed a baby rabbit so hard once that it bled out its mouth and she put it in a drawer and covered it up with a washcloth, but it died anyway!

For the record, Lavender is still my favorite color, and my mother is still the angel that I remember.  The only difference is that instead of living on Strong Street in Nickerson, or on Avenue A in Hutchinson, she is walking on the streets of gold.  She is not in any pain, and she gets to look down on me and see that she raised a very strong woman after it is all said and done.  She is waiting for me to take that leap from here to where she waits for me.  I just hope she knows how happy I am that I was raised at her knee.

We all different mannerisms as is common in big families.  Josephine was the oldest, so she was bossy.  Jake was the only boy, so he was expected to do boy things, like chop wood, take the old tomcat that ate the baby chicken to the forest and chop off its head with the same axe, and mostly just do boy things.  He did let me tag along sometimes.  Of course, we all had to cater to Mary and Dorothy, because Dorothy was the baby, and Mary was the pretty one.  Mary was also Dad's favorite.    I do not think he liked me at all, but that taught me how to raise my own kids later in life.  

I bent over backwards to make sure that I did not favor one over the other.  If I spent $20 on one for Christmas, I spent $20 on each of the others.  Later my son pointed out to me that this was wrong.  I should have bought each one a gift especially chosen for them regardless of price.  He also pointed out that he was the only boy and should therefore be granted special status!  Little turd!

But this blog is actually about my high school prom.  Mom had somehow managed to get her hands on enough shiny polyester fabric in a beautiful lavender color.  She then scraped together enough to buy several yards of lavender net to pair with it.  She sewed me a beautiful prom dress all my hand with a pattern in her head!  It was beautiful!

It is at this point that the adage, "You cannot make a silk purse out of a cow's ear." comes to mind.  The softest net is very soft and lays differently than the cheap net that momma could afford.  When the skirt was stitched together with the bodice, it left the stiff net to completely encompass my waist.  What started out to be a fairy tale night, ended up being a torture.  By the time I got home to take the dress off I had a very raw waistline that was actually bleeding. It was packed away in a box under the bed and I do not know what ever happened to it. 

Lavendar is still my favorite color.  Always will be.  Lavender is still my favorite scent, and the beautiful fields of Lavender in Grand Junction is my favorite place in the spring.   

Momma told me long ago that my childhood would be what defined me in my later years.  She sure hit that nail on the head!  My experiences of those long-ago years guide me in everything I do in my old age.  When I think of momma it is always the house on Strong Street and the old wood stove and the ducks and chickens out back.  It is the Peach Tree by the chicken house and the treadle sewing machine and the Catalpa tree by the road.

Wonder it that is what heaven is like?  I sure hope so!

Peace!

October is almost gone!

And for that I am grateful!  October is a busy little month around here. I was born on October 1.  I have 2 children born in October.  My only brother was born October 5, 1937 and died October 31, 1965.  I was married the first time on October 30, 1960.  I might have actually been married another time or 2 in October, because I just love the whole month.  I am a Libra.

Libra is the horoscope sign designated for me and pretty well fits me and my brother to a "t".

People born under the sign of Libra are peaceful, fair, and they hate being alone. Partnership is very important for them, seeking someone with the ability to be the mirror to themselves. These individuals are fascinated by balance and symmetry, they are in a constant chase for justice and equality, realizing through life that the only thing that should be truly important to... astrology-zodiac-signs.com

• Element: Air
• Color: Pink, Green
• Day: Friday
• Lucky Numbers: 4, 6, 13, 15, 24
• Strengths: Cooperative,diplomatic, gracious, fair-minded, social
• Weaknesses: Indecisive, avoids confrontations, will carry a grudge, self-pity
• Libra likes: Harmony, gentleness, sharing with others, the outdoors
• Libra dislikes: Violence, injustice, loudmouths, conformity
• Greatest Compatibility: Aries, Sagittarius
• Career: lawyers, judges, diplomats, designers, composers, In search for truth and justice, they are good lawyers and judges, and can also be successful as diplomats, designers and composers if they have nurtured their artistic side from childhood.

And that about says it all.  

Life in Plevna, Kansas

 It must have been about 1955 when I went to live with my grandma'a in Plevna, Kansas.  It was also the year I started high school.   Now there were only about 40 kids in the whole high school.  High School was on the second floor and grade school on the first.  But all that is irrelevant.  

What matters is that it was in this place I began my high school education.  Now, as luck would have it, the lady who lived right next door to the grandma's was the daughter of the man who lived next door to my home in Nickerson!  They also had an old car that ran pretty good and traveled back home to Nickerson a couple of times a month.  Mother made arrangements for me to ride with them when they did go to see her and father.

Now it becomes a little fuzzy in my mind, but I think the lady was named Elsie and I think she was blind.  I do not think they had any children.  All that is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. So once a month, I think, we would pile into the car and settle in for the 20-mile drive.  The man would fit the crank in the front of the car, wherever he fitted it, and give it a hard pull.  The engine would roar to life and he would jump into the car and as soon as the engine was running smoothly, he would retrieve the crank, close the hood, and prepare to drive the car.  It was when we traversed the road to highway 50 that the fun began!

He liked to sing!  I strongly suspect that he may have also liked to drink a bit!  Of that I am not sure!  But he did like to sing.  One of the songs went like this:

" Oh, I won't go hunting with you, Jake, but I'll go chasing women!

So put them hounds back in the pen and quit your silly grinning!

The moon is right and I'm half tight, life is just beginning!

I won't go fishing with you Jake, but I'll go chasing women."

His wife would try to hush him because there "was a child in the car," but he just sang all the louder.  He seemed to know lots of songs. but that is the one that sticks in my mind.

Sundays at our house were always special because we usually had meat of some sort.  Special was when we had a roast.  That did not happen very often, but there was always hope!

At 4:00 we would hear the car roar to life next door and momma would make sure my face was clean.  Then the horn would beep (ooga, ooga) and I would run out to the street.  The man would open the door, I would jump in, and he would close the door.  Then began the 20 mile one hour drive back to Plevna.  

I wish I could remember his name, but I don't.  Life was so simple back then!  Needs were few.  Pleasure could be found in walking barefoot in the hot sand road of Strong Street or running the back road to the sandpit.  Kick the can was the game of the night and the moon was the only light we had after the sun went down.

Go to sleep, all my childhood memories!  I sometimes long for the day when I can run out the door, jump in an old jalopy and go see my momma.

Peace!

'Tis the season!

 

This is the tree.  It is a little taller than the television remote.  Now, all you nay sayers can relax.  I am ready for Christmas.  This time of year is not one of my best times.  I remember when I was in grade school and each class had a Christmas tree all decorated and festooned for the occasion.  At the end of the last day before Christmas break one of the little Bartholomew kids would get to take the tree home from their classroom.  It was a really big deal!  I remember dragging it home when I got it.  It had pieces of tinsel clinging to it's branches and it was wonderful!  I was so proud!  And momma added to it as she thanked me for bringing it because we surely would not have had one if not for me!  Needless to say she showered the same praise on whichever one of us brought the tree home.

And then I was grown up and I was the momma struggling to give my kids a Merry Christmas.  Some how it always happened.  The jobs I worked were never big on Christmas Bonuses, but I always seemed to manage.  The kid's dad was always big on Christmas so that helped.  I do recall borrowing money at the last minute one year at a very high interest rate and dashing to the stores with my friend Gibby Fields in tow to fill the Santa list.  Now be real here!  Have you ever gone shopping on Christmas eve?  That is akin to a bomb being tossed into the store and blowing all the toys out the window. 

 

But we survived and my kids grew up to teach their kids about Santa.  So when I married Kenny and had time on my hands I decided to make all the grandsons Dinosaurs for Christmas since that was the rage. (I thought!)  I think I made the girls Care Bears.  The kids were all thrilled until I handed the last one to the grandson who shall remain nameless for this tale.  I was especially proud of it because it was a Brontosaurs and as such was the biggest package.  His eyes lit up as he ripped into the package.  When he saw what it was, he threw it to the floor and burst into tears.  I was astounded and perplexed.  His father laughed and said, "Oh, he wanted a transformer!"

          I think that was the year, I quit believing in Santa Claus and started just putting money in                          envelopes.  I have now advanced to hiding in my house and hoping Christmas does not see me                here alone with my peas and porridge.  The kids are all grown and have kids and grandkids of                  their own along with the customs they have inherited mostly from their dad.  I am good with that.

          I will go to church on Christmas Eve because that is what it is all about when everything is said                and done.  The baby in the manger is what brings us all to the foot of the cross.  That is my                      Christmas cheer and to all my friends and acquaintances out there I wish you a very Merry                        Christmas and a Happy and prosperous New Year.  

           May the road rise to meet you and the wind be ever at your back.

           Peace!

   

 

 

 

One thing I have learned....

 The one thing I have learned and the hardest thing for me to do is to set back and let someone else take the lead and do something for me.  My years with hospice were so fulfilling because it all came naturally to me.  My job was to accept a client in or near their final journey.  Sometimes the job was just a one night or day, but several lasted longer and I became a "part of the family" and remained so for the duration of that person's journey.  So it was with Dorothy and later Doug.  Mona was one, as was  Ruby.  My latest was Annie. 

In all of these journeys I have dealt with families on a very close and personal level.  Early in the  relationships, I would set with the family member while the caregivers took time for other activities.  They knew someone that they could trust was with mother, father, or whoever.  When death is imminent the family sometimes just needs a "friend" to help them understand what the process entails.  While I am not an expert on death by any means I do know that death is inevitable, and no one is going to get out of this world alive.  

In most of my dealings I was able to establish a relationship with the client and we could talk about the hereafter.  Having never been there, I can only imagine what life on the other side of the veil could be like.  I am pretty sure it is a big step up from life on this side and I tried to relay that to them.  It is a fine line between preaching and visualizing a perfect world that is waiting for us.  

It is after the death that I, by virtue of having been there through the last days,  become a part of the family.  My presence seems to give people a connection to the loved one on the other side.  I can not explain it, but that is how it is.  I no longer operate in the capacity of "companion", but I still deal with families who remember.

So now to the crux of the matter.  I am no longer with hospice.  I do not volunteer at any place.  I rest on my laurels and that pretty much is about it.  Covid has changed all of our lives and it is quite possible that this is our new normal.  But, I have been invited out by my friends Rebecca and Ron for a high tea at Miramount Castle in Manitou.  And I am going!  And here is the one thing I have learned:

My first thought was "Oh, no!  I can not do that.  It will cost her a lot of money and time and I am not worth the effort."  But then I analyzed the situation.  Rebecca is a wonderful person as is her husband, Ron.  [She actually sent him out to scope out the fox problem in hopes there was something they could do.]  They are dear friends and as such want to do something nice and include me!  So..... Saturday I am being picked up by car and transported to a High Tea!  I am sure it will be lovely and you can bet I will be giving you a full report.

Sometimes I have to just remember, that there are people out there who care about me and want to show me.  It is called accepting from others.  It is an art I need to cultivate.

I am so excited by this new adventure that I am almost tempted to go buy a dress.  Key word there is almost!  

Stay tuned for a full report next week!

You cannot get the toothpaste back in the tube!

 There are 2 phrases that my psyche is shaped by and that I also fight with most of my adult life.  The first is "Hind sight is 20/20 looking back." and the second is "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."  There are many little things momma threw in along this line and for the life of me I do not know where she got them.  I strongly suspect that she got them from her mother since they lived a fairly cloistered life there in south central Kansas.  The sad fact remains, that all these years later, those are burned into the depths of my being.

In my younger days I was surrounded by Aunts, cousins, grandmothers and a few uncles.  Males in my lineage tended to either die young or live forever.  Uncle Coon lived to be over 100.  (Now I am not sure that this was his given name.  Seems like it might have been Conrad, but it is irrelevant to this article!)  The point is that while the rule at the time was that children should be seen and not heard, the other was that men were the strong silent type and it was best to remember that.  As kids it was our past time at family gatherings to hide under the table and watch the men enjoying an after dinner cigar or pipe.  As I recall there was a lot of coughing and choking while this "pleasure" was being indulged.  

This pastime was second only to spying on the chickens in the coop and hoping one would poop out an egg and we could see where it came from. (To this day I do not actually know how the plumbing of a chicken works, nor do I care!)

I only recall one male cousin in my youth and that was cousin Carl. The girl cousins were named Rosetta, Alvina and Marilyn.  I had another cousin named Donna, but she lived in St. Louis and we rarely seen her.  She never married.  

Carl and I were close at the time.  We used to weed the garden for grandma after family dinners.  Carl grew up and married someone and they had one child.  I am not sure it grew to adulthood.  Seems momma was the only one out of the whole family that was a good "breeder."

Momma had eloped immediately after graduation.  She married a man named Jack Walden and ran away to Chicago.  They lived near the "Loop" whatever that was.  They had a baby girl and for some reason mother found herself hitchhiking back to Kansas with the baby in her arms and fearing for her life.  (Or so I hear. Little bit of "toothpaste" for you there.)  When the baby was but a year old she married what would be my father and they lived not so happily ever after.  While the marriage may have been a bit rocky it lasted until his death in 1965.  I ended up with 3 half brothers, 1 full brother and 3 sisters.  Guess Josephine was my half sister.

All that is irrelevant!  It was at my mothers knee that I learned the art of being seen and not heard.  I also learned that when the words "Little pitchers have big ears!" were used I was about to be banished to another room and I better not listen to what was being said.  "Ixnay" meant no.  Anyone who died went directly to heaven!  No doubt about it!  The meanest SOB that ever walked went to Heaven.  Man beats his horse; straight to Heaven!  Seems like the only thing that would actually keep you out of heaven was lying to your mother and disrespecting your elders.  Stealing and pulling the legs off grasshoppers were minor infractions.  

So, here I set lo! these many years later, still a child!  Could it be that as we age, we become our mothers?  I need to ask my kids how their minds work.  Did they actually learn anything from me and if so, what was it?  Did they walk away with my good qualities or the bad ones?  Do they look back on their childhood as a learning experience?  Was I a good mother?  I know I was rarely there, but do they know I tried?

I guess only time will tell.  I do know they are all independent, compassionate human beings and I love them and they appear to love me.  I hope that I imparted just a bit of my wisdom and honesty to them by my actions.  It may be something I never really know, but when I look at the lives they live, I am proud of each and every one of them.  And I am proud of their offspring.  

Kinda hope that the fruit does not fall too far from the tree in my family tree!

Peace and love!

Momma

As I look back down the road that brought me here to where I have lived for the last 40 years, there is one person I see that quietly shaped me into the woman I am today.  My momma.  She was the glue that held our family together.  She was a very proud woman.  I only remember her holding me a few times, but those were times when I needed held or I would have surely shattered.  Once was when the baby calf died and the other was when I lost my brother, her only son.  I am sure that hug was what both of us needed at the time.

My first memories of my life centered around the Stroh place.  Those were the good days.  Those were the times when dad worked and took care of us.  Momma belonged to "club" and attended once a month.  She dressed in her "good dress" and wore a hat.  Josephine and Jake were old enough to stay home but I went with her.  I had to set on the floor beside her chair and be quiet because children were to be seen and not heard and I seemed to be the only kid there.  The women discussed recipes and sewing and stuff like that which any 4 year old kid would not understand.  Never anything personal.  God forbid!

I do not know what my dad did for a living, but I am pretty sure it was shady because I have snippets of memory of a big 3 story house across the river and my dad went inside and left me in the wagon.  I was terrified of that big horse and some times it looked at me and snorted, showing his big yellow teeth, which added to my fear.  Then some time after that we loaded all our "stuff" on a hay rack and moved down the road to the other side of town to the Ailmore place.  It was at that time that Dad quit whatever he was doing and mother started cleaning houses for the "ladies" in town.  By this time I was in first grade.  Then, whoosh!  we moved again.  

This time we were buying the house on the other side of town.  Dad was share cropping with a man named John Britain.  Momma took business classes at Salt City Business College and then started working as a secretary.  Dad started running the Domino/Pool Hall up on main street in Nickerson.  In my Junior year we moved to Hutchinson and it was downhill from there.

The point of this is that through my life, my mother has been the one constant in my life.  She was always there.  She was never the "touchy feally" mother in the story books, but she was always the backbone of the family.  She made sure the food was on the table.  She made sure we had clothes on our backs.  She was the one that inisisted we go to Sunday School and then sit quietly in church.  My first communion was at her knee.  My first poem was published in some kids magazine and she bought it and kept it for years.  

 When I married my first husband and went to her with my first black eye, she explained that "this is a man's right and you need to try harder."  That was the only time she tried to guide me through my "wifely duties."  My method of dealing with my children when a husband hit them was much different from my mother.  "Divorce the a##hole!"

But I digress. This is about my mother and the examples she set for me.  From her I learned a deep and abiding love for my saviour.  Jesus Christ is never far from my thoughts and I do not make a decision without first running it by him and then thinking "What would momma think about this?"  Now granted, I do not always do what I know either one of them would recommend and I usually regret my decision.  Good Lord made the mistake of giving us "free will".  That means he lets us make our own decisions.  In those instances, I usually end up regretting my actions which brings into play the next lesson, "live and learn."

So here I set in the sunset of my life, thinking about momma.  I wonder what my life would have been had I actually listened to her?  She was a wise woman.  Compassion for other people and for the citizens of the world was paramount in her life.  I knew my mother loved me as surely as I know the sun will come up tomorrow.  My mother was wise and kind and when I would tell her that she say that I was prejudiced.  When I told her she was the best mother in the world she said other kids thought that about their mothers.  

But I do know this, I did have the best mother in the world.  She may not have been the best mother for other kids, but she was best for me.  God put me right where he wanted me to be to learn the lessons I needed. Some day I will get it right and be right up there in heaven with my sweet Jesus and my momma!  I may see a lot of people I know, or I may not see any.  It will all be revealed when the time is right.  

But until that day, I shall watch and wait, and I shall remember my sweet momma.  While I mourn my brother and my sisters that have gone before me and yearn for my grandmas and the grandpas I never knew, I am filled with anticipation!  Some one asked me once if I believed in the hereafter and Jesus.  I told them this, "If I did not believe I could not continue to put one foot in front of the other here on this earth. "  

My goal is my crown and my hope is in my salvation and all of that is centered around my saviour and my mother.

Any more questions?

.  

Oh, the things you do not say!

 I have a friend and when he starts to talk, he crosses his arms in front of himself.  Feet are apart and his back is straight with toes pointing slightly outward.  Now this screams "I am going to protect myself and you are not going to get close."  The words that come out of his mouth may be as casual as what a nice day it is or what he had for lunch, but the message relayed to me is nothing I am hearing.  Psychology 101.

I notice this in myself also.  Usually, I am pretty laid back and not much ruffles my little feathers, but occasionally the defenses go up and I turn inward and you can talk till you are blue in the face and I will not hear a word you say.  The conversation inevitably begins with "You just need to..." and ends with me sorting the mail and cleaning off the table.   You may think I just "need to", but unless it is my idea the need evades me.  

So, friend or foe, let's do this.... let us sit down here at the table.  I will fetch us a beverage of your choice.  I have coffee, tea, and water.  Hot or cold on the first two.  And be aware before you get too comfortable, there will be no winner or loser at this table!  You will no doubt think I took every word to heart but you are going to be sadly mistaken.  The conclusion that you draw from our conversation is now what you think you wanted all along.  You have been played by the master!

Mostly my life goes on every day in a mundane manner.  The dust piles in the corner and the cat hair covers the setting places in front of the television.  I gave up on the green carpet of grass outside the front and back door.  I now opt for the late fall dead weed scenario.  I do not have much company and that is due to the Covid crap that some bat in a lab in China is credited with developing.  Do not misunderstand me on this, my life is good!  Occasionally I will venture down into the sewing room and sew something interesting, like place mats or a quilt.  I made a lap quilt the other day and may make more of them and drop them off at the nursing home.  Then again I may not.

Today I am off to Monument with Ross, Rooster and Missy for Thanksgiving dinner with Robin and Terri and their family.  We will be missing Anna who is still in England and I, for one will miss her!  (When are you coming home, my little friend?) 

I got a new "kitty bed" for my Icarus and she sleeps beside me when I work here on the computer.  Right now the only sound in my house is the sound of the furnace that keeps me warm and the tinnitus ringing in my ears.

Life is good here on South Road most of the time.  I did have a fox problem a while back, but I solved that by buying a trap and playing catch and release with the neighbors cats.  

Now I see I have once more digressed from the subject I started to write about, but then that is one of the reasons I write and you read!  So, let us all go enjoy whatever we have planned for today and then meet here again later!  Right now I have to go whip a pint of cream to pile on the Tres Lechen Cake I made to take with us.  I plan on tossing a few Blueberries  on top followed by a sprinkling of cinnamon.  Maybe tomorrow I will remember what I wanted to tell you today, but for now,

Happy Thanksgiving and may our good Lord watch over us in our travels.

Peace!

Would you like something to drink?

 Sure.  An innocent question I ask or am asked quite frequently.  It is a social thing and accepted as harmless fodder in our day to day interactions with people.  Sure.  My drink of choice is water with ice.  An occasional soft drink on a hot day or a  big glass full of ice with tea goes good.  It has not always been that way.  Sadly I am one of those people for whom "a drink" means stay the hell away from anything that contains alcohol.  One drink is too many and a thousand not enough.

I learned very early on that if there was booze at the party it was not going to end well!  The boys in the crowd quickly learned that the best they would get out of me full of liquor was barfed on.  Dancing went out the window.  I became belligerent.  My first date with my first husband was spent with him holding my head while I wretched out the door of the car.  This was followed by me passing out and brother Jake taking me home, putting me fully clothed in the bathtub and throwing a blanket over me.  

I hated hangovers more than fried apples, which I loathe with every fiber of my being.  Every time I picked up a beer or mixed drink I told myself, "This time it will be different.  This time I will just have this one.  One.  Well, maybe one more."  And down the rabbit hole I went.  "90 miles an hour down a dead end street," so to speak.

I managed to function in my job because I limited my drinking to my days off from work.  I drank at home after the kids were safely in bed.  Since I was a single working mother with no child support I could not afford my habit.  Had anyone suggested AA I would have been offended.  Life has a funny way of putting us where we need to be at the time we need to be there and I am a prime example of that.

  My third husband brought me to Colorado and after about a year we divorced.  At that time I learned my first husband's brother was living in Pueblo with his wife.  Delvin and Nedra and I got together.  They were big on "AA" which is the acronym for Alcoholics Anonymous.  They attended meetings probably every day of the week and would swing by and share the "Big Book" lessons with me.  I explained to them that I was not an alcoholic because I did not drink.  He explained to me that being dry did not mean I was not an alcoholic.  I was one drink away.  And you know what?  He was right.

I would love to have a big red tomato beer.  Or a Pina Colada.  Or a Rum and coke. Or a fifth of rot gut whiskey and chase it with red Kool-Aid, but that is not going to happen.  I know myself enough to know that one drink is too many and a thousand are not enough.  I have overcome the nicotine addiction and put the cork in the bottle, so it is all down hill from here.  I just gotta' keep breathing, putting one foot in front of the other and some day the trumpet will sound and I will be out of here.  Keep my hand on the rudder and my eye on the prize.

Maintain.

If I had known then what I know now.....

 

I met Earl Duane Seeger shortly after my birthday in October of 1960.  My brother Jake introduced us in a bar up the street from the house. I think it was the Crow Bar.  They used to have a thriving business and I remember once they had a Calypso band and I fell madly in lust with the little guy who played the Bongo drum.  Sadly, I could not hold my liquor very well and a bad case of "Four Roses Flu" hit me suddenly and I retreated up the street to the safety of the of my home where I worshipped at the feet of the porcelain throne.

Oh, but the night I met his friend, I managed to sip demurely on a coke laced with absolutely nothing but a couple ice cubes.  That man was drop dead gorgeous with a full head of blonde hair and the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever had the pleasure to gaze into.  And gaze I did!  He was freshly home from the Army and I was freshly out of high school.  His name was Earl Duane Seeger.

(Short note here: I was out of high school because I dropped out the beginning of my Senior year to devote more time to drinking and partying.  That was one endeavor in my life that I succeeded very well at.)  The match made in heaven ended in marriage 3 weeks later and we set up housekeeping in a one bedroom 3rd floor walkup.  

Needless to say, my party days were over.  Earl ,who I called Duane because that was his middle name  worked as a tree trimmer for a guy whose last name was Bean.  He had 2 brothers who also worked for Mr. Bean.  ( They called him "Navy Bean" but I am pretty sure that was not his name.)  They would go to his house every morning, go do their job for the day, and then come home.  Life was good.

The only thing that would have made it better was if I could have had a baby.  (Eventually that happened 5 times.)  Duane and his brothers left Mr. Bean and branched out on their own.  Life went on and 10 years later I returned to Hutchinson with my babies in tow.  Duane ended up buying land in Lakin, Kansas and making that his "base of operations."  We shared custody of the kids without benefit of lawyers and such, but it worked for us.

At one point he had a cafe in Deerfield where he lived upstairs and I had taken the kids to see him.  We had a relationship that while not cordial worked for us.  I remarried a couple times and he had girlfriends.  It was during his Deerfield days that I found that plaque above and thought how appropriate that was for him.  He hung it where he spent time in the  kitchen of his cafe.  It was not a working cafe, but it had lots of rooms upstairs for the kids and the stove and grill worked down stairs.  It worked for him.

After Deerfield he bought land in Lakin and moved onto it.  He moved a trailer house in for him, and then his mother who was a widow by that time.  A couple of the kids also moved trailers in and life went on.  It worked for him and that was the important part.  When he passed in 1994 at the tender age of 53 we were all devastated.  The kids brought this to me explaining that "Daddy read this every day and always kept it in the kitchen where he set." 

Now it sets behind the faucet on the kitchen sink.  It has been in my kitchen since his death.  The kids gave it to me and explained that "Daddy never stopped loving you."  I see it every day.  Earl Duane Seeger was my first real love.  He was the father of my children.   We could not live with each other, but we could also not live without each other.

Funny how that works.

  

What ever happened to Carol Mason?

 It is amazing how my mind works!  I lay in my little bed at night and think pretty thoughts and drift off to sleep.  Mostly I think about Jesus and contemplate the day I will get to go see him.  So why does my mind that is supposed to be asleep go other places and wake me up at 2:30 AM back at Hutch High?  And why is Carol Mason alive in memory just as clear as the last time I seen her?  Let me give you some back ground on my relationship with Carol.

I met her in her Senior year.  I was in my Junior year.  That was back in my "cool days."  I think she was in my Stenography class.  That is the one where we learned to take shorthand.  Not sure that subject is still taught at all.  Kind of like typing.  And cooking and sewing.  Those all used to be "life skills."

Carol lived with her Grandma on 9th Street (I think).  She was of Indian descent.  She had coal black hair and coal black eyes.  Her eye teeth were prominent and in this day and age an Orthodontist would have been all over her, but back then it was just cool.  Carol never got flustered.  She never hurried.  She never got flustered when boys looked her way.  She was just so damn cool!  She did not smoke and I never lit up near her.

She never walked fast.  Her eyes never seemed to leave the ground in front of her wherever she was going.  There was no world outside of her and I.  Looking back I can see that she was an introvert.  She never told me why she lived with her grandma, only that when she graduated she would go back to California.  I wanted to go with her, but she was adamant that I stay in school and graduate and that when I was through with school she would send me a train ticket and I would join her in California.  My life was planned.  I think her dad was in the service out there.

As we grew closer I learned more about her.  She had a boyfriend named Lee and they were to be married when she graduated and moved back to California.  As the day grew closer she became more nervous about the wedding.  One day she decided she should cook me a meal, much like the first meal she would serve to her soon to be new husband.  Life was so simple back then!

I arrived at grandma's house on the appointed day of the "first meal after the wedding day."  The table was set for two.  No grandma in sight.  Come to think of it, I only saw the grandma one time and that was just a fleeting moment.  

I was served my meal.  It quickly became apparent that Carol was not real domesticated in the kitchen department and that poor Lee was going to starve.  I looked at the fare and knew I could not survive on this and it was not going to suffice for a full grown working man.  It was a hot dog along side a spoonful of macaroni and cheese.  I looked at that miserable fare and then at Carol's expectant face.

"Well, what do you think?"  

I wanted to say something nice, but I was way to honest for that.  

"That poor man is going to starve to death!"  So we ate our humble fare amid bouts of laughter.  There was not even a second hot dog and dessert was non-existent.  But Carol was cool and I was sure Lee knew that.

She moved back to California after graduation.  We kept in touch and she sent me pictures of the wedding.  She still planned on buying me a train ticket for my graduation.  We wrote back and forth.  She got pregnant and gave birth to a still born baby boy.  I dropped out of school.  I married and had a daughter.  My dreams of California died easily, but the memory of Carol Mason, not so much.

I still think of her now and then and can picture her in my mind.  She was a loner.  I was probably her closest and maybe only friend.  I never knew why she was here, maybe to be company for grandma.  I don't think she had any brothers or sisters.  Who knows?

I saw her once when my youngest was about two months old.  She came to town probably for her grandma's funeral.  It was awkward since I had a living child and I knew she had lost her only baby.  I never met Lee.  I never went to California.  Probably never will.  Can not think why I would want to go there.  When I think of Carol, she is 18 years old.  I remember her voice as very soft.  She never stood out, she just was.  She was Carol Mason, my friend.

Some memories live forever.  This is one of them.

Thank God for God!

 I like to wake up early.  Usually around 4 :00 AM or so.  I just lay there enjoying the quiet and contemplating what today will bring.  Yesterday I received word that a family member had passed.  Of course it made me very sad, but then I started thinking about the relationships that I have had over  the years and I realized just how important all of them have been.  He and I had been close many years ago before my life turned in another direction.  I would like to say that we had stayed in touch, but we had not.  I did visit with him a couple years ago, but only briefly.  But death does have a way of making us pause and think.  This one is no different.

Momma always said that every one we meet, every place we go, every experience we go through makes us who we are today.  Now I am here to tell you, I have met a lot of people, been a lot of places and experienced things both good and bad and I think I am pretty well shaped into the person that I will be when the good Lord sends the angels to pick me up and bring me home!

Now I speak of angels as plural.  God is singular.  The angels are women with soft golden hair.  The are in bright white, long dresses.  They have haloes.  There hands are soft and white with long fingers. Guess they need long fingers to play the harps.  They have golden haloes.  The one on the left carries a harp and the one on the right carries the Holy Bible.  They are smiling.  I am not afraid of them and I would follow them any where.  I will not be afraid to leave this world because I know I am safe.  

 I have no face for God.  He has no form.  He just is.  The closest I can come to describing God is a very, very bright light.  There is the essence on a throne, but there is no throne, only the essence of one.  There are golden trumpets over the essence and I can hear the clearest, most beautiful sounds coming from the trumpets.  It makes me happy.  You know how when they play "Taps" at a military service it makes you cry?  These trumpets do the same only these sounds make me happy.

I am not afraid of death.  Life is the part that sure does get tedious some times.  I should not say that because for the most part, my life is good.  It does get a little rocky some times, but it is what it is.  If there were no rough patches I would not know when the good parts came!

So, as I bid yet another link to my past farewell, know that my faith is strong and my hope for the future still intact.  Know that Annie said it best  click here and enjoy!

Early Morning Reverie...

 

 

At 4:30 in the morning; looking across my desk I see a mother and father, a smiling baby in a lace dress held upright by a lace pillow  and a a second grader with bangs and no smile.

 

In my memory  I see a wife and mother, a battered woman, a waitress, a baker, a cook; a college graduate.

 

In my heart I see a grandmother full of love, kindness, and hope for the future.

 

In reality, I see nothing.

Hook, line and sinker!

 My eyes popped open before 5:00 am, and I lay there thinking of my first husband.  Now, I was not thinking of him in a romantic way, but rather as how he lived his life in a way that he wanted.  To say he was a rebel would be an understatement, because he did not rebel.  He just lived his life the way he wanted to and never bothered with the rules society tried to place around him.  My brother introduced me to him in the bar up the street and 3 weeks later we were standing in front of the preacher.  To say he swept me off my feet would have been an understatement, but there we were.  Of course it all ended up badly, but there were good times and that is what I am thinking this morning.

One of his favorite things was to drive the back roads and just do what came naturally.  There was always several guns in the back seat and fishing poles in the trunk.  His motto was "Be prepared."  I guess he may have been a boy scout at some time! If a pheasant made the mistake of stepping out of the ground cover it was dinner.  I spent many hours picking buckshot out of a pheasant breast so I could cook it for supper, or dinner, or breakfast.

And while the pheasants, doves, and rabbits were not my favorite fare it was rather exciting to know that we were breaking the law because not only were they out of season, Duane never procured a hunting license in all the years I knew him.  You should know that I participated in the hunt as a spectator.  Now don't get me wrong as to the killing of animals.  I could rip the head off a chicken, dip it in scalding water, defeather and gut it in seven minutes flat, but a chicken caught with a wire hook and butchered was a way of life.  Killing a beautiful pheasant was another story!  Survival.

While driving we often came to a creek, river, brook or an unattended farm pond that was stocked with fish.  I could fish!  A babbling brook was my favorite as it contained Crappie!  A creek, lake, pond or river were sure to hold catfish which was my least favorite eating fish.  Perch were fun to catch, but very bony.  Ah, but the Crappie was a delight!  Now it is pronounced with a soft "a" as in awe.  They are small and much like a Perch, but a Perch is very boney and fishy tasting.  The Crappie is a white meat and very mild.  They like running water and a "fly" is the best bait.  When they strike the lure it is a thrill like no other.  With catfish you have to set very quietly and wait until they are damn good and ready, but while you think  you are snagging a Crappie, he is snagging you!

When I married Kenny, we fished out of a boat.  In Colorado trout are abundant, so that is what we fished for.  Kenny would clean the trout, pack the stomach area with butter and roll it in flour and wrap it in tinfoil.  The packet was then placed on the cooling coals of the campfire.  Talk about the good life!

Several years back  I bought a tackle box, fishing pole and all the stuff to fish with on the river.  I never went.  I did tie a weight on the end of my line and practiced my cast, but that is as far as it went.  Maybe I just got old along the way, but something about setting on a lonely creek bank went from being peaceful and fulfilling to hoping no one comes along and kills me.  Old age!  I friggin' hate it, but I guess it beats hell out of dying young, which was the option I did not take.

So, the fish I eat now comes in a bag and is labeled as "farm raised".  I do not have to gut it, or skin it, or debone it.  Just take it out of the package, thaw it out and pop it in the microwave with butter, lemon, and a little dill.  Course I have to put my dishes in the dishwasher and then kick back in my recliner and remember the good old days!

Makes me think of that song I have playing in my head.  "I'd trade all of my tomorrows for a single yesterday."

Peace.

Money tied in the corner of a handkerchief.

I remember only snippets of life on the Stroh place because I was 6 years old when we left there, but I do remember my very first trip to the grocery store alone.  Looking back I realize it must have been 6 or seven blocks one way which would make it about a mile round trip.  Back in those days most errands were done without the benefit of a motor vehicle because if we had one we did not want to "wear it out" doing menial things like going to the grocery.

I remember mother placing some coins on top of the grocery list and tying  them into the corner of a tattered handkerchief.  That was what served as a coin purse back in the days of abject poverty.  I had walked to the store many times with mother and my sisters, but for some reason this would be my first trip alone.  I expect sister Dorothy was either newly born or about to be and momma needed something from the store for supper.

I clutched the handkerchief  in my little fist and began the journey.  I was familiar with our long driveway so that was no problem.  Jake and I ran up and down it many times barefoot in the soft, silty black dirt.  It was under the tree at the start of the driveway that Donna had gotten a turtle latched on to her finger, but I think I told you about that!  What lay ahead was a long block before I got to Main Street where I would be safe.

I entered that block very slowly because on the right side was a big black cow (which was no doubt a bull) that looked at me with huge black eyes.  He watched my slow progress as I never took my eyes off of him for fear he would jump the fence and eat me.  His horns were long and I knew he was going to be there when I came back so I did not want to make him mad.  I did not see his teeth, but I knew he had them because he was chewing.  I was flooded with relief  when I reached the end of his fence and safety!

The next block had 3 houses before I got to Main Street.  I walked quietly and slowly in case there was a mean dog that wanted to eat me.  As I recall there was not and I reached the safety of Main Street.  Why I thought I would be safe on Main Street is beyond me because I still had the railroad tracks to cross, but Main Street and the Nickerson High School was a beacon to me.  With the giant cow and his big teeth behind me I breathed a sigh of relief, and turned right onto Main Street.  Two blocks passed without incident and there was no train.  I was almost there!

Arriving at the downtown area which was 2 blocks long was monumental to me!  I was only 2 blocks from my goal!  I remember looking in the window at the Library and seeing all the books.  Then Corrington Dry Goods had a dress in the window that I knew my mother would never own.  Then the jail which I walked past very quickly lest a bad guy grab me.  The sheriff was on his chair in front of the door.  He had the chair leaned back against the door and was sound asleep.  The bank was next and then Berridge IGA, but I was going to Flemings.  The drug store was on the corner and across the street I reached Flemings Grocery.  

I handed the handkerchief to the lady at the counter like mother had told me to do.  She opened it and went to fetch the items.  Seems like it was a loaf of bread, a piece of suet, and a portion of butter.  She handed me the parcel with the now empty handkerchief, smiled and I left the store.  My job was almost over!  

The trip home was uneventful until I reached the railroad track.  I saw the arms go down on the crossing and I knew the train was coming!  If I hurried I could make it, but fear froze me in place and I waited by the grain elevator until until the train lumbered past and the arms were once more raised.  Then I waited a little longer just to be sure it was not coming back.  And I still had the giant cow to pass.

I left Main Street and walked as quietly as possible, but that damn cow had supersonic hearing and when I reached his fence I was scared shitless to see that he was looking right at me.  He was waiting.  My mind raced for another way home, but there was nothing coming to mind.  He looked at me and chewed something that I would learn later was a cud.  He never took his eyes off me and after a time I knew I had to go past him again.  Every watch something move so slowly that you never really detected  movement?  That was me!  Looking back and watching this is slow motion from the cows perspective, I am pretty sure he was laughing his ass off, if cows laugh!

When I reached the head of our driveway I broke into a dead run.  When I burst through the door and into my mothers arms I also burst into tears.  I was safe at home!  The mean cow had not eaten me!  The train had not run over me!  I had not been devoured by a vicious dog!  And best of all my mother was proud that I had gone to the store all alone and came home with exactly what she needed.  

I realize now that my mother had probably been more worried about me, then I was. It was my first tremulous step into being a responsible person, but it would not be my last.  Life would always hold challenges and I would always know that at the end of the task my mother would be there with open arms and pride in her hazel eyes for me.

I have met many people through life who have cheered me on and celebrated my victories and wept at my failures, but none as special as the one I called  "Momma."