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.   

Red Carpet Restaurant way back when.

I worked at the Red Carpet shortly after I arrived bag and baggage with my kids on my mothers door step.  I had no experience at much of anything except having babies and being a punching bag for some man.  I had 2 jobs at the time.  One was washing dishes in the middle of the night at the Blue Grill and the other was waiting tables at Skaets Steak Shop evenings.  Neither paid enough to live on and pay a baby sitter so when I saw the ad that Bob Bailey would train someone to cook, I was all over that.  

I took my 97 pound self down to 13th and Main and he and I came to a consensus that I needed a job and he needed someone to do things his way.  A match made in heaven began and I began my life as a short order cook working evenings.  Soon I was adding skills such as baking bread, then baking wedding cakes and then decorating wedding cakes.  Next came meat cutting.  Then the morning cook quit and I moved into her position.  It paid better.  I made all the gravies, sauces and such as well as specials such as chicken and noodles with noodles made fresh.  I was in my element.  But this is not about me, it is about a lady who worked as the salad "girl" and it is about domestic violence.

I will not use her name.  She was a very timid woman and always on time for work and left reluctantly when her shift was over.  She rarely smiled and seldom had anything to say.  I will call her "Nadine".  Nadine had a husband and 3 daughters ranging from 12 to seventeen.  Since we worked side by side and we had lulls in the work we talked a little.  She was married to a construction worker.  Big, handsome man who brought her to work and picked her up after.  

I began to notice that she sometimes had bruises on her arms and once a black eye.  She explained that she had "fallen"  or pulled a pan down on her head, or some other "accident."  I also caught the smell of alcohol a time or two.  Oh, that was her mouthwash that smelled like alcohol.  She had tripped and fallen.  Always something that was her own fault.

I had been to her home a time or two when I was just passing by and stopped.  Her husband was always home and he was always charming.  Nadine was like a little mouse around him.  I never dreamed what her life was really like, but I would soon learn.

One morning she came in looking like the wrath of God.  She was very subdued and her right arm hung like it was not part of her body.  I finally called her husband and he came and picked her up and took her to the emergency room.  Her arm was broken!  How had that happened?  She said she had fallen on the concrete porch that morning on her way to the truck to come to work.  

Since she could not work, she did not come in the restaurant.  I did drive out to see her, but she was always subdued and her husband was always home.  I do not know when he actually worked, but she said he did.  Several weeks went by before I got back to see her.  This time when I arrived she was in a bed in the front room unable to speak.  Her husband explained that she had suffered a stroke.  I figured he should know.

It was not until her daughter showed up on my doorstep one evening that I learned the dirty little secret that she had hidden so long.  She told me her dad had beaten her mother and that was why her arm was broken.  She said it had been going on for years and the last beating had given her a brain injury and she could not talk any more.  The daughter was afraid of her dad and afraid for herself and her sisters.  Now, I am no stranger to domestic violence, but this was a whole new level and I was at a loss for an action to take because the daughter was afraid to go to the police because they would "not beleive her".  She was right!

That is how it was back in those days.  A man could beat his horse, his dog, or his wife.  He could beat his kids and that was just how it was.  I am glad to see that things have changed and women are now actually humans with feelings, but that was then and this is now!

To wind this up, Nadine died in her bed shortly after her daughter had come to see me.  There was no funeral.  Her life was sad and her husband pretty well got away with murder.  If I could go back to that time in my life, would I do things differently?  I doubt it.  Until the laws were changed and women were no longer chattel there was nothing that could be done.  If  Nadine had presented herself battered and bleeding to the police station, maybe she could have been saved, but she "loved him" and did not want him to get in trouble.  So ends the tale.

I worked at the Red Carpet for 5 years leaving there when I opened my own restaurant and then moving to Colorado.  My Red Carpet experience gave me the skills I needed to survive on my own out here in Pueblo.  Nadine gave me the strength to leave an abusive marriage.  We all learn little lessons as we traverse this path called "life".  I like to think that my life in Kansas made me the empathetic woman that I am today.  

My late husband knew what my life had been back then, because I told him.  It made him sad, but then my mother explained it to him this way:  "We are all a product of where we have been and what we have done before.  What does not kill you will make you strong and that is what makes Louella who she is today."  

And that is how it goes here in my world.  I thank God every day that I came to Colorado and that my God allowed me to survive to be in my little house with no broken bones and memories of only the good times.

Everything in its time and place!

Ten dollars and 200 miles.

 I do not know about you, but I have 20/20 hindsight looking back and right before the crack of dawn is when I can see all my choices clearly!  Today is no different.  I woke up about 4:30 remembering my last day as a married woman in Garden City, Kansas.  The events leading up to that choice are irrelevant, only know that I had reached the end of my endurance and whatever lay ahead had to be better than the current situation.  Had I remained in the situation I would no doubt have ended my life that day.

With $10 in my pocket and a full gas tank in the 1967 Chevy I waited for my husband to leave for work, or wherever he went most days.  With him safely out of the house, I loaded what I could for clothes in the trunk on top of the spare tire.  That was days when there were no seat belt laws, so 4 kids were stuffed in wherever they could sit, stand or lay and away we went.  I would like to say it was an easy trip, but only 20 miles later I had a flat tire and no jack.  Luckily a boy scout troop happened by and the leader had a jack.  I left the flat laying beside the road and trusted God and the universe to help me reach my destination.  And he did.

I can only imagine the sight when mother opened the door and found me and the kids there and finding out we were there to stay.  She quickly called in a few favors and a babysitter was lined up for the next day.  Since I knew nothing about making a living, I started at the Blue Grill as a dish washer.  There I met a man who was wiser in the ways of the world and making a living then I was.  His advice was to bluff my way into a job as a waitress.  Lie on my resume: they would not check.  And he was right. 

 Mother waited tables at the Red Rooster and soon I had a job waiting tables at the Red Rooster.  There I met Gibby, who told me the cook was the highest paid employee in a restaurant.  So I applied for a cooking job at the Red Carpet.  I kept the dishwashing job and the waitress job and worked as night cook at the Red Carpet. Frank and I remained friends of sorts until he went to work at the radio station.  Gibby and I were like brother and sister until the day he died in California. 

Finding babysitters was sometimes a challenge and more than once I was ready to throw my hands in the air and give up, but give up to what?  Or who?  The kids dad was quick to point out that he would not pay child support.  His reasoning was that he did not want a divorce and that I had the kids and he had nothing so I should just figure it out.  After time I would take the kids to him for a few weeks and then go get them.  I saved babysitting money that way.  It worked out and over the years we could actually be in the same room with out screaming at each other.

To make a long story short, time marches on.  Today my first husband and the father of my children settled down and we shared custody.  I moved to Colorado and he lived in Western Kansas on 20 acres.  The kids stayed with him to attend school in a small town.  Between us we got the kids all raised and out into the world before he passed to whatever reward he had earned.  

I am a stronger person then I was 50 years ago.  Three of the kids still live in Kansas, one in Texas and one here in Pueblo.  My last husband and I adopted one of the grandkids.  I was married to him for 20 years, and he has now been deceased for 20 years. Apparently my mind is still pretty well intact.  Dates are a little fuzzy, but mother always had a way to explain that.  She said, "As life goes by you get more memories in your head.  As you get more memories they are harder to find in your brain.  They are there, it just takes time to get to them through all the other memories."

So there you have it for this morning.  If you get confused reading this, think about how I feel!  Some where I have it all written down and documented, but I do not know where that is.  So just know, I am here now.  Then I was there.  And never the twain shall meet!

Thanks, mom!

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!

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!

Luther

Some one asked me what my husband called me.  Louella, Lou......Well, it was Luther.  From the first date until the day he lost the ability to speak, I was Luther.  Funny how that worked and thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes, because I know the no one will ever call me that again.  He never called me honey, or sweetie and sure as hell never darling.  Luther.  Now I am Lou.  Just plain Lou.  Few people even know my full name even more do not even care.

My first husband called me Peanut, or Bitch, depending on his mood.  I became Lou when I entered the work force at the Red Carpet Restaurant.  Bob Bailey deemed that I should be Lou Seeger.  And from that day forward I was Lou.  The last name changed with amazing regularity , but I remained Lou.

Funny how we pick up our little nicknames isn't it?  When I was in third grade my nickname was Mudpie.  That only lasted through my friendship with Barbara Hawk.  After her brother got into the upper grades that name faded.

All these years later it kind of makes me kind of sad to know that my nickname days are over; to know that I will never be somebody's darling, or sweetie, or Luther.  But that is why we call it "life" isn't it?

I have been called some names in my time!

I was dashing off a quick email to a friend and signed my name, "Lucy Gooch."  I am sure that is not the name he expected to see and it is not one I expected to sign, but there you go.  My first husband always called me "Lucy."  I am sure it was a term of endearment and I think that he usually referred to me as Lucy except when he was mad.  When he was upset with me, it was "Nickel Bred Gutter Rat", but that is water under the bridge.
When we were kids growing up at home, I was Louella Beth.  Not Louella, but Louella Beth.  Josephine!  (Her middle name was Anne and we sometimes called her JoAnne.)  Delbert Leroy!  (And for some reason we called him "Jake".)  Donna Faye!  Mary Belle!  and Dorothy May!  Guess it was a southern thing, although I do not consider Kansas southern.  Course it is more southern than Nebraska.  And that is how we went through life with mother nipping at our heels.
The "Gooch" part came from the feed sacks and flour sacks that mother tediously unraveled the stitching on so she could have pretty fabric to sew something.  Ah, those were the good old days!  I fell heir to a pile of those recently and listed them on ebay.  Bear in mind that they were less then a yard of material and I sold one to a lady in Korea for $48.00 + shipping!  Most of them went to a lady in Georgia at $10.00 each.  I would love to come across some of those again.  Back on topic.
When I was newly divorced and working in Hutchinson, I wandered into the Red Carpet Restaurant and was hired as a cook.  The owner was named Bob and he decided I should be called "Lou" as opposed to Louella Beth.  So Lou Seeger was born.  I worked for that man 6 years before I finally opened my own restaurant which I named "Lou's Kitchen".  By that time the last name had changed from Seeger  to a couple different names.  Then came Colorado and a couple more name changes before I met my dear Kenny  Mercer.  Lou Mercer was born in 1983 and carries on to this day.   However, Kenny did not call me Lou unless he was testy with me and the only place Louella appears is on the marriage license.  As soon as we started dating I became "Luther", and Luther I remained until he passed in 2003.
And there you have it, my ramblings for today.  I miss Kenny.  I probably always will.  And Duane remains a fond memory.  If I ever meet a man and he calls me "Lucy" or "Luther", I may stick that third finger left hand in a gold band again, but I just ain't thinking that is going to happen.  Did have one that called me "Bella" for a while, but lost track of that little fellow.  And speaking of lost things, has anyone seen my glasses?