If I could shut off my memory....

Morning seems to be when I remember best.  I woke up this morning  back in the late 60's.  I was working as a waitress in a restaurant in Hutchinson.  It was my first job in the real world with my kids dependent on me since I was newly seperated and had filed for divorce.  Back in those days child support was optional and welfare required that you not work to qualify for help from the state.  So there I was.  I had never waited tables as a means of support.  Many years before I had been a cook/waitress/dishwasher at a place out on 4th street called the Tiny Tear.  Course most of my life at that time was spent in an alcohol induced fog, so I remembered little of that experience.  But now it was   ten years later.

The people who ran this resturaunt took pity on me and were very patient and they needed help on the night shift really bad.  The logistics of the job are not important, just the people.  There were the two "real waitresses" and a young girl who was attending college and supporting her self.  There was also a cook,  cook's helper and a dishwasher.  We were closed one day a week and that was the only day off that we had.  To make a long story short, the cook and the young college girl fell in love.  Oh, it was so romantic.  They billed and cooed and carried on something fierce.  She, however, appeared a lot more enthralled with the relationship than he did.  The strange part was, they never dated.  Never.

 He would leave work on Sunday when we closed and not appear again until Tuesday afternoon.  Where did he go?  The young college girl did not know.  Nor did anyone else.  She cried and he gave her a ring.  But still they never dated.  He swore he loved her with his whole heart, and she believed him.  We all did.  And like all things in life and like mother always taught me, "It all comes out in the wash!"  He was going to Wichita.  Why?  Why not?

The young college girl gave up and returned the ring.  She moved on.  He quit cooking there, the two "real waitresses" moved to Texas, and I took a job cooking at the Red Carpet Resturant.  I saw the cook from time to time, but that friendship petered out as any friendship that has secrets will.

Many years later found me in Pueblo, Colorado.  A lot of water ran under this bridge and I finally found my niche in the construction industry.  The AIDS epidemic reared it's ugly head.  It was sad back then.  People were dying at an alarming rate.  I divorced again, got my degree in accounting and all my little acolades because I was so damn smart.  Then I married for the last time.  For whatever reason I began volunteering with the AIDS group in town and it was tied in tightly with the Gay community.  I have watched the face of AIDS and sexual orientation change from complete denial to total acceptance in my life time and I am proud to say I was in the forefront of most all of it!  but I digress.

I remained friends with only a few people back home, but one of them was a friend of the cook.  Remember him?  He was the one who ran away to Wichita every chance he got.  The one who left the college girl crying.  He became quite successful in his chosen profession, but he never married.  One day his friend called me and said "Do you remember 'the cook' "?  Sure I did.  She then told me he was rushed to the hospital and they had no idea what was wrong with him, but he was in a coma.  The next day he was dead.

Weeks would pass before the autopsy returned the results of his demise.  AIDS.  Not really AIDS, but disease associated with the syndrome.  At that time it was still a "gay disease."  At that time it was selective.  It was a scourge.  You were not even tested if you were not gay, and he was not gay!  Oh, wait a minute.  All the trips to Wichita began to creep in on the corners of my mind.  Could he have been leading a secret life?  Was that what that was all about?  The young college girl had become a quite successful architect and married very well, but he had not.  He lived all alone in a very nice house and had friends, but no romantic interests.  Or  so we thought.  It all comes out in the wash.

And why do I have this on my mind this morning?  I think it is because of the hatred that is being spewed through this election.  One governor struck down a bill passed by his state governing body that legalized discrimination.  Another is proposing legislation that legalizes it!  Contenders for the position of president are calling to criminalize birth control, homosexuallity, gay marriage, and about anything that has been passed in the last 20 years.  I may have to run for office myself.

My platform would be love and tolerance.  No discrimination.  A living wage and a chicken in every pot.  The only two things I would outlaw would be homelessness and poverty.  Everyone that wanted an education would get it and a few that did not want it would get it anyway.  Drugs would be illegal.  Gangs would be illegal.  Killing people because you are a jerk and can, would be illegal.  You get the picture?  Kind of a pollyanna world, so to speak.

But in the meantime, I send good thoughts to "the cook" and everyone who hides in the shadows because of fear or shame or whatever reason.  If the college student/architect or the "two real waitresses" or someone who knows them happens to read this, I wish you would contact me.  Just go google loumercer3, or Lou Mercer.  Or leave a comment below.  I would love to hear from anyone that knew me back then.

In the meantime remember:

 BLOOM WHERE YOU ARE PLANTED!

OK, Shea kids, here it comes!

Way back in the deep recesses of my mind I recall working at the Ineeda Laundry in Hutchinson, Kansas.  Now I seem to be drawing a mental blank on this one, so it was probably in the days before I had sense enough to actually remember stuff.  I strongly suspect I may have been doing a little extra drinking back in those days.  So I am assuming it was before I began the wild child bearing cycle.  But maybe not. 
I do recall one afternoon Sister Mary called and told me to come to her house on 25th (?) Street as Tommy, your dad, had called from work and said there was a tornado heading right for her house and she needed to grab the baby and head for the basement.  Now back in those days, I was good!  I could beat a tornado to some one's house and save them. So I clocked out and made a bee line to Mary's.
Upon arrival we began to carry stuff to the basement.  Snacks, milk, pop, water, blankets, coffee pot, coffee, bread, tooth brush and tooth paste, the bassinet,  a change of clothes, pillows....and at last we were ready.  We secured the door and awaited the wrath of the storm.  I do not remember which one of us realized first that we had locked Dorothy Rene on the other side of the door.  We immediately undid the door and saved the baby.  Then we laughed so hard and made a deal that we must never tell another soul what we had done.  Oops!  That slipped out.
Then there was the time she called frantically alternately between laughter and horror.  Seems there were a couple cats on the roof doing what a couple cats are known to do, and she was mortified that the neighbors would see.  She insisted that I must come immediately and get them down.  Well, kiddies, needless to say, I did not answer that call to do the big sister duty that time.  Even in a drunken stupor, I am smarter than that!
Once she invited my husband de jour and I to supper.  She was making Chicken and Noodles.  At that time they owned a big black hairy dog.  I watched the dog eating his kibble and then helped set the table.  When she appeared with the Chicken and Noodles in a big pink plastic bowl, I  remarked, "Oh, do you have two of these bowls?"  She replied that she did not.  More fits of laughter because I had just seen Poochie eating out of this one!  Your dad was horrified, but we got a big kick out of it and my boy toy never knew what was going on there.
I remember way, way back when Mary was maybe 9 or 10,  Mother would cut our hair and it was a rite of Spring, so to speak.  But Sister Mary did not want hers cut, so she was the only one of us kids who did not suffer the dreaded "bowl hair cut".  That was in our house on Strong Street.  I also remember once mother was going to run the vacuum for some reason unknown to me since we had linoleum floors, but when she opened the bag there were a nest full of newborn mice in it.  She handed them over to us to take out to the front sidewalk (And why we called it that is beyond me since it was the only sidewalk on the whole block!) and smash them with a rock.  Even writing that sounds gruesome!  We, of course, spirited them off to a safe place where mother could not find them.  I think the cat took care of our little hatchet job.
Anyway, this is the first time in a few years that your mom has not come to spend a month or so with me and I sure miss that.  I am going to try to get down sometime this spring, but it just does not seem to be working out for me.  I miss Mary very much.  I miss all the sisters, but I guess life just hands us all these little twists and turns and then Dame Fate sets back and laughs at us.  I wish you kids could peer inside my head and see some of the sights in there.  Glad I still can!