Mama always said....

It is without fail that I wake up every morning to my mother's voice in my ear reminding me of something she thinks I might have forgotten.  Today it is the one about "If you can reach the end of your life and count all your friends on one hand, you are blessed."  Once more, I can see the wisdom of her words.  She defines a true friend as someone who carries you in their heart.  Someone who knows your deepest secrets and will take that secret to their grave.  It is someone one that you can call after months or years of absence and both of you are happy for the call.  Someone who knows the good and bad about you and accepts it as normal.

And this morning I counted. There is one in Kansas.  One in Missouri.  Those 2 go back to the Red Carpet so they are my oldest friends.  Now that Renate is back in my life, I realize that makes 3.  John Tenorio was #4, but he passed two years ago and has not been replaced.  His brother has pretty much filled that vacancy because I can bitch and moan to him and tell him my thoughts without him thinking ill of me.  Number 5 is solid.  I met him when I first came to Colorado and we have remained friends for all these years.  Now let me tell you about this friend.

I do not talk to him very often, but we both know we are just a phone call away.  And I know I can count on him to understand.  He was one of my first phone calls when I lost Kenny.  He called when his dad died and again when his mom passed.  Our first conversation in several years occurred about my Anthony two weeks ago.  He kept jumping ahead in the conversation with "Did you get married again?"  "Are you going to get married?" When he heard the outcome of the story, he was devastated as I knew he would be.  He lives in a pollyanna world where good things happen to good people.  That is not so in the real world.  The real world hands you happiness and just when you think it is alright, you learn it is not.  And that is why we need friends.

So, momma, if you are up there, and I am sure you are you need to know that the scrawny little brown haired girl you raised to be a full grown woman actually listened to you.  I do very little in this life that is not influenced by things you taught me when you thought I was not listening.  Your picture is the last thing I see when I leave my house.  There is another by my bed on the stand where the Bible should be.  I remember to cherish my friends. I do not lie, steal or cheat.  I try to treat everyone fairly.  I do not let my left hand know what my right hand gives away.  I love my fellow man.

I try really hard, but some days life just sucks.

Time just keeps right on marching.

 Funny, I thought the world had stopped, but it has not.  It has been 2 weeks today since my life was altered by circumstances far beyond my control, and yet so close to my grasp.  When I say life is funny, I do not mean it in the literal sense.  It is funny in the way that we really think we matter and that we have any control at all over the events that transpire and pull us into a web that is intricately woven by some unseen hand.  The house I used to enjoy going to on Sunday after church is empty and a realtor placed a sign in front of it.  I will not drive by to see if anyone lives there, nor to see if the broken limb has fallen to the street below.

When I pass by the reservoir, I will remember the afternoon we went hiking and I will smile.  When I   drive  down Pueblo Boulevard past Minnequa Lake, I will remember the 3 of us trying to get a small kite into the air and  I will smile. When I go to Sam's club I will remember that he used to buy me a juice called Naked because it had no additives. 

"Hey, Lou!  I got you Naked!"  " Oh, Anthony, I sure hope that is in  a bottle".

Little things that meant nothing now mean so much.  It is almost 6:32, the time my phone pinged that I had a message; the last message I would ever receive from that number.

Yes, life goes on whether we want it to or not.  God is still in his heaven and I still trust him with my life.  I do not know his plan, but I am sure he has one.  Nothing is random and God will never give me more than I can carry.  This I know is true.  And there is one more thing I know that I tend to forget and that is this:  "God never closes a door without opening a window."

Right now I do not know where the window is, but I am sure I will find it and it will lead to peace.  That is how my God rolls!

OMG! It's a YAK!!!

 I can never think of my friend Renate without those words popping into my head.  There are words that could manifest there, such as friend, kind, compassionate, funny, dependable and even sucker, but Yak is the one that is in the fore front of my mind.  And "Yak" is followed by gales of laughter.

Renate is coming today.  I wrote about our reconnecting yesterday or the day before.  I have lost all track of time when it comes to days of the week and I consider it a major accomplishment to know that today is December 4 and it is Friday.  To be honest somebody told me.  My youngest son lives with me and he reminded me that today is Friday and Renate is coming.  And I told him the Yak story before he left for work and he gave me the "poor delusional momma" look as he left.  But I was victorious because I now knew for sure what day it was and that Renate was coming today.  I think it has been close to 10 years since I seen her.

My last memory of her was a trip up to Beulah with her dad and step mom.  Renate and I were in the front seat and she was driving.  Dale Tursi and his wife Val  were in the back seat enjoying the scenery.  We were talking about meaningless things that had transpired the previous week.  We were on our way to Beulah where we planned a drive through the mountains and stopping some where to partake of what ever was in the picnic basket she had packed.  

Since the scenery rarely changes we were just talking and not really paying attention when suddenly about halfway up the drive we both caught sight of animals in a field where cattle belonged.  The cattle had always been there and now we both stared in amazement at 8 or 9 black very strange looking animals which could have been cattle had they not had long hair.  

The words that came out of both our mouths at the same exact time were "What the hell!?  YAKS!!!  Those are Yaks!"  It was so ludicrous that we then dissolved into gales of laughter.  Renate parked and Dale and Val were in a state of confusion.  

Renate pointed at the Yaks and explained.  "Look!  (pause)  Yaks!  I thought they could only live in cold climates!"

I am not sure why, but they were not nearly as amazed as Renate and I by the sight.  They sort of looked at us and shook there heads.  We then continued our day, but I am willing to bet that when Renate reads this she is going to be taken back to that day and she and I are going to have a very good laugh.  

Some things can only be remembered by the people who were there and while I have since learned Yaks can live in Colorado, I have never seen one.  

Renate is my friend.  My mother once told me these words "If you can reach the end of your life and count your true friends on one hand, you are blessed."  And as I set here, I think of many people who have been my friend over the years.  God has blessed me with many friends through the years, but when I follow her criteria, I see she is right.  

On one hand I can count 5 friends.  Only 5 that I consider true friends.  A true friend is one that keeps my confidences.  One who knows my deepest secrets, but never finds a need to discuss them.  Renate is one of them.

So lunch today and who knows what tomorrow may bring.  Life gives us little twists and turns, but always seems to lead us where we need to be.  I am looking to have a beautiful reunion with my friend and hopefully in this drab world we are currently in we can find a little laughter, God willing.

Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.

With age comes wisdom, or so I hear.  Mother used to say that and I do believe there is some truth to it.  Maybe it isn't so much that we are wiser now, but that we have just come to think of all the crap we digest as inevitable.  

Of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most.  Now that one is sad but true!  I do know that with age comes wisdom.  I also know that is a crock if ever I heard one.  With age comes wrinkles!  With age comes a mind that is full of wisdom and no markers on how to retrieve any of that knowledge.  It is having friends and the constant struggle to remember who they are and how to get in touch with them.  It is slowing down on stairs and knowing I am always just one stair step away from the nursing home.  Old age sucks, it really does but I guess it is better then the alternative which is dying young.  Or so I hear.

This picture of my mother sets on the shelf right above my head.  She is always with me and sometimes I can hear her goading me.  She had a very wry and twisted sense of humor and I do believe I inherited that.  Now whether that is a good thing or not , I am not able to say.  I do know when I am sad she talks to me and when I am happy her little red cheeks show signs of a smile.  I am not sure I ever heard my mother laugh.  I like to think she did and her and I shared a lot of the same values, except for that Rush Limbaugh stuff.  I did subscribe to his newletter and paid for it to be delivered to her house, but that was about the length of that.  Below her picture is  a snippet of my sisters.  Sadly there are only two of us left, another of the hazards of growing old.  The good part though is that Donna is the only one that can dispute the memory of mama and she is 400 miles away.  Mama always loved me most!!!

This is the last picture I see when I go out my front door.  The lower left corner  is mama with her favorite child (ME).  The right corner is mama 50 years old.  And of course in the back is the mama I remember after I moved to Colorado. 

I like to think of my mama.  I loved her very much.  I am not sure she was ever proud of me.  If she was she never said it out loud to me.  I do know she liked my cooking.  When she came for a visit she carried a list in her pocket of what she wanted me to cook for her.  Tomato Soup made with fresh canned tomatoes from my garden...NOT Campbells.  Cream puffs.  Liver and onions.  Cinnamon rolls.  Fried potatoes.  She wanted to set in my rocker and watch the Hummingbirds.  She liked to stand at the island where my stove is and question every move I made in the meal preparation and was quick to tell me that was not the way she did it, but she was the first one to the table and the last one to leave.

Do we ever grow old enough that we do not miss our mommy?   I think not.  I guess I do have the satisfaction of knowing that someday my kids will remember me fondly.  Want to know how I know this?  I made the remark one time about a person who had disappointed me.  And she told me that one about not knowing someone. "You never really know anyone, you only know of them; the part they let you see."  The old Indians used to say, "Do not judge a man until you have walked a mile in his moccasins."  I remember lots of things.  I remember the time my sister came home from a date with her dress on wrong side out.

October has started.  Today is October 6 and yesterday was my brothers birthday.  In 24 days it will be the anniversary of his death.  He was 28 when he was killed in a car wreck.  He left behind 2 sons.  I never knew them.  Mom did.  Or at least she knew the older one.  His name was David Payne Andersen (I think).  The other one was Edward Howell Hamby (I think).  The important thing here is that October is probably the hardest month of the year for me.  October is the birth month of 2 of my kids as well as the anniversary of the day I married their father.  

Just bear with me here, because this too shall pass.  The sun will come out tomorrow!  Tomorrow is another day.  At least we have that to look forward to.  Or do we?

Farewell to Uncle Manley and Aunt DoLores.

Back in 1960 when I married Earl Seeger I picked up 11 sisters and brothers in law.  Most of them I never met, but some I did.  Manley was one I did, but not his wife, Doloras.  I knew Manley lived in Denver.  Let me see if I can name all of them: Harold Manley Seeger, Cleo Seeger, Virgil Seeger, Raymond Seeger, Jesse Seeger,  Dorothy, Betty, Dona, Alma,  Delvin, Earl, Larry.  I have a call in to one of the girls, because I think there was one more. ( I had forgotten Jesse.)

The point of this is that we found out recently that Harold Manly Seeger and his wife DoLoras passed away in an Aurora assisted living facility in Aurora.  They died 9 days apart from the Covid 19.  This is a very trying time in our history.  This not anything I want to contract that is for sure.  When people start demonstrating and telling me they are tired of being held back from living their lives I find it very troubling.  There is no vaccine and without a vaccine or a cure we are pretty much at the mercy of a pandemic that will kill a lot of people.  I am not really anxious to die with something like this.  Pretty sure I still have a few good years left in me.

Now I know pretty soon they are going to lift the restrictions, but let me tell you, I am still going to wear my mask, wipe everything down with the Clorox wipes I have because I do not want to become a statistic.  I do have to say that not being able to go to church I have completely lost track of what day it is.  Bret is supposed to write the day on the chalk board on the back door.  That way I know what day it is, but some times he forgets.  I had 4 Wednesdays last week and that is not good.

I have a niece who voluntarily went to New York to work there.  Her name is Lisa and she is a very good girl.  When Desert Storm came she was one of the first there.  And Desert Shield found her still in Iraq.  She is one of my heroes.  I host a Mothers Day Tea at our church every May and she attended last year since she is now living up North in the Denver area.  We had planned a big "Lou's family attendance " this year, but up jumped the devil and my high tea has been cancelled.  Many disappointments in life and this is just another one.  Next year will surely be better.

But back to Manley and DoLoras.  Manley was the oldest and at one point he came to stay with Duane for a few weeks.  Of course by that time we were divorced, but I always remained friends with his family.  His sister, Dona, lives in Colorado and his younger brother, Larry lives in Kansas.  I saw Larry last summer, but have not seen Dona for several years.

So now I am rambling and reminiscing.  I will be glad when this mess is over.  It is not the idea of having to stay home, it is the fear of going out.  So, you all be safe out there.  I will be downstairs doing "stuff".  I am trying to consolidate my fabric and sort it into some sort of useful form.  It rained last night and that is good.  I just need to remember that today is the day that the Lord has made!

Peace to all.

The road we all have to walk.

There is nothing to make one face their mortality like the death of a relative or close friend.  And when that person is younger, that really sends a wake up call.  I have lived all my life with the knowledge that there are 2 things that are inevitable; death and taxes.  Of one thing I am sure is that this statement is correct.  Everything that happens in life comes with choices, but not these to things, especially the latter.  Taxes are dodged by a lot of the upper echelon, but that old death card is here to stay.

I came into this world a naked little baby with nothing to call mine.  Lo, these many years later I set here in a 2400 square foot house with a garage out back of the same size.  Every inch of this acre is festooned with sheds, fences, bushes, trees and other "stuff" that I have accumulated.  The house is a storage area for things I have accumulated over the years.  Some of it is good stuff, some collectible, but the most of it is just things I can not bring myself to throw away.  I am going to have a giant rummage sale some day.  Sure I am!  When hell freezes over!

So this morning, when I woke up and looked around, I came to a realization of how this is actually going to play out in real time.  Right now I am healthy so I am allowed to live here in my squalor and think I am really important.  So that is what I do, but rest assured the day will come when I will either trip and fall down the stairs or up the stairs and hurt myself.  I have already fallen up the stairs a time or two, so my fate is sealed.  When I hurt myself, as is inevitable, my kids will come and declare that I am no longer capable of living on my own and whisk me off to one of their houses to "take care of me."

All my treasures will be rummage sale items.  What does not sell will be donated to some charity.  The house will be sold and the proceeds put in an account some where to be used to "take care of me."  One of them will put the car up on blocks and stored until I am "able to drive again" which we all know is not going to happen.  I have committed the unforgivable sin; I have gotten old.  There is no coming back from that disease.

There are actually times when I think about selling the house and moving into a condo in town, but even that is a stop gap.  Human beings are frail by their very nature.  I shudder to think how many animals I have taken to the vet and dispensed to the Rainbow Bridge.  Wouldn't it be nice if that could happen with us humans?  Wouldn't it be nice if I could be here puttering today and then just gone tomorrow?  Not going to happen.  Their are laws against that sort of thing.

So, today is another day to get through on my journey from the cradle to the grave.  Who knows, it may actually be a good one!  In the meantime, let's just listen to this little song I found over there on youtube!  I'll never get out of this world alive!

Rest in Peace, Aunt Maudie

In 1960 I met my first husband in Hutchinson, Kansas.  He and 3 of his brothers lived over on 2nd street in a small house beside the foundry.  Virgil was the oldest and he had a wife and 2 sons in Germany, or so I heard.  Delvin was not involved.  The same with Duane and Larry.  Larry was the youngest.  Duane, I married in 1960 and Larry and Maudie married a year later.  At the time the men were working for a man named Bean who owned a tree trimming business.   At some point the men decided that it would be better to move from city to city and trim trees and move on.  So that is what we did.

The next few years are a tad bit hazy in my mind, but I do know Maudie and Larry had a daughter.  When I became pregnant with Debbie we decided that we should settle down and be more stable, so we decided on Hutchinson.  Soon after I had Debbie, the men decided they wanted to move to Garden City.  Maudie's family was there and her daughter was now 1 one year old.  So the Seeger families moved west.  And then came the fruitful years where we had our babies and filled our families.

Maudie and I remained friends and sister-in-laws through the years.  Sometimes we were not in touch, but sometimes we were.  Our kids spent their youngest years as cousins and remain cousins to this day.  I am still Aunt Louella.  This makes a long story short.

Having given  you a bit of a background, I now want to say to the family, I am so sorry for your loss.  Your mother was a unique individual and I regret that I never stayed in closer touch with her, but know I will always remember our younger days together.  Your mother was a unique individual!  I will never think of "Aunt Maudie" wearing her hair in anything but a "bee hive" and know that her bee hive was always the highest and fullest bee hive that could be achieved.  I do not know when she changed her hair style, but I am sure she did.

Maudie was a very strong willed woman and I am sure that never changed.  I admired most the marriage she had with your father, "Uncle Larry."  They remained together through thick and thin and back in the early days, there were a lot of "thin" days.  Family was very important to her and I am sure that she was important to her family.

The Maudie I knew surely mellowed over the years.  There are stories I could tell that would curl your hair, but I shall keep those and only take them out and look at them from time to time.

So mourn your loss and then get back to the business of living, because that is what we all must do.  I shall mourn the young woman with the high, high beehive and the red fingernails.

God be with you at this time.

Aunt Lou

Happy Birthday Delbert Leroy Bartholomew!

On your left is Jake, on the right is Josephine and there in the middle is little old me.  I must have been almost a year old there.  See the loaded hayrack in the back?  That means it was harvest and the year was 1942 in the fall, right before my birthday.  Jake and I were born 4 years and 4 days apart.

I do not know how he came to be known as "Jake", but I do not ever remember calling him Delbert.  He was kicked in the face by a horse named "Star" when he was 9 or 10.  I recall when my father brought that horse home one night.  It was late.  It was dark and he was drunk.  And mother was pissed.  In all fairness, Star was not a horse, but a Shetland Pony and Shetland Ponies were mean by nature.  Star nearly kicked the side out of the trailer before he even got unloaded.  

It was just wonderful having a pony!  I say that with the utmost sarcasm, because to the best of my knowledge no one ever rode that pony.  No one ever petted that pony.  We fed him.  We fed him a lot!  I lived in mortal terror of being bit by those big yellow teeth.  I think in the back of my mind I know that Dad was a gambling man as well as a drinking man and he won that horse in a poker game.  Not real sure who the winner was in that deal, but it is what it is and we had a horse from hell for a pet.

I was trying to tell you about my brother and I see I got side tracked.  Life does that to me a LOT.  So, I only had the one brother growing up and it was Jake.  He snuck off to join the Army when he was 16.  He crossed off the date of his birth which was 1937 and wrote in 1935.  Of course, since the recruiting officer was neither blind nor stupid, he took one look at Jake, whose face was covered with peach fuzz since he was not old enough to shave, and called mother.  He did join the Army 2 years later.  He served in Germany.  He came home, fell in love and got married.  Got divorced and got married again.  Got separated and searched for happiness where ever he could find it.

Some where out in this cold cruel world are 2 sons of his.  Mother kept in touch with the oldest and we never heard anything  of the youngest.  That lady moved to Missouri.  I will probably go to my grave not knowing what became of them, but so it goes.  On the day Jake died, my middle daughter, Dona Marie turned 1 year old.  Sam was 26 days old.  That was a dark time in my life and we know how those times affect us later down the road.

On October 29, he and a friend were coming home from work on country roads.  They ran a stop sign and hit the side of a loaded gravel truck on the highway.  I do not know who was driving.  I do not want to know.  I saw him that night in McPherson Hospital.  He was unconscious. He died the next morning.

I like to think I have put my dark times behind me, but I haven't.  Hopefully I am dealing with this better then I used to.  There was a time when October 5th entailed a bottle of whiskey and a beer chaser, but I have not done that for years.  And since I am dealing with my new reality, I am going to look back on his birthday as a cause for celebration.  So here goes:

He was born and he held my hand while I learned to walk.  He taught me to ride a bike.  He hit me in the head with a turnip when I was very small.  He went to the Army and wrote me every week.  He sent me a Brownie Camera from Germany.  We listened to the Grand Ole Opry on a car radio on Saturday nights.  He introduced me to my first husband, the father of my children.  He died, but he never left my thoughts.  

I had a brother.  My life would not have been complete without him and today I celebrate that God gave me the most wonderful brother in the world, Delbert Leroy Bartholomew, known to the rest of the world as "Shakey Jake!"  Some day I will see him again and he will be in that same pair of overalls and hopefully Hank Williams will be picking on his guitar.

If he had lived, what would his life have been?  I know he joined the church just 2 weeks before he died.  I know his friend who was in the truck with him, Johnny Rogers passed away the day after we buried Jake.

Rest in Peace in the arms of Jesus, my beloved!

And so it begins.

Happy Birthday to me, yesterday.  Just about everybody else my age is dead.  Gives me a lot to look forward to, doesn't it?  Those of you who follow my blog have probably figured out that I have a small problem with depression.  Not many people in my everyday world have figured that out.  This week marks my birthday, my only surviving brother in law's birthday, my son's birthday and ends on the 5th with my brother's birthday.  My brother has been gone 54 years.  I still remember it like it was yesterday.  It never gets better.

I remember the day I married my first husband (October 30)  and my last husband (December 23).  I remember the date the last husband passed but not the first one.  I have a mental block about a lot of things and that is probably the only thing that actually saves my sanity.  I just know I hate the whole month of October.  Unlike a lot of people, I tend to grieve inwardly so nobody knows.  I may be talking to you about the most mundane thing in the world and I am smiling, but I am seeing Jake standing in front of me with his lopsided grin and the scar on his right cheek.  I am hearing Hank Williams wailing in the background.  WSM from Nashville every Saturday night. It never goes away.

I realize blogs like this make my kids sad, because I am sad, but what they need to remember is this is my past.  I was not always their mother.  I have to deal with this on a daily basis.  I do not want sympathy, I just want understanding.  I will be alright.  Where there is life there is hope.  I do not need to go out and eat.  I do not need flowers, I just need my time.  This will pass.  It always does.

This month, I am undertaking a new kind of volunteer work.  It is not like Hospice where every client ends up dying.  It is one that involves dealing with people who are actually trying to get off the streets and into a home of their own.  I am not sure where this path will lead me, but I am going to go slow and find out.  Usually I jump in with both feet and tilt at windmills, but not this time.  Someone will lead and I will follow.

So, as I deal with my demons this month, be patient with me.  I have a theory that God is not through shaping me yet and I am sure of one thing:  God knows what he is doing and he is going to bring me out on the other side a lot better person than I was before.

He has a way of doing that, you know!

Coming to a close?

As I enter this last quarter of the year, I also enter a time that makes me sad.  It begins with my birthday, and then Jake's birthday 4 days later.  2 of my kids were born in October.  My brother died in October.  I got a divorce or 2 in October, but most of my divorces were good things.  Actually, all of them were good things.  Mother always said that old people, and sick people are like the leaves on the tree.   People die in the fall when the leaves fall from the tree.  Actually, people seem to be dying around me with an amazing regularity.  Not all of them are old, but a lot of them are.  I guess I am old so I may be in this years Autumn leaf drop.  Maybe, maybe not.  I just know fall is my least favorite season and October is my least favorite month.

Mother died in the Springtime; Kenny in the Winter.  The point is, death is becoming a regular visitor and I do not like that.  I have one sister left.  No brothers, no uncles, no aunts.  I am now the older generation and I do not like that.  I used to have someone to guide me and lead me and teach me the things to say and do, but now I fly by the seat of my pants and my wisdom is not always the best.  There was a time I could spout wisdom and Bible verses and quote the leader of the day.  Now, I just don't seem to give a damn.  My time is mostly spent moving stuff from one pile to another in anticipation of some day having a garage sale and getting rid of enough junk that I could possibly move into a small place in town.  That and napping through Jeopardy! is about the extent of my ambition.  Good thing I am good at napping, because that is about all I am good for.

At one point I thought I would write a sequel to my first book, but I have been stuck on chapter 5 for 4 years now and every time I think about picking it up, I have to reread the whole thing to jog my memory and then it is time for another nap.  It seems to be a vicious circle.

At one point I thought I should start dating, but I expect way to much out of a man.  First, he has to be neat, which I am not.  He has to be ambitious enough to want to take me for a walk, but able to understand that I am not broken to a leash.  Opening car doors is nice.  I would love to go dancing.  That is something I did all my life, until Kenny.  Poor little guy, had not a lick of rhythm in his whole body, so dancing was out.  Not sure I remember how to do that anymore, but I would love to try.  Conversation is a must.  I love to talk and I love to listen.  That does not mean I will remember anything that was said, but something might find fertile ground.

I do not know how I made the leap from my dread of October to dating, but I did!  I do my best thinking early in the morning and now it is going on 8:00 AM so I have pretty much shot my wad for the day.  Oh, well, maybe tomorrow will be better.  In the meantime, here is a poem that somebody, some where wrote and some teacher made me memorize it.  It has a lot of wisdom in it, so take it for what it is worth.

"The wise old owl sat on the oak.
The more he saw, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke the more he heard.
We should all try to be like that wise old bird." 

Vincent's sand pit down the back road.

Back in my growing up days in Nickerson, it was hot!  Damned hot as a matter of fact.  And the humidity was high, which did not help at all.  Colorado is dry.  In Colorado I can shower and hang my towel on the hook and it will be dry in just a couple hours.  Not so in Kansas.  Not only was the towel still damp the next day, but it was starting to have a sour smell.  By day 3 it was mildewed.  Nasty stuff.

To survive the heat, we wore a minimum of clothes and tried to stay in the shade of a tree.  Being in the house was not much better, because air conditioning was pretty much non-existent.  Nickerson had no swimming pool as I recall and if they did we would not have been able to afford it.  So we were left with the Arkansas River, Cow Creek, Bull Creek and Vincent's Sand Pit.  Mummy's had a sand pit on the other end of town, but we were not allowed in there.  It was a functioning business and Vincent's was not.  And Vincent's was within walking distance.  Hey!  I just remembered, there was a sand pit about 3 blocks from the house.  I do not recall whether it was a working pit or not, but it seems way back in my little mind that the owners child had fallen in and drowned, so it was not open any more.  (This may or may not be true because my 70 years prior memories tend to become rather distorted.)

Back to Vincent's Sand Pit.  I have been deathly afraid of water my entire life.  I do not know why, only that I was and still am.  (I did go many years back to the YWCA heated pool and took swimming lessons so if I were to fall in I would know to roll over and relax and float until some friendly passerby could rescue me.  Hopefully!)  Consequently, I did not swim in the sand pit and to my clearest memory, I only visited it once.  It seems it was about a mile or so from the house and beyond the cemetery.  I recall running barefoot down the road which was very sandy and the sand was very hot!  Jake rode his bike and I ran behind.

Vincent's Sand Pit was also a favorite fishing spot.  It must be a lot like Beemer Lake in Lakin, Kansas.  Usually the fishermen came later in the day or very early in the morning.  Fish rarely bite in the heat of the day.  We had a pint jar half full with water and a pop bottle suspended upside down so the opening just touched the water.  When the water was sucked up it the neck of the bottle, it meant the fish were biting.  If it was not raised, you might as well stay home.  When I married Kenneth we fished a lot, so I set one of those on the window sill in the kitchen.  When he asked me what that was for, I told him.  It was then I learned that it was actually a crude barometer and I could save myself a lot of watchin if I just walked over and looked at the barometer on the wall!  Duh!

As we set here, gripped in a heat wave, I flash back to the early days in Nickerson and thank the good Lord for central air.  Nickerson was home for all my formative years, but as much as I yearn for those carefree days, I do certainly enjoy the convenience of running water, electricity, inside plumbing, and central air.

So I live vicariously in my childhood memories.  I set in my 72 degree house while the sun beats down outside on the thermometer now reading 101.  I miss the days of sand pits and sand hill plums, and I thank the man upstairs for giving me a childhood that can make me empathetic to the people I serve today.  There is not a night that I do not lay in my bed and count my blessings, and growing up in Nickerson, Kansas has made me the woman I am today and for that  I thank God!  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life is far to short.

At what point does your right to own a gun.....

At what point does your right to own a gun supersede my right to walk into a store without one?  What gives you power over me?  I know you have a constitutional right to keep and bear arms so you can be part of a well armed militia, but let me ask you this...if you have that right, then shouldn't you also have the responsibility to keep those weapons out of the hands of mass murderers?  Isn't it your responsibility to teach all gun owners to keep these guns away from people who are just not quite right in the head?

In this day and age, having a gun is almost a god given right, but shouldn't I be allowed to not own one?  I do have one.  It is a 22 pistol.  It is loaded or at least the clip is.  The pistol is in one place and the clip in another.  I have shot it enough to know how to put a bullet right between your eyes, but I have no intention of ever using it.  I do not think I could kill another human being.

I do realize there are people out there who would not think twice about doing just that.  The last I heard there had been 252 mass shootings in my country this year.  That is more than one a day.  It used to be that the chances of being killed by a random shooting was 2.  Slim to none.  But that has all changed.
Violence has now become a part of every day life.  We have active shooter training going on all over this country.  My son is buying a bullet proof back pack for his 3 year old son in day care.  WTF!!

Our government refuses to pass a background check of any kind.  Do this, listen to the news.  After one of these shootings they interview people.
"Did you know Mr. Shooter? "
"Well, yes I did.  He was always a 'little  strange'.  He was always a kind of loner.  no friends.  But I never dreamed he would do this!"

My son had an idea.  When a kid enters school, give them a psychological evaluation.  Repeat it again in a couple years, and then again until they are out of school.  Let that test go with them in a federal data base and then when Johnny goes to purchase his AK 47 or whatever the gun dealer accesses that data base.  Big red " DO NOT SELL THIS PERSON ANY KIND OF GUN! " pops up on the screen.  
But that will not work.  Want to know why?

Because we are under a government that  is supported  by the NRA which mean National Rifle Association.  They pour a lot of money into elections and to hell with you and me.  This also equal to the amount paid by the KOCH brothers and you see the lawsuits coming out of settlements with Roundup deaths and cancer.  But all those lawsuits are meaningless, because not one of them can bring back the health of any of the people suing.

Just do this...When election time comes type in the name of your candidate and see how much that candidate received from what source.  Like this.

In the 2016 election, the NRA spent $11,438,118 to support Donald Trump’s campaign and donated $19,756,346 to groups opposing Hillary Clinton’s. However, the bulk of the contributions have gone to House and Senate members. Here is a look at the top 10 recipients of NRA contributions.According to the Center for Responsive Politics, “the totals are a combination of money given to the member's campaign...https://www.ajc.com/news/national/senators-house-members-who-offered-condolences-after-shooting-called-out-for-donations-from-nra/tpitHXUY9jDH3pr4f7f7cM/

Just click on the yellow link and see for yourself.

I rest my case.

Copied from Sangre de Cristo at some point.

Not real sure where I copied this from, but I do know I was with Hospice at the time, so pretty sure that is where it comes from.  The point is that it hits the nail right on the head.  I have lost a lot of dear friends, family, acquaintances, pets, a few enemies and the list goes on and on, in my life as I am sure it does in yours.  

I recall an advertisement on television where an older woman is in the bathroom preparing for bed and she is talking to someone, I assume was her husband, off camera.  She lays down her hairbrush and turns out the light and the camera pans to an empty bed.  I did not understand that as much then as when it happened to me.  The realization came to me just a few days after my husband passed.  I was devastated, but then life does go on.  There is no do overs when death comes knocking, but we are given no choice but to go on putting one foot in front of the other and living one day after another.  

It does become bearable after a time, but the one we lost will never be replaced.  I think about my mother every day.  I miss Shirley.  I miss my sisters and my brother and all the aunts and uncles.  The first actual death I recall was my calf, Dennis.  Then it was my nephew that was born at home.  Then it was grandma Haas.  I am sure there were others before, and I can not remember all that have gone since and still continue the march to the grave.  But this gives me solace.  This and the one about the departed being a ship sailing off across the ocean.  It is leaving the shore where people are weeping and it grows smaller and smaller until it is gone, but on the other side of the ocean, it is arriving and the people are cheering as it draws nearer!  

I do hope something I have written today in my own rambling little way gives someone an ounce of peace and acceptance.  And some day, when I make that journey, and you learn of my passing, know that I am happy and think of me with just a touch of sadness and a whole lot of joy!

Until then, may the peace that passes all understanding be with you all.

And now she is no more.

She was there and I planned on going to see her yesterday, but then I decided it would be tomorrow.  Tomorrow is now here and it is called today.  And now she is no more.  It is strange how this death thing works.  Some people hang on and linger and put it off and wait for another day.  Just one more day.  Just another hour, or another year or another anniversary.  Or not.  I do not know which is better, but I think she did it just right.

Many times in my hospice days I had set by a persons bedside for hours, or weeks or months, waiting for the Angel of Death.  And when it happened, after what ever period of time, and even then we were not ready.  It was too soon.  The family needed just one more day.  One more hour.  One more minute.  But that was not to be.

What did I learn from my hospice training?  I learned not to put it off until tomorrow.  Tomorrow may be too late.  5 minutes from now may be too late.  And yet I still procrastinate.  I have projects in various stages of having been abandoned for something I found more intriguing.  Another brass ring in this thing called life.  And it is called life for a reason.  It is meant to be lived.  It is meant to be lived now and in this moment, because there is no tomorrow.  Tomorrow never comes.

A friend just called and invited me to lunch and since I have not seen her in a while, I am dropping every thing and going.  This may very well be a tomorrow that came and I did not see it.

Dennis

I remember my very first up close and personal death.  It was not a human, but it was nonetheless very traumatic.  I do not remember how old I was, but I am thinking maybe in the 4th or 5th grade.  We had a milk cow, because back in those days, if you had kids they needed milk and that was how you got it.  I am thinking this milk cow was white with black spots and unless you were there and remember it differently, we will go with that.  At that tender age, I had no idea about how the birthing process worked.  I had watched a chicken lay an egg once, so I knew where eggs came from, but beyond that was a mystery.

I do not remember the cow's name, but I am assuming it was "Bossy" since that was what most of the cows were named.  I came home from school one day and dad and Rudolph Reinke were standing over Bossy.  I was mortified because Bossy should be upright, because that was what cows did.  They stood upright.  A tiny black calf was laying on the ground not far from Bossy.  No one seemed to notice it.  I finally got the 2 men's attention and they moved the little calf into an empty granary.  It bleated at me and I fell in love with the big black eyes.  I was told not to touch it, but I could watch it.

Returning to the yard I overheard conversation between the 2 men that entailed "milk fever", "going to die", "nothing can be done".  While I did not want to hear or watch what was happening, I was far too curious to just walk away.  And finally, Rudolph came up with something that might work.

"I recall this one time and the only thing to do is split her tail, fill it with black pepper and tape it shut."  My God!  Even at my tender age that sounded horrifying, but these were 2 grown men and surely they knew what they were doing.  No one paid any attention to me as I crouched in the dirt several yards away.

They began the chore of splitting her tail as she wailed and bellowed.  Pepper was dumped into the opening and then the tail was taped and the old milk cow lay there with her eyes rolling.  Very soon she was dead.  I had no idea what to do.  No one seemed to know or care that I was prostate with grief.  I needed my mother, but she was in town cleaning someone's house.  So I went to the only warm body I could find and that was the little black calf in the granary.  I told him his mother was dead, but he did not seem to understand.  I made up my mind in that moment that I would be his mother.

When mother got home she found me there with the little calf and tried to tell me about life and what happens after life.  I named the little calf Dennis and he lived almost a whole day before he died and mother then had to explain to me that Dennis was in heaven with his mother.  I do not know what happened to the bodies of Dennis or his mother.  Back in those days there was a business called "the dead animal wagon, " which I assume came and picked them up and took them God only knows where.

It has been over 65 years and I still think about that little calf.  Not so much his mother, but him with his shiny black coat and the darkest brown eyes.  I guess we are pretty much shaped by our younger days, because I still love little calves.  In the field up the road from my house is a pasture.  There cows are brought to spend a few months and give birth to their calves.  The cows are black and the babies are black.  When the calves are born it is a sight to behold, but they only stay with their mother's for a week or less and then they are loaded into a truck and they go away.  I can hear the mother's calling for the babies and it breaks my heart.  I understand that the calves are taken to a place where they are fed milk and fattened up with no exercise.  That is where "milk fed veal" comes from, which is a delicacy in fancy restaurants.

Man's inhumanity  never ceases to amaze me.  The circle of life never ceases to amaze me.  I accept it, but it does not mean I like it.

Today is the first day....

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.  And so it begins.  The Mother's Day High Tea is over and the Yappy Dog Run passed my driveway as I left for church yesterday.  The cups are wrapped and stored in the basement of the church.  This morning I will wrap the tea pots and put them away.  It was a very successful event and I look forward to next year.  The tea is the one time of the year that I get to see a lot of my friends.  This year I had 2 daughters, 2 son-in-laws, 2 granddaughters, 3 great grand sons, my niece Lisa Shea Porter with her husband and daughter and a partridge in a Pear Tree.  The kids got acquainted and a good time was had by all.  But now it is Monday and life moves forward.

When I think about this being the first day of the rest of my life, it seems a  little daunting, but I am pretty sure I can handle it.  All I can say is I had a bumper sticker once that summed it all up for me. It said "If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself."  When I was a teenager, I knew I would not live to see 30.  When 30 rolled around and I had 5 kids I was pretty sure 40 was my limit.  40 came and I fell in love and decided I would probably live forever.  Now that I am beginning to fossilize,  I am wondering if age is not just a number?  I have lost a lot of friends and most of my close family.  I am sure there are no uncles or aunts left out there.  The most I could hope for would be a cousin, but I am thinking that is a futile thought.  I have lived in Colorado over half of my life and lost touch of what ever family I had back there.  Do not think I am complaining, because I am not.  I never kept track of them, and by the same token, they never kept track of me.  So there you go!

Now, to the rest of my life.  Many of my friends want to know what I am going to do.  So, let me just weigh out my options.  My 2400 square foot house on one acre of land is pretty much free and clear.  If I sell it, I have to move.  Now where would I move, you ask.  Since I have spent over half my life in Pueblo, Colorado, leaving does not make much sense.  Living in this big house all alone does not make sense either.  I have a cat and 8 geese.  The geese have never lived any where except here, so if I sold the house, the geese would have to stay with the property.  Icarus could move with me, but she has never been a litter box user, preferring rather to use the doggie door and go outside. If I moved into town she would no doubt be ran over the first time the door was opened.

Or, I could get a room mate.  Now, I am sorry, but I can not think of a single soul in my repertoire of friends that I would want to live with and share space with.  I do not want to live with a female who would hog the bathroom and leave things laying here and there.  She would no doubt want to be friends and share secrets, but I am not a secret sharing person.  I thought about maybe a little gay guy, but what if he wanted to throw a party?  I do not want parties and loud music.  I think I am best if I just live alone.  My ideal scenario is just to wake up dead some morning, or better yet, doze off while Jeopardy! is on and just not wake up.  That way, the mortician could just pick me up, the auction house could just sell all my treasures and then...….who knows.

I do not look on death as a bad thing.  Number one, it is inevitable and we are all going to do it sooner or later.  So, rest assured that when that day comes there is going to be one happy woman here!  Before you get excited thinking maybe I have a premonition, think again.  No visions.  No premonitions.  Just the ramblings of an old woman who has been there, done that, and moved on.

Have a good day and remember,

You can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself! 

Better late than never?

Well, John Tenorio pretty well opened the flood gate to let all my friends escape this life when he passed late last year.  Then went Annie, Chaz, Nancy, Shirley and lastly Jim.  Needless to say I had plans with all of these people, or meant to at least.  Annie was expected; Chaz was not.  Nancy was expected; Shirley was not.  Jim was inevitable.  I set here now waiting for the next shoe to drop.  Mother always said it was sad to watch the nursing homes especially.  When fall comes the leaves drop and the little old people go to their reward.  Then comes Spring and with new growth the little old and sick people get new life, but it is not in this world.  Mother was wise.  When I would forget to do something in a timely manner, or blow it off completely, she had these words for me.  "Better late then never."  But was it?

When the pale horse with his rider goes by, it is too late.  The final curtain has fallen, the bell has rung, and "woulda", "coulda", "shoulda" are no more.  It is over and time is no more.  There is no way I can tell grandma what an impact she had on my life.  Oh, not while I was living it, but lo these many years later I can see so clearly.  Grandma Haas was an invalid due to a stoke and Great Grandma Hatfield took care of her.  I helped as much as I could, which was not very damn much, but I do not think that was what I was there for.  I think I was there in case one of them died I could call somebody.  I can remember helping her get ready for bed and pulling her dress up over her head.  I had to be very careful because she and Grandma Hatfield both had pierced earring and it was a nightly chore to untangle the dress from the earrings on both women.  Lord only knows what they did before I came.

Grandma Hatfield was prone to shingles and it was my nightly job to check her to see if any shingles were appearing and if they were I must make sure to check very carefully and apply medicine, because if the shingles went clear around her waist and met, she would immediately die.  I lived in mortal terror that they would become active while she was asleep and she would be dead when I went in the next morning.  Apparently someone was alert because she lived to be 104.  Grandma Hatfield was tall, or so it seemed.  She was regal in her bearing.  She rarely spoke but I just figured since she was 99 years old when I lived with them, that she had probably just talked herself out.  I am not sure she really knew I was there!

Grandma Haas was a very sweet little old grandma and looked like grandma's were supposed to look.  She had beautiful blue eyes and her hair was golden rather then gray.  I still have that golden braid tucked away somewhere.  Since I was 15 years old she thought she should have "the talk" with me.  This is it in it's entirety, I swear to God.

"Have you started your menstral cycle yet."  (I had a vague idea of what that might be.)
"No".
"Ok, when you do, tell momma and she will let you stay home from school that day."

Well, there was a little something to look forward too since school was the only place I could go and escape the tedium of my life.  The only book I was allowed to read was the Bible and the only entertainment was learning to crochet.  I had to keep my shoes on at all times.  Aunt Lena sometimes let me play in the horse tank.  Television was just coming out and the Smith family had one, but I was not allowed to go over there and look at it because I would surely rot in hell!

I miss the grandma's.  I wish I could go back in time and this time I would listen.  I would listen about the aunts and uncles and the trip over from Germany.  I would learn about the herbs and tinctures that Great great grandma Gagnebien  used and how to be a midwife and how to make molasses.  But I didn't.  But you know what?  I think that sometimes those old ancestors pop into my head and tell me things because sometimes I know things that are true and there is no way I could know them.  I think my ancestors live inside me.  Course I may be nuts.

There is that!

Is it my turn yet?

Yesterday I took an afternoon and played Scrabble with a friend and his sister.  They are both very intelligent and loving people (Would you expect me to spend time on a Saturday afternoon with anyone who is not?)  To make a long story short, I got my little ass trounced royally.  I must say they were very gracious winners which in my world is a rarity.  It was nice.  I have not played a game since I played Dominoes with Bill Brown a couple years ago.  I beat him and never went back because I was afraid he would return the favor!

On my way home from town I stopped at another friends house.  This was not so much fun, but nonetheless a very satisfying visit.  This lady has always been open and loving and in her final hours I should have expected no less.  She smiled and actually beamed as I told her I loved her and wished her a peaceful crossing and a happy reunion.  As I kissed her goodbye she smiled the brightest smile I have seen from her in a long time and it came from the bottom of her heart.  I am going to miss her more than I can say, and I hope she will pop in on me from time to time in the hallowed memories of my mind.

As the angel of death (no capitals ) hovers quietly in the corner of yet another of my friends, I can not help but wonder when I will get my turn.  I have attended many of these and I have to say this lady is the picture of grace and never have I ever seen a person more ready to go.  Oh, Lord that I can be that accepting when it is my turn.

I look back on the shambles of my life and can not believe some of the crap I am going to have to answer for when I knock on those Pearly Gates.  Those of you who know me now only think you know me.  My mother always said "Your never really know anyone, you only know OF them.  You know what they let you see."  But here is the kicker on that:  I have let people see my kind, loving, caring side so long that I have become that person!  Who would have ever thought that the little girl growing up on Strong Street in a run down shack with an outhouse in the back  and no running water would ever be a respected member of any thing?  And yet, here I am!  When my sisters came for Kenneth's service they did not stay and visit.  (The largest chapel at Imperial Gardens was full and people were left outside.) They went home the same day.  The sole comment made was "Louella has a life out here that we know nothing about."  And that sister was right.

I do have a life with friends and acquaintances and respect from my peers.  That is something I never had in Kansas.  I was always just Louella, Chris's daughter.  Louella, Donna's sister.  Bob's cook. Some body's mom.  Some body's Aunt.  I guess that is good, but this is better.  Now that I am old, I can be selfish.  I can play Scrabble on a Saturday afternoon.  I can sleep through Jeopardy!.  I can have a sink full of dirty dishes.  I can smell the roses and kiss the wind.  I can pet my cat and dream of all the things I am going to do someday.  Who was it that said, "Of all the things of mice and men, the saddest of all is what might have been."?

I am not quite ready for the Angel of Death or the grim reaper, but when it comes, and it surely will someday, I will embrace the trip.  It is some place I have never been and I think it is just over the rainbow.  There I will see my loved ones and it will be wonderful!  I will get to meet Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr., Hank Williams, and all the people I have admired and loved for so long.

So enjoy my blog while it is here!  Hug your children.  Pet your dog.  Sing in the shower.  But most of all, get your house in order.  If you hurt someone, tell them you are sorry.  If you love someone, tell them.  Yesterday is gone and tomorrow never comes!

Peace to all!  

But can I really know you?

I woke up this morning to the realization that something a friend told me many years ago should be my mantra.  I had once more been disappointed by someone I trusted and I said, "I really thought I knew him better than that."
 
To which he replied, "You never really know anyone.  You just know of them.  You know what they let you see."  And he was right.

I deal with many people, some more closely than others.  We talk and with some of them, we talk for hours.  We share secrets.  We share our inner most thoughts, hopes and dreams.  Do we really?  As I look back over the trail behind me, I am  astounded at how many of my friends have only let me see the outer veneer that covers their tortured soul.

We are placed on this earth by some divine plan to live our lives, hopefully, in peace and harmony.  Some of us have more peace and harmony then others, I have found.  It breaks my heart when I lose a friend to suicide.  Suicide is defined in the dictionary as "the intentional taking of one's own life."  It does not tell us why.  And yet the why is the first question we ask, isn't it?

And we search our memory and we recall the relationship we had with that person.  At least I do.  I remember the last time I saw him.  Right here at my table not very long ago.  He was a computer genius and he worked really cheap for his friends.  He loved cookies and I had his favorite kind.  I will make them again for his memorial service.

We can read all the psychology books and watch for the signs, but we never see them.  Is it because I let my guard down, or because the signs were never there, or did I just not want to see them?  Hind sight is 20/20 looking back, isn't it?

Many years ago when I was a Senior in high school I had a friend in Stenography class whose name I can not recall right now.  He went home one afternoon after school and hung himself in the garage.  Were there signs?  I never saw them and looking back I still don't.

Kenny and I had a friend 30+ years ago.  Kenny was working in Denver and was gone all week, leaving me alone.  He called every night and this friend knew that.  He would show up every night and set at the counter and drink coffee and reading truck books.  When Kenny called, he would talk to him for a few minutes and then he would leave.  It was never a conversation, really, just a "hello how are you?"  One afternoon he went home and put a bullet in his brain.  We never saw it coming.

So as I set here contemplating another memorial service I wonder about the very act of suicide.  No one ever says, "Well, I am just going to put my head in the gas oven and be done with it."  That would make it too simple.  So I shall do what I have always done, put one foot in front of the other and blindly go where I have always gone.  Maybe today I will make a difference to someone looking into that abyss.

Maybe not.