What ever happened to Carol Mason?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, what do you think?"  

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

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

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

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

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

Some memories live forever.  This is one of them.

Idle hands are the devil's workshop!

Momma said it.  It was reinforced by Grandma Haas and drilled to the depths of my tiny brain by Great Grandma Hatfield.  When I lived with the grandmas my Freshman year of High School, I spent every night sitting with them around the old oak table.  It was there I learned to crochet and read the Bible.  The telephone hung from the wall by the front door.  It was a big brown box with a receiver that you held to your ear and a tube that you spoke into which was transmitted to the wire (I assume) which went to someone else's phone.  To call someone you picked up the receiver and placed it to your ear and turned the crank to get the operator.  

 

The operator would say "Number please?"  You would say the number or the name of who you wanted.  She would then pull the line from your number and plug it into the number you were calling.  Now first I used the pronoun "she"  which is not permissible in this day and age, but back then telephone operators were women.  It was not man's work.  That is just how it was.  I always dreamed of being a telephone operator when I got old enough to work, but I decided to be a barmaid instead.  

Very little time was spent on the phone.  It was a tool.  Usually when the phone rang it was for emergency contact for one reason or the other.  Good reasons, not just passing the time of day.  Or to enquire as to one of the grandma's health.  I was 15 and healthy so no one needed to check on me.

Another thing about the telephones back then was that most people were on a "party line".  Back then a party line meant there were several phones on the same circuit and if you wanted to "listen in" all you had to do was pick up the phone very quietly and hold your hand over the mouth piece and you could be privvy to who ever was talking.  We were not supposed to do it and it would get you a "lickin" if momma found out which she always did!  (To clarify the word "lickin' ", it means spanking.)

But as for the eaves dropping, that is how my mother found out my older sister was pregnant by an older man in town who she was sneaking around with.  The operator listened in on a conversation between my sister and the scoundrel!  She then felt it her duty to report the situation to my mother and anyone else that would listen.  Talk about gossip!  And Mrs. Humphrey almost lost her job.  Almost, because no one else wanted to do her job so she was allowed to stay at the switchboard  and no doubt it was not the last conversation she was privy to either!  

Now how I made the leap from sitting around crocheting and reading the Bible in the evening is beyond me, but here we are!  I guess the fact that I can not sit quietly and meditate goes back to that old oak table, the family Bible and the telephone that was for emergencies only.  We also used to pay for long distance, but that is all gone by the wayside.  We are never out of range of our loved ones no matter where we are.  I can pick up my phone and punch in a few numbers and reach Dona who is out in the chicken coop 200 miles away.  Or I can call Debbie or Patty who are 400 miles away.  Debbie will be feeding something to some body or be lining the grandkids out for the day.  Patty will be on her way to some where with the phone in the car.  Neither call costs anything.  Connections are clear.  

As for my idle hands, they are usually up here on this computer listing on ebay or etsy, or writing something to clear my mind of some obstacle that life has put in my path.  But at 3:00 in the afternoon I turn on Jeopardy! and my little eyelids droop and it is nap time.  And to clarify you need to know this: nap time and  bedtime are two different things.  Nap time I close my eyes and doze off and usually wake up to the closing theme music of Jeopardy.  I do not dream during the show, but my mind takes in the information.

Bedtime usually occurs about 8:00 or so.  I put on my jammies, turn out the lights, crawl into bed, pet the cat and slowly drift off to dreamland.  Usually my dreams are pretty mundane, but sometimes I fight the demons of the day all night long.  Those are the mornings, when I wake up at 3:00 am and get up come in here and write.  I compose beautiful poems and write brilliantly as long as I do not leave the bed or turn on the light, but morning always comes.....

maybe.

School lunch

I woke up in the middle of a dream this morning.  It might be more accurate to say "My nightmare woke me up!"  I dreamed it was the first day of school and I was trying to make a check out for school lunches.  I knew I had 5 kids and lunches were $3.29 each, but Patty would not eat meatloaf so I would need to pack her a lunch that day, whatever day that was.  Debbie wanted to take her lunch and she only ate mashed potatoes on home made bread.  Donna, Sam and Susie were happy just to eat.  I was out of cat food and the dogs were barking their heads off about some silly thing or another and I better get out of this bed or I was going to be late for work. I was very relieved to open my eyes and look up at my lavender ceiling and remember that my kids were grown and gone and I was alone here on my acre.  Well, not happy to be alone, but very happy to remember that I had raised my kids and they had raised theirs and school lunches were no longer a daily problem for me to face.  Maybe I was dreaming I was my mother.  God sends me those dreams a lot!

I remember growing up on Strong Street and Mother would be frustrated and she would say "I hope some day you get married and have a bunch of kids and they all behave just like you!"  In later years I was to tell her that the curse worked.  I had  5 kids, just like she did; 1 boy and 4 girls.  I had always thought I was such a sweet little thing growing up, but here were these 5 kids and they were the busiest kids I had ever seen.  What I had done growing up, was called survival and as I look back I guess they were doing the same.

We had run the dirt roads in our bare feet and our idea of fun was a clod fight.
My kids egged the neighbors house.

Jake decided one day to bring his 22 rifle and see how close he could come to the top of my head.
My kids took 10 month old Susie down to Cow Creek to baptize her one night before I got home from work.

I watched a Black Widow spider hatch babies behind the door of the chicken house.
My kids gave the cat a bath.

I smoked Catalpa beans.
They stole the neighbors flowers.

I used to run across the top of the pig sty's at the neighbors house and upset the old hogs.
Don't think the kids topped that one.

We used to spy on Hank Wingate when he milked his goat.
My kids watched Saturday morning cartoons.

Howard Fein used to make his false teeth jump out at me and scare the livin' pee wadding out of me.
My kids cleaned their room by shoving every thing under the bunk beds and pulling the top sheet down to the floor.

So, now these many years later I am still haunted by my mother's curse.  I wonder if I every cursed my kids like that and scarred them for life?  I must have because I had 5 kids on my own and they have produced 8 total.  I have 8 grand kids that sprang directly from my loins (This is not to count the step, adopted and foster) and my grandchildren have given me a total of ...OK, this is where I lose count.  I adopted a grandson who became my son who now has a son that is legally my  grandson, but if he were not my son, this would be my great grandson.  So when you ask me how many grand kids I have I will tell you 20 grand kids and a lot of great grand kids. And it is way to early in the day to start off confused when all I wanted to tell you was about the school lunches.

And there, dear people, is the reason I am screwed up like I am.  It is the curse my mother put on me all those years ago.  She did, before her death, apologize many times and I told her many times that it was quite alright because I have a good life and my kids survived my raising them.  Of course I sometimes hear them recounting the memories of growing up in Hutchinson and Garden City  and I wonder how they survived my raising them!

Sorry, kids, but momma did the best she could with the knowledge she had at that time.  Sam taught me that.

All this rain...

All this rain takes me back to Nickerson, Kansas and the time Dad spent farming with John Britan.  The farm was located across the Arkansas River.  I do not know  East from West so I am not sure which side of the river that is, but it was leave town, cross the bridge and turn left.  As most farm land was back then, it was dry land.  Ah, but through the middle of it there ran a "slough".  For those of you who do not know what a slough is, I will tell you.  A slough is a low place that much resembles a dry ditch most of the year.  When it is rainy season, it looks like a creek.  When it is really rainy for any length of time it looks like a small river.

The wheat was planted on the full acreage was planted to wheat.  Most of the time that worked fine, but if it filled the slough that part of the crop was lost.  Now, Dad would sometimes take Jake and I with him when he went to do the harvest.  Josephine stayed home with the younger kids while Mother drove the truck into town to the elevator.  If it was dry, it was pretty boring, but if the slough was full, we had a blast.  At the time it seemed to me that this raging river was my home.  Once Jake built me a flat raft with a string tied to a matchstick that was poked through a hole.  That way I could hang on to the string and keep it from floating away.

The Kansas sun beat down on us as we played by that wonderful body of water and we could put our feet in it and we were in heaven.  We did not know what hot was and more then once we got a good sunburn.  Mother would doctor us with whatever magic potion she had on hand and by the next day, the sunburn was gone and we were a darker shade of tan.  By the end of summer we looked like a couple Indians.  I do not remember combing my hair, but I am sure I did.

Jake was my hero and sometimes one of the boys from town would come to visit him.  That was never any fun because they would wander off and the beautiful, cool riverwould  turn into a muddy, dirty mess.  Jake always made my life magic.  He instilled in me an ability to see life through different eyes.  He painted pictures of a world far away that was beckoning to him.  From him, I got my love for music.  Oh, not just music, country music.

With the help of a car radio and a good battery he delivered The Grand Old Opry to the front yard of our little house on Strong Street.  He knew all the singers. Faron Young, Little Jimmy Dickens, Hank Williams, Ferlin Husky, Carl and Pearl Butler, and on and on.  I always thought he would some day pick up a guitar and head south.  But he didn't.  When he was 16 years old he forged his birth certificate and went into the Army.  I stayed home and wrote to him.  He was sent to Germany and by the time he returned home, I was not a little girl anymore.

Funny how rain can trigger emotions that I thought were long lost.  I wonder what is going on in Nickerson?  It floods every Spring and I am sure this one is no different.  I am planning a trip back there in August, but it can never be the same.  The house is gone.  The people I knew are gone.  It is just a spot on the map now,  but isn't that how life was planned to be?  And our memories, they never leave.

I still love country music and I listen to Classic Country when I am at home alone.  The radio used to crackle and break up so I could not understand the words.  Now it is clear and while it is the same, it is not the same, but through it all I can hear Jake singing.  I can feel the hot, humid air that is Kansas.  And while this brings tears to my eyes as I think back, it was probably the happiest part of my life.

I miss you, my brother!

Riverside Printing is my friendly printer!

When I decided that I really wanted to publish this book, I wanted to go local because Pueblo needs the money as bad as anyone else.  So I called several printing companies in search of one who did books and that included the "perfect binding" as opposed to the spiral.  I found one, took my info in the them and they promised a price.  Two days later I stopped in and the boss was still not in.  Couple more days and a couple more phone calls and still nothing.  After almost two weeks I renewed my quest.  And that is when I found Riverside Printing!

Here we are right on the corner of 9th and Elizabeth.  Riverside Printing. 

And here is Evelyn, who took my order, gave me a price and told   me all the little things I needed to know to make this book a reality!  Very nice lady.  I left my little flash drive with her and toddled on home, still raw from my first rejection.  Hopefully this one would want my money!

                                             

I was absolutely amazed when the phone rang that evening and Evelyn had a price for me!  I was astounded at the price, but then we discussed a larger quantity and the price began to fall.  My hat is off the that woman!  And then again when I ordered the books and said I would like a proof copy, I sat back to wait.  Soon I received a call for my original art work as it needed a bit of a tweek.  Emailed that over and sat back to wait.  Nothing on Friday, so I figured it would be another one of those deals.  Silly me!

The phone rang on Saturday afternoon.  Lady named Susie was at the golf course ready to tee off and had my proof in the car and if I would run by and pick it up she could get on with her game. I did not know that anyone in this town actually did business on Saturday!  So off I went and picked it up and the rest is history.   The pictures and barcode were perfect.  Inside looked good (I have since found a booboo, but that is my bad.) so we were good to go. 

I picked up 10 copies on Friday and those are already gone.  So I am waiting for Susie to crank up the presses and then I will launch the website and very soon you will have your copy in your hands!

One of my dreams has come true.

WHOOPS!!!



Remember way back when you were dating?

I was young once and I can still remember that time.  I was young and actually dated boys.  I don't think things happen the way they did many years back.  For one thing, everybody has a car now days.  Usually given to the kid by one parent or another so they do not have to drive them around.  Back in the day, it did not work that way.  Cars were few and far between and if the boy wanted to use the car to take a little chickadee somewhere on Saturday night, the deal was made weeks in advance.  A date was a big deal back then.  The guy had to come to the door and actually meet mom and dad. Well, it was supposed to work that way, but it didn't always.

See back then I thought my parents were way to strict and old fashioned and and I just could not be bothered with those little customs that other kids held so dear.  One might say I was a bit of a rebel back then.  So I always managed to meet the lucky boy up on the highway.  Looking back, I see that I might have been sending the wrong message.  Well, I am pretty sure I was not getting the message across that I had parents who cared about me and wanted to know where I was more for my benefit than just because they were nosey!

So, I met Prince Charming up on the highway and we would go to the drug store and have a coke ore something equally decadent which cost in the neighborhood of five cents.  Dates were cheap back then.  Then we might walk around a while.  You know, look at the stars and stuff because back then there was not so much light pollution and you could see the stars.  Then back to the car and drive some where so we could see better.  Inevitably that damn car would run out of gas!  What to do now?  My idea was to hit the road and go get more gas, but his was to neck.  Neck!  We could neck all night and that car would still be out of gas.

I have always been a woman of action.  "Come on!  It will be midnight before we get back.  I ain't gonna set here all night."  And it was then that the truth came to light,  I could either give or walk.  Give or Walk?  Is that your idea of foreplay?  Well, I have also been scared of the dark most of my life, but here was a situation that would warrant closer scrutiny of whatever was in the dark.  On the one hand I was alone with an idiot who did not have sense enough to put gas in his car, thinking that sex would make that thing run.  And if we had sex, he would still be out of gas and I would be walking.  Either way, I knew I was going to hoof it home that night.

Ever look back on your life and just wonder how you could have actually been that stupid and ever lived?  I got more walking time in when I was a teenager than in all the rest of my life.  And you would have thought that the guys would have wised up at some point, but they never did.  I did finally decide all the boys in my hometown were jerks and started dating the boys from the big city.  Now those guys knew how to treat a girl!  Actually I think they were afraid of me because I had some very muscle bound legs.  Guess they thought I might kick them!

One of the guys from way far away in Dodge City caught my fancy and the rest was history.  We dated three weeks.  He met momma and dad.  Never made me walk home. Took me dancing and we drank some beer.  I got sick, but I knew I would spend the rest of my life with this gorgeous man with blond curly hair, blue eyes and a Roman nose.  Funny thing, life.  My forever lasted 10 years and 5 kids.  The Dreamer that I had loved with every fiber of my being turned out to be just that, The Dreamer.  He wrote the most beautiful love letters, but neglected to pay the rent.  He painted pictures of a most glorious future, but wouldn't change a diaper.  Guess life just kind of got in the way, and life does have a way of doing that, doesn't it?