Hook, line and sinker!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace.

Ala man left and a dotsey doe!

What ever goes on in my head at night when I am sound asleep is more than I can guess but I would sure love to figure it out.  Today I woke up thinking about a box of cards up on the shelf in the closet that Kenny received when we had his retirement party.  That coupled with this song click here.  He was a trucker and while he was not over the road, he was out of town a lot.  I have chased him all over Colorado, New Mexico and Utah since I went to visit him where he was hauling for one company or another.  We bought a park model trailer which was his home away from home.  With that he had his home away from home.  He cooked for himself and kept his little trailer very neat and clean and even made his bed!  Sure saw a lot of country and I met  a lot of very nice people.  But I digress.

When Kenny and I started dating back in 1982 we were both fresh out of failed marriages.  We had known each other while married to previous mates, to we were not strangers.  Most of our time was spent commiserating about how we had both been wronged.  Now, that common bond will only keep people together for so long.

I love to dance and back home dancing in bars was common practice and the next dance was just one beer away and a new dance partner always ready.  Not so in Colorado.  Kenny did not dance and had not one bone in his body that knew what music was, but he decided we should take square dance lessons at the City Park.  Seems his friends, Johnny and Betty were square dancers.  You know I am game for damn near anything, so off we went.  Once a week without fail.  I even bought a black and white checkered square dancing dress.  Lots of crinoline under skirts held it out.  This was fun!  Granted it was not the same as the western swing, rock and roll, and waltzing that I was used to, but it would suffice.

Learning to square dance had been fun, but when the lessons ended, so did our dancing.  I tried to work with Kenny at home and teach him to dance, but the man had not one ounce of rhythm any where in his body, so that was given up as a lost cause.  Now anyone can tell you, in order for a relationship to thrive the participants in said relationship need to have some sort of common bond.

His kids were grown and gone.  I had 2 left at home.  My kids did not need a step father since they had their own father.  Since we were both a little leery of the wedding ring scenario, we decided that we would just "shack up" and see how it went.  We decided that if we could survive together for one year that we would cross the "wedded bliss" bridge at that point.  So he found and bought this house out here on the Mesa, and Kenny Mercer and Lou Seeger set up house keeping.

I had spent my whole life fishing as had Kenny, but with one difference.  He liked to fish out of a boat.  I was terrified of water and neither one of us could swim  (still can't).  I had always fished from the bank of the river.  A real fisherman will know the difference styles of fishing are as different as night and day.  His tackle box was full of lures and stuff like that: mine was worms and bobbers.  Getting that man to set on a creek bank and wait for his line to dance was just not happening, so I made the sacrifice and crawled in his little 15 foot aluminum boat and we cast out into the Clear Creek Reservoir over by some place near Alamosa.

One year later we were still together.  We had started a new business called Ken Mercer Trucking and were doing well.  The drive line needed repaired on December 23, 1983, but the shop was closed.  It was 15 degrees below zero and his words to me were, "Let's just get this shittin mess over with."  We drove to Canon City, got a license and were untied in Holy Matrimony on the 5th floor of an assisted living facility by a retired minister and witnessed by his bed ridden wife and a stranger in the hall.

And we lived happily ever after until his death in 2003.

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!  

The house where the fancy people live, whoops!

Many years ago, my oldest daughter moved to Longton, Kansas.  Her and her husband bought a 40 acre plot with a mobile home and a lake for less then I bought a car.  Longton is about as far east and south as you can go in Kansas without leaving the state.  Seems as though the population is about 102 on a good day when everyone is home.  To make a long story short, my daughter, Patty went to visit.  

There really is not much to do in a town that size except go to the auctions that pop up from time to time.  So they did.  That particular auction was for a double wide modular that set on 5 lots on the edge of Longton.  Back home places like that were selling for $50,000.  When the auctioneer asked for a bid, none were forthcoming.  So, Patty and Debbie put their little heads together, compared bank accounts and walked away owning the whole kit and kaboodle for $12,000.  

Now this place also sported a 3 or 4 car garage.  Hell, even I was tempted to throw things in a suitcase and head East!

When I finally got around to visiting Patty was using her place as a vacation home.  It was definitely a nice place to visit and the town of Longton was very quaint.  It had a restaurant and prices were very reasonable.  A lot of history on these walls.

This one gave me hope.

A stroll around town (which took about 20 minutes to cover the length and breadth of the city including the liquor store and the falling down building with a tree growing out of the roof) produced this picture of a very beautiful home just a couple blocks from Patty's house.  When I asked her who lived there, she told me, "That is where the fancy people live!  They are hardly ever home and do not come out when they are."  Sadly the house burned a couple years back.

This a house down on the other end of town. Since both houses appear to be of the same design and maybe by the same architect and builder, I asked her if that was where more "fancy people" lived and she told me "No, that is the one the druggies have moved into."  How sad because this one actually had a gazebo.

This is another house on one of the roads going into Longton.  Looks pretty deserted to me!

This is the barn setting on the end of Main Street just catty corner from the liquor store.  Not sure they still use it as a barn for horses or cattle, but who knows.  I could be wrong.  This might be a Debbie's house.

So, any way.  Elk County Reservoir is nearby and the fishing is great!

I must be about due for another vacation!  Who knows?

B & D Carryout helped raise my kids.

Debbie and I were talking today about how parents do not always raise their own kids and it turned to my early years of being a single parent.   I know I was working at the Red Carpet and I was off on Sundays.  Through the week I worked the morning shift, came back and helped through the supper rush and then went down on South Main to sack bread at the bakery.  When you maintain a schedule like that, days off are a definite luxury so it was important that they be savored.  Now I have to say I was not very good at attending church, but I made sure the kids got on the bus every Sunday morning for their religious training.  But Sunday afternoons were special.

The fishing poles were always in the trunk of the old black Ford.  There were no such things back then as car seats so the kids just piled in wherever they fit.  They climbed back and forth across the seats, hung out the windows and generally just made a nuisance of themselves.  Of course they were hungry.  They were always hungry.  They were always hungry, always thirsty and always needed to pee.  It was all just part of the living thing back then.  They were kids and that was all they knew.  But any time we had a little time to kill and a little gas in the car we were good.  Gas was like 20 cents and the Ford could go 20 miles or more on a gallon of gas, so life was golden.  The only thing the old car lacked was an actual floor board on the drivers side.  It had a lot of floor, but it was mostly holes.  Well, no radio and no heater or windshield wipers, but it ran and that was what mattered.  Well, stopping mattered and the brakes worked most of the time.  I guess it was a way to get to the B & D Carryout out on fifth street where dinner awaited us.

Now keep in mind that coffee was 20 cents a cup and a hamburger at McDonalds was 19 cents.  At B & D Carryout I would purchase 8 hamburgers and French fries.  The bottom of the box was covered with French fries and then 8 hamburgers were placed on top of the French fries.  Each hamburger had a pickle slice and a squirt of ketchup.  That was it.  For this I paid $1.00.  Try and feed a family of 6 for a dollar today.  Not happening.  You are probably thinking that those were some damn little hamburgers, but you would be wrong.  When a rag tag carload of people are off for an afternoon of fishing and playing in the sand, there is no better meal to be had and the memory of those afternoons will some times pop into my mind at night and make me so homesick I cry.

How I would love to turn back the hands of time and be given another chance at raising my kids.  There would have only been one husband and father and there would have been college funds.  No home made clothes and no hand me downs.  There would have been a bedroom for each kid with a bed and sheets and blankets.  There would have been a puppy and kittens.  I would have read them stories and taken them for walks in the park.  We would have filled the pew at the Presbyterian church on Fourth Street.  And there would not have been a B & D Carryout.  Of course there would not have been fishing trips either.  So would the trade off have made that much difference?  Do my kids enjoy life because we went fishing  or would they have been better off going to college?  It is all irrelevant now.  There is no going back, so I guess I will just try to remember it as good times.  I am old enough now that I can get my fishing license for $1.00 at Walmarts.  I bought a new rod and reel and a new tackle box, but for some reason, they have not been taken out of the shed.

I thought I was the adult here!! My mistake.

Yesterday I drove myself to Florence to go fishing with Bret, Amanda and the baby.  As you can see Bret and I were busy with the fine art of casting and Amanda was documenting our outing.  Now you all know what happened here!  This innocent little baby of 6 tender months, is the worlds youngest photobomber!!  And he looks so harmless!  I can see what he is thinking.  "Oh, they are busy catching my dinner and mommy wants a picture!  Pick me, mommy!  Pick me."

Course about as soon as he jacked up the picture of mother and son in a bonding adventure, he went to sleep!

The scenery was fantastic.  Here is a picture of the fish Bret caught.  Now that is one big fish!

Here is mine that I did not catch!

The restrooms we used and the one we did not!

Amanda is in charge of packing and unpacking the car loaded with things to make the little Jiraiya's life most comfortable.  Bret and my job was to eat chicken apparently.

Kind of a water fall here.  We were at the Florence Water Park.

  I got home about 3:00 and the miles per gallon on the dash reported in at 49.7.  Can't get much better than that!

Life is Good!

I have an itchy friend and I sure do feel for him.

I had a brief email from a friend back east on Wednesday.  Seems he done got to close to the Poison Ivy and now he is not a happy camper.  I do feel for the boy!  I did not realize it was that time of the year already, but it would stand to reason that all the pollen is flying so Poison Ivy would be no different.  I am very well educated on this little aspect of life.  Many years ago when I had tiny children and lived in Garden City, Kansas, I got my first taste of that little plant.  The husband went fishing.  When he came home and showered, the devoted little wife tossed the fishing clothes in the washer.  First bout of Poison Ivy.
Usually in the Spring I drift off to Hutchinson and work in my sisters yard.  Well, we finally decided that the Southeast corner of her yard was full of that stuff.  First year was not so bad.  Second year took me to the emergency room for a round of antibotics and steroids.   But the last year was total hell.  Last time left scars. Lots of drugs on the last one.  And since it seemed to be every where on my upper torso and I could not bear to have anything touch it, all my tee shirts were releived of the neck band and sleeves and shortened.  The best part is that I never even seen the stuff.  Would have been nice to face the enemy head to head.
I have learned that Poison Ivy is one of the critters that every time you get in it, your reaction is more pronounced!  And it is much easier to get than it was the first time.  I am to the point now that I can just pick it up from a nice gentle breeze if I stand down wind from the stuff.  Kansas and Missouri is riddled with that stuff and that is where I usually travel, so I am staying home this year.  I am pretty sure my sister is rid of her little patch, so that is cool.
That being said, just let me play you a little song and then get busy on chores and such.  To my friend I would like to say....Sorry about that buddy!  And  remember that time changes everything!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Dbev-k2wos

Do I have class? I do not think so.

I used to think I had class.  May not have been high class, but I could get by and fit in with almost anyone any where.  Now I have had occasion to rethink the whole class thing.  I was having coffee with a friend the other day when I first began thinking maybe I was not on the same level as he was.  Granted he came from Denver via San Francisco via Philadelphia, drives a Lexus and actually owns a camel hair jacket of some sort or another.  Maybe it was a blazer.  We were discussing a play he had seen and as I sat there I watched him as he described having gone to the theater.  Theater.  I had at one time watched a movie.  The fact that I could not recall what it was about when it was over should have been the first clue.  "Shall we go to the theater?" is a far cry from "Want to catch a movie?" or "There is a play at the Impossible Players tonight".   Theater denotes that I will be wearing a dress of some sort and will behave in a civilized manner.  Movie would be jeans and tennies.  Play means we are going to eat before we go!

Just as "dinner engagement" is the direct opposite of "What's for supper?"  so "Brunch" is to "early lunch or late breakfast."  As I sat there engaged in this one sided conversation, my mind began to slowly point out the differences in our two worlds.  He talks in a quiet, well enunciated, sedate voice.  If something is funny, he laughs softly or smiles to himself.  I am more middle of the road, well more clear the hell and gone over there in the ditch.  I have been known to throw my head back and laugh very loudly if something is funny.  That is not done in polite society.  I usually kick my shoes off at the front door.  He wears his even when he is home alone. His hands are very soft and white.  His nails are manicured.  My hands are calloused. The majority of my nails are out of the quick, and no two are the same length.  His hair is pulled back and I think he just got in from the stylist.  No two hairs in my head go the same direction.  He will open the door for me and all I have to do is stand  and smile at him, but I don't feel like playing the game today.  I am out of there.

Now I should make a note here that this was not our first cup of coffee.  We had, in fact been to lunch a couple times and gone for a drive in the mountains.  He seemed to have the sense of humor that is necessary to me.  He is financially secure,  which is also important.  This was not my first rodeo, but it may have been his.  Remember when I said I was going to do the dating thing this year?  Well, this was  a feeble attempt at getting started on that road.  So in my typical fashion I have interviewed and discarded one of the male species.  I have decided that since I really do not care if I have one in my life on a permanent basis that I can afford to be very picky.  I am just afraid that by being a woman who does not care if she has a man, it is like waving a red flag at one of them. 

So, while this particular SWM and I had several good days over a three week period together I fear that this is not the one for me.  Oh, I fully intend to "see" him on occasion and we will talk on the phone from time to time.  He is a very interesting man, but way out of my comfort level for someone I want to introduce to my kids.  I am pretty sure he is not the one that will bait my hook when we go fishing, if we were to go fishing.  Doesn't strike me as anyone who could gut a fish either.  Although in all fairness he did listen attentively while I described the process to him.  I know he was attentive, because he did not blink one time.  Course shock has much the same reaction.  Hmmmmmmmmmmm?

So back to the drawing board for the dating thing. 

Hey! Wait just one minute here!

This is not fair!  No way is this a fair thing to happen to me!  Yesterday it was 70+ degrees.  Day before that it hit 80.  Now  this morning there is snow.  Stop this madness.  It is Spring.  The Daffodils are blooming and everything!  The ducks are mating as are the geese. Now I have Robins playing in the snow.  What is wrong with this scenario?

Oh, yeah, now I remember, I live in Colorado!  Beautiful Colorado in the foothills to the Rockie Mountains.  Kenneth and I were on our way to a place near Durango many years ago to get a load of coal for some one.  Being the end of May and hotter than the dickens, I wore my shorts and we did not bother taking a coat.  The first problem we encountered was that the pass had the chain law in effect.  Usually we called and checked things like that, but rarely, if ever do you worry about it when it is 80 degrees.  Course there is that little altitude thing we should have thought about.  A lesson learned, but not retained, although we did make it a habit to carry chains and coats no matter where we went or when we went.

See, I should have known when I met that man what I was in for.  Before we ever did the "I do" thing in front of the minister in the assisted living center in Canon City and had a celebratory doughnut as our wedding supper, there were signs of the future.  Take for instance, the weekend camp out and boating trip the weekend AFTER Labor Day. 

We loaded the camper shell, boat, fishing tackle, lots of food, camp stove, two kids and my poodle/chihuahua, Sysnyck  and headed for Turquoise Lake, about as high up as you can get without going clear to heaven.  It was late when we got there so we immediately pitched the tent and went to bed.  It immediately began to rain.  The bathrooms were locked up, being after Labor Day and all, but it was a big forest.  Morning broke to show a beautiful view of the lake, ice floes and all.  Fuel had leaked out of the camp stove.  Kids were wet and frozen.  My bottom  and the forest floor did not take to well to each other.  But we had come to boat and fish and by jeepers that was what we would do.  And did it we did.

The worms were frozen, but the boat was not.  We boarded the seaworthy vessel and cranked it up;  fishing poles remained on the bank.  My stalwart Captain roared away from the dock, the dog jumped overboard, the daughter burst out in tears because she was going to die.  He idled, turned  around and picked up the dog and headed back to shore.  We arrived home early that afternoon and it was again 80 degrees, but we were still frozen.

The year on that was 1982.  Perhaps you recall that being the year there was a sudden spike in antibiotic sales?  Both kids had raging fevers the next day.  I am a firm believer that such things are brought on by a virus and not getting cold and wet, but I did make an exception in that case.

The following summer, July 4 weekend to be exact, we took a 3 day weekend, same boat, vacation to the high lakes in the Rockies.  Kids refused to step foot off the place after the first vacation.  When we got home I was so sunburned I had to sleep standing up.  Not really, but it was bad!  So I now know, but still occasionally forget what Colorado is all about.  Check my car.  I have blankets, coats, sunscreen, water, an emergency stable food source, and my Bible.  I am taking no chances. 

The kids are grown up and gone.  Kenny has passed to his much deserved  reward and I am here alone.  I do still go to the mountains, but only for the day.  I go with a friend or sometimes just drive up to Beulah to see my friend Jan.  So I stay in Colorado.  It has become home to me and I expect when I close my eyes and see Kenny coming to pick me up, his silhouette will be against the back drop of Pikes Peak or Turquoise Lake or something else quite as beautiful.  When that happens I will not look back.  And I expect you all to be happy and wish me bon voyage!  Cause I will be tripping the light fantastic with a man who never had a lick of rythym any where near his body, but he could catch a fish.