Where did that girl go?

I found this picture among my souvenirs.  I think it was probably taken when I was in my senior year of high school.  For the record, I did not graduate high school.  I was too busy doing what I thought was more important, like dancing and "stuff".  After all, I had a job at some burger drive in and could bring home as much as I needed for cigarettes.  Looking back, I think I was pretty.  Even given that, I never dated.  I went to dances and had plenty boys wanting to date me, but I just wasn't interested in settling down or at least not until Earl Duane Seeger walked into the Crow Bar that night back in 1960.

That is me on the far left.  Looking at this picture makes me sad because I am the only one left setting at that table. He passed in 1994.  Larry and Maude passed in the last 2 years.  So that just leaves me.

So time marches on and this is a picture from last year.

 This is from the high tea last year and all of these kids are my great grandkids!  Not grandkids, GREAT Grandkids. I am the little wrinkled up old lady in the center.  These kids are capable of making me a great, great Grandmother! Where did the time go?

Mother called it like it is when she said,  "When you are over the hill, you pick up speed."

Rest in Peace, Momma.

 

Ten dollars and 200 miles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks, mom!

Today is Tuesday, February 18.

It is the day before my oldest daughters birthday.  She will be 58 years old tomorrow and like me, does not care who knows her age because it is just a number.  I was 20 years old when she was born.  Her dad was not at the hospital, because back in those days most men left such jobs to their wives.  He did check in later to see if it was a boy or a girl.  Of course the fact that she was a girl was a big disappointment to him because he wanted a son.  Sadly he would be disappointed 2 more times before I was "woman enough to have a son."  He got drunk to cover his disappointment, but he did let me name them.  Debra Louann, Patricia Lynn, Dona Marie.  No particular thought to their names, just a name that popped into my head.

Back to Debbie.  When I brought her home, I had no idea what I would do with her.  I did have a bassinette for her to sleep in, a pile of cloth diapers, a diaper pail to wash the diapers in when she pooped.  I had bottles and a can of formula.  Also several baby t-shirt, pajamas, and several blankets.  I had a supply of glass baby bottles with rings and caps.  The bottles had to be washed and then sterilized in a special pan along with the wrings and caps.  As I recall, they were filled with formula and then once more run through the cycle to sterilize the formula inside.  She had to be washed with a special soap and God only knows what else.  Being a mother back then was a full time job.  Even the diapers had to be washed separately with special soap.  There was no time to enjoy being a mother, because if a germ touched her she would be dead and it would be my fault!

Of course her father never touched her and he sure as hell never changed a diaper, nor did he watch while I did that because it made him sick.  The door was for walking away and he did that quite often.  But, as I look back, I was the lucky one.  He never felt her soft warm breathe on his cheek.  He never felt her tiny fingers curl around his thumb.  He never experienced her first smile while looking into her eyes.  And her first word was "Momma".  She was a little white haired angel that would grow to be the "leader" as oldest kids often do.  Patricia Lynn was born 19 months later, but more about that when her birthday comes. (I plan on doing a blog for each one.) ((The best laid plans of mice and men oft times go awry.))

Today Debbie lives in Eastern Kansas on a 40 acre farm with her husband, Hammer.  "Hammer" is not  his legal name, but it is what I call him.  Few people call him Carl.  She and Hammer are raising 3 grandchildren.  These kids were born to her son who for whatever reason, does not take care of them, but that is a whole 'nuther story.

I have always thought, looking back, that I did not do a very good job of raising my kids.  We all know that life is 20/20 looking back.  I can now see very clearly what I should have done, but I can not get the toothpaste back in that tube.  Today Debbie put it in language I can understand.   This may not be word for word, but along these lines.

We had been rehashing the unfairness of wages for women working back when we were working.  The men we worked beside made twice as much as we did and while I was raising 5 kids that never came into play.  I worked beside men that made twice what I made because "they have families to take care of".  When I noted that I had a family to take care of also, I was told that I should get married.  That was at the Holiday Inn.  She had worked for her father and was paid half of what the men were paid.  It was just how it was back then.

Debbie has always held the belief that "What does not kill you will make you strong."  Today she told me that I did a good job raising her and that her grit and determination were instilled in her by me.  Not her father, but me.  I taught by example.  I am very proud of her for many reasons.  She champions the underdog.  She feeds the stray cats.  She instills responsibility in her grandkids.  She holds them to a higher standard, because that is who she is.

So, Debbie, Happy Birthday tomorrow.  Keep up the good work.  Always remember that whatever you do, someone is watching and if no one bothers to tell you that you are a wonderful woman, Mother knows.  I love you.

Ringworm, head lice and God only knows what else!

My grand daughter was here this weekend with her husband and 3 kids ages 5-13.  All boys!  It was a lovely visit and I look forward to the next visit.  Her husband carpeted my stairs and did a lovely job.  I want to go on record as saying, the title of this blog is in no way connected to her family.  It just brought back memories of when I was first out on my own and my kids were my complete responsibility.  That was a horror story.

Having spent a couple weeks with mother watching the kids and my working, I rented a house down on Smith Street.  The first thing that happened was I hired the girl across the street to babyset.  Then the car broke down.  I paid $49 to Clell Burnett for a 1949 Black Ford 2 door.  Sam immediately poured sand in the gas tank.  School started and Debbie immediately came home with a ring worm.  I knew about ring worm and how to treat them, but she could not stay in school with out a doctors note, so off we went.  Treatment consisted of shining a purple light on it to be sure it was a ring worm and then a tube of something to smear on it which did not work.  Total cost for that (not to mention my time off from work) was $10.  A car cost $50 and a doctor visit 20% of that.  Hmmm.

Time passed and the neighbor girl stole any jewelry I had, Sam set the bed on fire, and my rental house began to leak.  The landlord told me if he fixed the roof, my rent would be raised.  Apparently I had not read the fine print about the roof being extra!

Mother at that time, had her house at 217 West 5th setting empty and she let me move in there with the understanding that I would make the house payments and all upkeep.  Sounded like a dream come true.  She still owed $11,000 on it.  It was perfect for us.  Bunk beds for the one bedroom and twin beds in the front bedroom.   Huff family lived right up the street with kids my kids age.  They also had a big dog.  They also had head lice!

Now, I will go on record as saying ring worm is a whole lot easier then head lice!  Ring worm can actually be controlled with a cotton ball and a bottle of Clorox.  Head lice requires washing everything in hot water, medication on a fine tooth comb and doing it over and over again.  Nope.  Do not want any more of that.  Seems like if you have one or 2 kids that Lady Luck lets you slide;  5 kids, not so much.  Luckily, back then, immunizations were requested, but not required.  I tried to keep the kids current and with help from the programs at school I managed to get them all into puberty without any of them contracting, small pox, polio, or any of the other fatal diseases.  Childhood illness was kept to a minimum, thanks to God and love of their mother!

So here I set almost 60 years later remembering how I raised kids, and how the are raised today and I can not help but be amazed.  Her oldest son is 13 years old and I think she said he is 5'7" and Lord only knows how much he weighs!  He is actually the same size his grandpa was when I married him!  Big boy.  Bigger than his dad.  Wonder what she feeds that kid!  I know he plays football.  Very polite kids.  At least I think they are polite.  There is always the off chance that they are scared to death of me!  My kids called my mom "Grouchy Grandma".  I wonder what these kids call ME?  They actually seemed to like me.  I could be wrong.

Well, this is what I woke up to this morning.  Another day another dollar, I guess.  Today is the day I am going to get something constructive done.

Yeah, right!

Happy Birthday to Hammer!

I am not sure how old Hammer is today, but I am pretty sure he is old.  He is married to my oldest daughter.  They live in Longton, Kansas.  They are survivalists to the max.  They have a 40 acre farm, many cats, a dog or two and are right now down to a couple calves.  Usually they buy calves, fatten them up and then sell them to pay the bank the money they borrowed to buy the calves and feed them.  It is not a real profitable operation, but it keeps them off the streets.  They are also raising 4 grandkids which is not a break even operation, but something that needs done.

Hammer had done his 2 tours in Vietnam before Debbie met him.  Needless to say, he had the normal problems that all the boys coming home from there had.  Vietnam was a terrible operation and PTSD is a side effect that is never completely over come.  He still suffers from the effects of Agent Orange as well as the horrors of a war that should never have been undertaken.  Hammer and I are pretty much from the same era.  I know other men who served in Vietnam and all I can say about that is I hope our government learned something from those mistakes, because it was certainly an exercise in futility and anyone who was there still has nightmares even if they say they don't.

I do not know how many years they have been married, but I know it is a lot and I was there that day.  They had been living up in the mountains above Eleven mile Reservoir as I recall, but were in the process of moving down into Pueblo.  Since they were between homes they spent a few days here and in the course of finding a home, they decided they should just trot on up to the court house and "do the deed" which is the equivalent of "getting this shittin' mess over with that Kenny and I had done several years earlier.  I would be one witness and witness number 2 was decided to be a lady named Shirley Smith.  Shirley and her husband, Bill,  ran the UPumpit in Blende.  So off we went.

For some reason, on our way to town we decided that Shirley would be Hammers Best Man.  I was mother of the bride, because that is what I was.  The Judge who was officiating was very understanding.  I am not sure he had ever married anyone in Levi's before, but that is what we were wearing.  Hammer is a big bear of a man with the full beard, biker tattoos and a gruff whiskey voice.  He and Debbie make a great couple.  They went to the motel for their wedding night.  (I know this because I just called her and asked her.)  It was 30 years ago.  Damn!

There has been a lot of water under that bridge and a lot of changing on both their parts.  Well, maybe not changing so much as just adapting to each others wants and needs.  They are talking about moving out here closer to me and I think that would be great.  I guess a lot depends on the 3 grandkids which are currently in their custody.  When life hands us lemons, we make lemonade!  Just the way we are.

Today was also my sister-in-laws birthday.  Not sure how old she would have been because she tended to sugar coat a lot of things.  Sadly, she is no longer on this side of the veil.  Very few of my relatives are.

So any way, Happy Birthday to Hammer!  I know he is on a road trip right now, but I trust he will drive carefully and hurry home to Longton.

Peace! 

Bowls are good for lots of things!

Went to Western Kansas last week to see part of the tribe.  You should know that my middle daughter, Dona M Seeger owns a beauty shop in Lakin,  Kansas.  The first order upon my arrival was to take a nap in the back room since she was busy with customers.  Bill, my son in law from my daughter Patty, came and woke me up.  He has been having some health problems so I was glad to see him up and about.  As soon as Dona finished her last customer we went to Mi Ranchita to eat.  There I seen more grand daughters, grandson, great granddaughters and more great grandsons.  It appears I have been very prolific because this little gathering produced 12 or 13 paying customers and only 2 of my daughters were accounted for in this gathering.

After supper we headed out to Dona's house and bed.  Now, I forgot that I wanted my haircut while we were in her shop and I did not think about it again till the next day.  I was one tired puppy.  I did not think about it the next day, but rather Sunday morning when it was almost time to leave.  Now I do not know if I discussed the bowl business with Dona or not.  Sometimes I have conversations with myself in my head and the bowl business may have happened that way.  What I wanted to tell her and did not, was that I was proud of her and the way she has made a successful business to take care of herself and her sons.  The bowl business aside.

Back before I was even in school mother was a lady of leisure.  Dad did something to make a living , but I do not know what it was.  I know he drank and I think he may have been involved in something not quite legal because we always had money when we lived on the Stroh place and he went to the sale and brought home a Shetland pony and that was the meanest damned horse on earth.  That is the one that kicked my brother in the face and left him with a very ugly scar that he carried all his life.  Jake may or may not have goosed the horse which is what one of his friends said happened.  I just don't know.

The important part of the story is that mother always went "to club" and we had to be clean when she took us.  Did I tell you how she used to put me under her arm and pump cold water over my head when she washed my hair.  Jesus!  That water was cold!  I still cringe when I think of that.  But anyway, back to club.

I do not know what went on at club because us kids had to go into the other room and somebody watched us.  The ladies of the club were very helpful to each other.  All of them were dressed very nice and wore little hats because that was what they did back then.  They shared recipes and gave each other tips on how to raise kids.  One of the ladies was a hair cutter.  That meant she came to the other ladies houses and cut the kids hair.  That was always a day to be excited about.
 
"Mrs. Soandso will be by on Friday to cut the kids hair."

 Now my mother had a special bowl which was for Mrs. Soandso to use as a pattern for the hair cutting job.  First we had to get out the haircutting stool which raised us to the proper height so Mrs. Soandso did not have to bend over.  She had sharp scissors that were used only for haircutting.  The haircutting usually went very smoothly and very quickly.  Course if the recipient moved at all, the bowl would slide a bit and one side might be longer then the other.  At times like that I was a stone statue because I sure did not want my hair to be uneven.  And when she was all done we would line up for inspection. Mother would gush about how beautiful we were and then insist that she take a quarter for herself.

Have you ever looked at the old school pictures?  You can spot the kids whose mothers went to club.  All of our hair ended right below our ears and sometimes our bangs were only about an inch long .  because Mrs. Soandso was tired. Of course we always had to have a "fresh haircut" for pictures.  I often wondered back in those days, if there really was a god!

For some reason, when we left the Stroh place and moved everything we owned on a hay rack to the Ailmore place, mother quit going to club.  Dad quit going to where ever he used to go.  Mother started cleaning houses for the rich ladies in town and life changed without me even knowing it.  I wish I had remembered what changed, but I didn't.  Sometimes way in the back of my memory, I almost remember something, but not quite.  Some where is the memory of a big house with an elevator across the river, and I seem to remember going there once with my dad.  But it was never talked about and Dad never went there after we left the Stroh place.

Isn't life funny that way?

There is a heel in every loaf.

Well, actually there are 2 heels in every loaf, but I am not sure how to spell heel.  I think this is right.  I like home baked bread. Like may not be a strong enough word for my love affair with baking.  I know I can get into the car and drive into town and find several bakeries most willing to take my money and give me a loaf of their bread, but some how that just seems so wrong. It will have all kinds of stuff in it to make it better than mine, but I gotta tell you, it always falls short of the mark.  Sure it is crusty and tasty and already baked, sometimes with an egg wash to make the crust even crustier.  Sad, because I like mine better. 

Mine is made with water, yeast, salt, sugar, oil, and flour.  That is it.  Nothing fancy and I don't have to scald, puree, or infuse anything.  I throw it all in a mixing bowl with a dough hook and 4 minutes later, the dough has climbed the hook and it is ready to be covered and let raise.  I usually make a couple double batches and set them to raise on the stove top.  When the pans are almost ready, I turn the oven to 355.  The bread bakes about 20 minutes or so.  Nothing is set in stone at my house except my naptime at 3:00 while Jeopardy is showing.

Now this little fellow decided he might like to try a piece of the heel on the first loaf out of the oven.  It was his own idea, not mine.  Something about the aroma of fresh baked bread is just more than a human can resist.  He just wasn't sure at first that eating a piece of bread was what he really wanted to do.  I did not push it because I like the heel best myself and there are only so many in a loaf.  So he took it.

And the rest is history.  He used to look for cheese puffs, or orange juice, but the aroma of fresh bread is his new mantra.  Bless his little tiny heart.

This little fellow is not real fond of meat and sweets are not his thing either.  Mostly he dines on fruit and cheese.  Kinda fun to have around.  Looks like I will be making bread for him for several more years before he figures out about junk food, but maybe not.

He does keep me on my toes and he is now trying to teach me to jump.  For the record, I am not learning that one very well.  I think it is this damned old age thing.  Not only am I not good at jumping, I don't even want to try.  It all seems pointless at this juncture.  So we shall engage in our little war of the wills until I either jump or he gives up.  

How ya' betting?