Trick or Treat!

 Halloween is fast approaching and while it is fraught with bad memories for me, there are also a few that bring me fond memories.  October 30 is/was my first journey into the state of Holy Matrimony.  While that did not last and has a lot of sadness connected with it, it nonetheless gave me all 5 of my children.  That is good.  It is also the day my brother was in a car cras and death claimed him the next day.  So this year I am going to take a journey back to Halloween when I was but a wee lass!

As I recall, Nickerson, Kansas boasted a population of 1200 souls.  Not every street had a street light, but most of them did.  Our costumes usually consisted of paper grocery bags that momma had saved from the Fleming grocery or Berridge IGA.  These were laid out on the table after mother had cut a mouth and eyes in them.  She then dug out broken crayons that she had saved from school last year.  Each one of us colored our grocery bag as we chose.  Jake always made a scar face on his. If you recall, he had a scar on his cheek that he carried all his life because a horse kicked him in the face when he was very young.  Anyway....

We were sent into the world of free candy carrying some sort of bag which we hoped to fill with candy.  We were also reminded to say please and thank you.  And don't be greedy!  Only take one piece.  Now back in those days we did not have to worry about some one putting razor blades in apples or dusting candy with LSD.  Our biggest worry was that the next house would  have a big bowl of candy corn and our greatest hope was that maybe somebody would give us a Hershey Bar.  Candy corn was gross and chocolate was hard to come by.  A lot of the homes had home baked cookies, which was good.  Back in those days the crazies had not yet came out of the woodwork and we could do that.  Not anymore!  Now the sacks have to be filled with individually wrapped items, taken somewhere and x-rayed before eating out of them.

It was always fun going from door to door and knocking.  Usually, some lady or her husband would come to the door and appear to be surprised and pleased to see us.  Usually.  If the porch light was not on that meant they were out of candy, so we just passed them by.  The hardest part of the whole thing was when we came to a block with no houses.  That is where the big boys hid and would jump out and steal our candy sacks.  They were high school kids, so we did not know them, and it only happened once to us, so we were careful to stay in the well-lighted areas.

The best part was when we got home and momma went through the sacks.  She examined each piece to be sure her babies would not bite into a razor blade.  She did not worry about the candy being laced with drugs, because back then, we did not know about the existence of such things.  Oh, the innocence of youth!

The short time I was in Plevna with the grandma's was probably one of my best Halloween's!  Population of Plevna was 109.  Of those few souls, several of them managed to steal a horse drawn buckboard from somewhere and hoisted it onto the roof of the gymnasium at the school.  Not sure they ever figured out who did that, but I think it was some ornery little rascals from Abbyville!  Or maybe Pretty Prairie.

So, here I set in my house that sets on a back acre.  No one will come to my house, because they cannot find it.  I will buy a little bag of miniature Heath bars or Almond Joy bars, just in case.  Course those happen to be my favorite candy bar and if  someone one comes to my house, I will give them one.  But if no none comes, I will have to eat them.  I hate to think of eating something I don't like.  

So there it is!  This year instead of mourning my brother or the demise of my first marriage, I will focus on the positive!  I will remember how happy I used to be all those years ago when we lived in abject poverty on a dead end street back in Nickerson, Kansas.  All I have left of those years is one sister.  The grandma's and aunt's and uncles are all gone.  I have a couple shirt tail second or third cousins, but that is it!

I also have my memories of days gone by and the best part of that is that they are mine and I can remember them as I choose to remember them.  Sometimes my memories make me very sad, but sometimes they are very happy and I can feel love over the years and the miles.  

That is the best part of old age!

Peace!

Lagree's on the Mesa

My favorite grocery store is a pretty well kept secret.  It is one mile up the road and I pop in there several times a week.  I have actually popped in there several times a day if I am having one of those days when I am completely disorganized.  

I moved out here on the Mesa when I married my last husband 40 years ago.  At that time it was Chet's grocery store.  Kenny was a wise man and told me that we needed to support the local grocery store or the time would come when we needed a loaf of bread and we would have to make a 30 minute drive to town and back.

Sadly, the original owner sold to someone else and the store began to go downhill.  Then the roof began to leak.  Lack of maintenance began to show.  The shelves began to carry inferior brands and the store soon became a place where one shopped as only a last resort.  I think it actually sat empty for a while.  

Then, Hark!  A new owner!  The first thing on his agenda was to repair the roof!  Not more walking around buckets of rain water to shop.  It is my understanding that Lagrees also exists in Alamosa, and another town in the mountains.

You can click on the article on my facebook page and save me a lot of typing!  Here is what I want to tell you.  Lagreese is a very user friendly store.  Clerks, stockers, and even the person cleaning has a smile and will say hello.  I live a mile away from the store and twice left my purse in a cart out in the parking lot.  Both times it was retrieved and returned to me.  Not sure I can do that at King Soopers.  (Not sure I should do that any where!)

And if you think just because they are a small store you will not be able to get something, think again!  Canning supplies, dog bones, organic produce, fresh cut meat, dairy products!  All there.  If you can not find something, just ask one of the stockers.  From lye for soap making to Filet Mignon for a romantic supper.  All there.

Kenny said it best when he said "We have to support out local businesses or they can not survive and when we need something we will have to drive all the way into to town and pay the same price, plus city tax."  

Kenny was wise.  Kenny and Momma.  They would have made a good match!

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.

 

Welcome to Texas little Colorado girl!

So last week I went to  Dallas, Texas.  Sam and Ross got their little heads together and Ross delivered me to the airport in Colorado Springs, reported to Sam and his shift was over after the plane left the ground. Sam met me at the baggage carousel and I was then  under his watchful eye.  There is something to be said about the good care he gave me.  Kind of makes me wonder who raised him!

Sam eats vegan so I told him I wanted the same diet while I was there.  Gotta' say it was an experience.  He made vegan a very pleasant experience although it is very time consuming.  The one deviation he did make was to feed me two eggs for breakfast every day.  Being a little older I do need protein and eggs are a good source of protein.  Three square meals a day is something I could get used to.  He also took me to see Grapevine, Texas, which is definitely unique and worth the trip if you ever get down that way.  Starbucks was a morning ritual.

Needless to say, I had a wonderful visit and my departure day was soon here.  So Sam and I got up early (5 AM) so we could make the 7:30 departure time.  He dropped me at the door and headed back home.  After I was releived of a few items at security I travelled up to gate.  A 7:43 departure would deliver me to Colorado Springs where Ross would scoop me up and I would be safely deposited at my home before 10:00.  Things were right on schedule, but then that old  "The best laid plans of mice and men, oft times go astray", came into play.  The Colorado Springs Airport was too foggy to land.  The piolet circled a few  and then decided to go to Durango for fuel.  Then they (there are 2 of them on every flight) decided to set there for 2 hours.  Next they decided to "deplane".  So we all went in.  About 2:30 or so, they decided they were "out of hours" and could not fly any more.  The decision was made by the powers that be, which sure as hell was not me, that a whole new flight crew would have to be flown up from Dallas.  That would only take a few hours.

Finally they arrived.  After much "to do" we were loaded back on board, and the engines roared to life.  We must have taxied a couple hundred yards when the plane stopped.  Captain was explaining to us that we were waiting for the mechanics to investigate a "funny sound".  I am sorry, but in my wildest dreams an airplane far up in the air and a "funny sound" are not acceptable in my books!  By now it was getting dark and I was NOT having fun!  I must admit that  the man in the seat next to me was a very nice man, fun to talk to and helpful in every way.  His name is David and he lives in Colorado Springs, but travels a lot.  He explained to me everything that was going on and how it was all routine mostly and all for my safety.  And now it was dark!  What had began as the start of a 58 minute flight was now entering 12 full hours and not over yet.  Ross was on his third trip to pick me up and I was setting in a plane on the runway with no hope of ever getting home.

To make a long story short, I did finally get home at 9 something PM.  Sam and Ross have decided that the next trip I make will be when Sam drives halfway up from Dallas and Ross drives halfway down from Pueblo and meets him with me being exchanged during lunch.  I cannot help but say American Airlines sucks.  I do not ever want to go through this again.  Meeting David was the only good thing.  Oh, wait, there were several other young ladies who were very nice.  All in all, most of the passengers were understanding and took my bitching and moaning in stride. I think I was saying what they were thinking.

Now it is my bedtime, so I shall toddle off to crawl in my nice warm bed.  Life for the most part is good, but sometimes it just kind of gets tedious

Momma said

 When I come to a place in my life where I am not sure which way I should go, it seems momma always pops up in my mind.  She always had the answer.  Whether she knew the question or not was usually a whole 'nother kettle of worms!  She passed before my husband, so I spent many years muddling through without her wisdom.  It is just a good thing that I lucked out and had a good, honest man in Kenny.  I do not know how I made it this far!

The one thing she did leave me with is something I will share with you.  When one of my friends or one of my husbands had disappointed me beyond belief and I expressed this to her that "I thought I knew him better than that", she said, "You never know anyone.  You know of them.  You know the part they let you see."  Those words have came back to haunt me more than once.  Sometimes it breaks my heart to know momma was always right, but she was.

I try to take tentative steps in my life and if nothing pops up in my path, I do pretty good.  I seem to have raised 6 kids who are pretty much responsible and successful and I think for the most part my life is pretty good.  I know one thing for sure, I took/take very good care of the geese !  I got the first 3 goslings when Bret was 8 years old.  He is 30 now and they are still alive.  

My plan was to sell this place when the geese were gone and travel around the country spending time with the kids and grandkids.  Not happening!  Like momma said "The best laid plans of mice and men ofttimes go astray."  I have a hard time typing because I have a cat that insists of laying on the keyboard.  I have a 2400 square foot house and this is the only place she can find to lay.

Fall is in the air and it will not be long before I am out there shoveling my way to the goose house so I can break the ice on the tank so they can drink. I buy 150 pounds of goose food a month which I unload and put in a barrel to feed them.   And I cannot even pet them!  They have never pecked me, but they are not conducive to physical contact.  Well, hell, neither is the cat!  When I try to pet her, she bites me.

So, it is 6 AM and the sun is going to pop up here pretty quick and start my day.  I guess it beats the alternative doesn't it? 

Or does it?

Kinda' funny how the dating thing works.

I recall when I was 18 years old and in a hurry to find a husband to father my children.  I had my criterea.  Number one, he must be handsome.  Number 2, he must have a job.  Number 3, he must love me.  The first two were easy to find.  Since all handsome meant to me was that he not be covered with zits, that was about it.  The first three years of high school seemed to be spent overcoming the teenage acne.  Then after graduation, or in the Senior year, most of the boys started jobs.  By the time a boy reached the age of 20 he was pretty well on his way into adulthood.

So when I met Duane Seeger,who was 3 years older then me,  he was hell bent on marrying and starting a family.  A home would come later.   So after a whirlwind courtship of 3 weeks, we announced our intent to wed.  The wedding would be in 2 days at the chuch on Sherman street.  That marriage lasted 10 years and produced a total of 5 children.  He had met all the criterea, he had a job, he was handsome and thought I thought he hung the moon.  Number 2 met none of the criterea and that marriage lasted 3 months.  Then along came Charlie.  He was handsome and successful.  He brought me to Colorado. I married and divorced him twice.  Sadly he was a philanderer.  Then came Henry.  That one lasted 3 months.  Kenny was the keeper and I spent 20 years in a solid marriage with a man who did not fool around on me, did not drink, never hit me and never forgot a birthday or anniversary.  Sadly I lost him after 20 years.  Mother told me once that if I ever lost a husband he would live in my memory as perfect.  She was right!

So now it is 20 years later and I look at the crop of men to choose from and I am astounded at the lack of interest I can muster!  Since I have now matured to the age of 80 I cannot date a man older than me, because that crop is dead.  If I rake through the ones younger than me they are looking forward to retirement and want to travel.    Get too young and I am robbing the cradle and I do not want to have to get up in the morning and pack his lunch for work!  I can not even find one that wants to dance. Country Western music is the genre I prefer, but all the guitar pickers I used to date are dead and gone.

I guess maybe I just need to set back and enjoy my old age.    

Looking back.....

 Looking back at my life I can see clearly now!  All the things I should have done as opposed to the things I actually did.  My very clear looking back memory show me setting in the church office with the Reverend Rush J. Barnett.  His wife, Genevive and daughter, June bug were some where in the house, but I was in the office talking about my future.  Reverend Barnett was preacher at the First Christian Church in Nickerson, Kansas.  It was one of three churches.  There was the Baptist Church and the Methodist Church.  There were no other churches.  No Catholic Church.

Anyway, I was 16 years old and we were discussing my future as a missionary in Africa.  As soon as I was 18 years old, I could begin the firm plans as to education and all that stuff.  It would be a non paying job, but at 15, I did not need money.  A little food and the clothes on my back.  The church would be responsible for all my travel and I had no other needs at that point in my life. Ah, but the best laid plans of mice and men oft' times go awry!  Not sure I know where I picked that up, but alas it is the God's truth if it were ever written.  Reverend Rush J.Barnett along with his wife and precious baby were transferred "back east."

His replacement was there within a month.  Reverend Johnson and his wife, whatever her name was and his pimply faced son moved into the parsonage.  I do not remember the son's name, only that he was creepy and had a bad case of acne.  Dreams of Africa were laughed out of my head by this new preacher.  Mother finished her schooling, and it was not long after that we made the move from Nickerson, Kansas, population1009 people to Hutchinson, Kansas, population 29,000.  We never traveled back to Nickerson, though it was only 12 miles.  We never bothered finding another church.  I never bothered dating either.  I did not seem to really fit in anywhere, so I took up drinking.  I had a friend whose father made home brew.  Since he was rarely home, we had free rein on the liquor cabinet.

I dropped out of school my senior year, fell in love shortly thereafter.  We were married 3 weeks later and began the life of moving from town to town with my husband working as a tree trimmer.  Our home was usually a furnished apartment in a town where Duane worked until the tree jobs ran out.  Then we would throw our meager belongings in the car and move on to the next town.  It was life as we lived it and being young and in love it worked for us.

Or it did until he decided he wanted to have a baby.  I thought a home first was the order of the day, but not in his world.  I pictured a vine covered cottage with a baby on the floor and he pictured something else.  I was never sure just what he had in mind for security.  I was pretty sure of one thing, if I was going to have a baby there was going to be a doctor and a hospital somewhere in the picture. And there was.  We were two novices at the business of building a home and family with no tools whatsoever, and no guidance from anyone.  But we did it.  We managed to have 5 of those little babies and they have all grown and gone now. He wanted to build an empire for his kids.  That was his dream. 

But I want to tell you that we ended up with 4 girls and one boy.  They are all functioning members of society.  They all pay taxes and most of them vote.  They may actually all vote.  I can not tell you if they are Republicans or Democrats, but I would bet most of them are Independent.  Mother was a fire breathing, Rush Limbaugh following Republican.  I am Independent.  Mom and I never really discussed politics.  I paid for her subscription to Limbaugh's newsletter, but I never read it.

Now, I am the mother.  I am the Matriarch!  My momma told me that.  The Patriarch died many years ago.  He is gone, but he is not forgotten.  60 years ago Lucy and Duansie built the framework of the Seeger Empire.  After we divorced and he built his home in Western Kansas we thought about reconcilling, but that was not to be.  We were now two completely different souls. Several years later we met some where and I asked him, "Well Duane, how is the Seeger Empire nowadays?"  Without missing a beat he replied, "The Seeger Empire is a tad bit shaky!"

But it was his dream and he lived it.  I am glad I was there for part of it anyway.  Humble beginnings is what life is all about.

Fly high, my first love!  We are leaving a legacy in the five kind, loving children we bore and raised to adulthood.  

Gotta' take credit for that!

Is there still love even at my age?

 When I first met Earl Duane Seeger 68 years ago, I knew immediately what love was.  One look in those sky blue eyes, a toss of that sunshine blonde hair and the muscles rippling in his arms and I was in a tailspin.  He was fresh out of the service and looking for love!  He had a job and a car and lived with 2 of his brothers.  A short 3 weeks later we were standing in front of the minister in the Presbyterian Church on Sherman Street  in Hutchinson, Kansas.  His mother had come in from Jetmore, Kansas and a blizzard sent her and Walter back before the service began.  October 30, 1960.  One or 2 of my sisters were there.  I can still close my eyes and remember my first love.

They say you never forget your first love and I believe that to be the gospel truth.  I know he loved me till the day he died and I still hold a very special place for him.  The marriage lasted 10 years and produced 5 beautiful, healthy children!  We shared custody and no one paid child support.  Some times the kids were with me and some times with him.  Even when I married husband #3 and moved to Colorado, the kids traveled back and forth.  Child support was never an issue.  Early on when the kids were with me full time he made the statement "Why should I pay you child support?  You have the kids and I have nothing."  Made sense to me!

So now, many years later he is gone.  I am a widow of 20 years from my 5th husband.   I live in a 2400 square foot house and do not even date.  Church on Sunday, Lagrees grocery through the week and occasionally the little grandson spends the night.  I do have a male friend and sometimes I make lunch or supper for us.  I have coffee with his brother a couple times a month if I remember.  I work as a seamstress for the local uniform store to make a little extra money.  That is my life.  That and taking walks around the neighborhood several times a week and going to the doctor in the spring for my annual checkup.

So what I am wondering this morning, is when did the fire go out and complacency set it as my new normal?  There was a time when I marched for gay rights.  A time when Martin Luther King's dream was also my dream.  When child abuse and neglect would bring me toe to toe with the offender.  A time when I would grab my fishing pole and head to the river all alone to catch the "big one".  A time when a man in a pair of tight Levi's was like waving a red flag in front of a bull!

I guess what I want to know is this:  At what point did I become an old woman and leave the vibrant being I used to be soaking up the sun in a solarium some where?  Is there an internal clock in all of us that one day just shuts off all the emotions I used to have and turns on the nap in front of the television through the news mode?  And through the Jeopardy! I used to like?  I still like to cook, but that is because I need to eat.  I take a shower every morning, but I do not even see the reasoning behind that because I do not even get dusty most of the time.  When did dancing all night end and 8:30 bedtime begin?  Is this all there is to life?

Do not misconstrue this missive as me complaining about my life.  My life is good.  I am secure in my retirement.  I do not want to join the Red Hat Club or volunteer at the local food bank.  Sixty five years ago my dream was to be a missionary in Africa.  I wanted to feed the hungry and comfort the sick, but instead a blonde headed, blue eyed Greek God crossed my path and I never got back on track.  I guess what I want to know is this:  Do any of you out there ever regret the path you followed?  

Momma always said, "You can not get the toothpaste back in the tube."  That just means that nothing once done, can ever be completely undone.  If I had never met Earl Duane Seeger, my life would definitely be different.  Better?  Probably not because I would not have the kids I have today.  They are my legacy and my life.  

But sometimes I just wonder had I actually made it to Africa, would I have made it back home?  I could have been in a pot and been dinner for a bunch of cannibals!  God works in wonderous ways, his miracles to perform.  

Peace! 

Gay Pride Month

 Having been raised in Kansas I have ideas about politics that I should probably keep to myself, but you know me!  I will first go on record as saying, I was raised by a Republican registered voter mother and as such, I respected her opinion.  As I grew and matured, I realized that I was probably going to choose a different party.  And I did indeed choose differently when I became active in Colorado.

I became involved in the gay rights movement, which did not gel well with my mommy, but that was the route I choose and if I had it to do it all over again I would still have chosen that road.  Now my mother had a very good friend and co-worker who just happened to be gay.  Gibby was also a friend of mine.  We worked together and he helped me with the kids Christmas one year.  Good friends are hard to find and even harder to keep.

Sadly this all transpired at the time that a disease that was called HIV was rearing it's ugly head out in California.  It was the "gay disease" because it seemed to only affect gay people.  It was the "hot potato" of the political world at that time.  No one wanted to address it.  It was as if the politicains completely ignored it, "it" would go away.  Sadly it did not.

Randy Shultz wrote a book and named it for what it was "And the Band Played on".  It entailed the inaction that occured during that period.  The government continued to ignore the "gay disease".  It was indeed a phenomena in that only gay people got it and only gay people died from it.  Since it only affected that one segment of society it was not important.  But then it began to bleed over into the WASP community and that was a wake up call.

I do not have time nor inclination to go into all the  ramifications of the governments inaction at that period in time.  This is about my friend Gibby and how his life meant something to my mother and to me.  Gibby was not infected at the time I left Hutchinson.  Dates mean nothing to me in my memories of him.  I only know that I was living in Colorado when I got the call that Gib had moved to California and  he had tested postitive for the virus.  He wanted to come "home" for Christmas.  Mother was concerned about "catching it".  So to make a long story short, Gibby died in California and is buried some where that was not disclosed because of the "shame that surrounded his death."  His family was afraid that someone might "dig him up" and "desecrate his body."  And the Band Played on.

But as with most of life, time moved on.  The disease was named  Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome and later and finally settled on as HIV (human immunodeficiency virus).  It is no longer the dark secret that it was in the beginning.  Since the death of my sweet Gibby, I have been very active in the movement.  Some one in California started a memorial quilt with panels for each death designed and executed by someone who loved that person.   This is a link to that project.

I have designed and executed a miniature to be held here locally and shown the month of December at out local library.  We usually have a ceremony of commemeration on December 1, which is designated World AIDS Day.   Covid put a stop to that!   I have once more digressed so let me get back on track.

This is gay pride month.  So my hat is off to Gibby and all the pioneers before him who stood up and said "Yes I am gay!  And I am proud!  It is who I am!"

I am proud to say that I helped bring gay pride to Pueblo.  It is what it is and I have plagues in my china cabinet that proves I am more than just a clanging cymbal.

Smile down, Gibby, because I will never forget you and your unconditional love to me and my family!  And thank you to the doctors, nurses, health care providers and all the people who jumped into the fray to restore sanity to a period that had none at the time.

Peace!

Winter doldrums, spring fever and summer sweat.

 My world is a wonderful place!  Winter is behind me and since it was a mild one and all the geese survived, it was a fairly good one.  Spring bursts forth with a wonderful display of leaves, foliage and flowers to stir the juices in my soul and make my heart sing.  Now we enter summer.  I like summer.  Not sure why, but I do.  It brings out the bugs, bees, hummingbirds, and vicious summer storms.   The first three things I really like.  The summer storms I can do without!

Now, Kansas was a different story as far as storms go!  Most days were just days.  Some were hot and some were hotter.  Some times it rained and some times it poured!  But always in the summer we watched the sky line for the clouds that could bring the tornadoes.  There always seemed to be a feeling in the air of what could be.  The tornado clouds were low and dark and the storm trackers were in their element as they scurried from one area to another to get a closer look at impending doom.  The air seemed to be full of electricity from the approaching storms.

Since I had a nest full of kids at the time, I watched the sky line and wished that this time I had a house with a storm cellar.  Now when I did have a house with a storm cellar I never went down there.  Storm cellars were just for that purpose and since no one went down there, spiders were prolific and BIG!  I harbored the idea that the tornado would suck all the webs and spiders out before I got down there, but I am not sure that was a rational thought!

A side note here on the cellar business.  When we lived in Glasco, which is in northern Kansas, we lived in a farm house that had a root  cellar.  This was a nice root cellar with concrete walls and floor and ceiling.  It even had a light hanging from the ceiling.  Of course, the first thing Duane and his brothers did was to "set" a crock of grapes which would ferment into wine.  Also something that would turn into some other form of alcoholic beverage in time.

The rules on this was that under no condition was myself or Maude, Larry's wife, to go into that root cellar.  That was "man business".  I also at that time had a little Chihuahua dog named Jake. (Jake will enter the story again!)  A couple weeks passed and the men went to work and the women stayed home.  We were very compliant about not going into the root cellar, but alas!  Much like the forbidden fruit that tempted Eve, the root cellar called to us.  What was going on down there out of our sight?

So one day we decided to just go look.  Two crocks were setting on the ledge and we lifted the cover and peered in at a stinking mess of grapes and water  with foam on top.  That was one foul smelling concoction, so we quickly covered it back up and scurried up the stair.  We saw no hope of any of that mess being of any use at all to us.

So the men returned home.  Supper was on the table so we ate.  Then Duane said, "Where is the dog? I haven't seen him since I got home.  That was unusual since Jake was usually there in case somone lost control and threw meat on the floor.  We began the search.  No dog.  After looking in all the usual places we gave up.  Duane then decided to check his alcohol progress in the cellar.  Lo and behold!  There was Jake shut up in the cellar!  How did he get there?  Were we in the cellar where we were not supposed to be?

Oh, no!  We would never break the rules!  Then how did that dog get in the cellar?  And try as I might, I could not lie my way out of that one!  I will not go into the scene that followed, but suffice it to say, I never disobeyed another rule that man made.  Never went into the root cellar again and the biggest blackest clouds could come and the storm that followed was mild in comparison to a husband who had been lied to by his wife!  

That was 60 years ago.  Jakie and Oopsie, my two dogs have been gone for years.  There is no one left to share my memories with anymore.  That is sad to me.  I often wonder if my mother had memories she wanted to share and I did not have the time nor the inclination to listen?  

I miss my momma!  I miss the old aunts and uncles!  I miss the history that I will never have a chance to learn now.  But most of all, I miss who I was then.  I was a 90 pound girl and the world lay before me.  Mother always said, "Hindsight is 20/20, looking back."

So I set here and remember and try to document just some of the history so some day maybe my grand kids and great grandkids will read some of this stuff and know that grandma had hopes and dreams and wants and needs.  Just maybe they will find a tiny corner of their hearts where they can bask in memories that will never pass this way again.

Peace and Love!

Will it ever stop?

 I don't know how you slept last night, but I did not.  Every time I closed my eyes all I could see was a mad man with a gun shooting at innocent children who were running in terror.  I can only imagine what was going on in their little minds.  To see their classmates falling with blood gushing from their wounds, must have been horrific.  This is their days of sand and shovels, recess and happy times.  Probably the only time they were ever in a position of violence was an incident on the play ground and that was controlled by adults who supervised and quickly settled the spat.  They may or may not have ever heard the words "school shooter" and yet here one was.

It is beyond even my scope of reality to imagine such a thing.  In my world no one is violent.  No one brings a gun to my house.  I own a gun.  It is a pistol.  It is in a drawer and the clip in another drawer.  I carry it when I travel when it rides in the glove box and the clip under my seat.  If I break down and a big mean man is breaking my window intent on doing me harm, I will assemble it and I will use it.  It is for my protection.

I can only imagine the scene when a man walked into a class room with an AK whatever it was.  I think the kids were at their desks.  They probably looked at him and wondered who he was.  When he shot the first child, they would have been surprised.  This was not a normal day.  As he continued his carnage the children would have watched in horror as their friends fell.  No doubt they scrambled for cover, but where do you hide in an open room?  Devastation was every where.  The teacher, who was their leader already lay dead and yet still the gun blazed as their friends lay on the floor with wide eyed , vacant stares.

What do we do to stop this?  What is the solution?  Guns are legal.  It is everyones right to have and use a gun.  Constitution says so.  Where does your right to own a gun supercede my childs right to enjoy a safe environment at school or play?  The second amendment comes into play here.  That amendment has been waved around for years like a mantra for the over zealous who really have no idea what it means.    Maybe it is time for us to take a new look at it.

Maybe it is time for us to send some people to Congress who can pull their respective heads out of their respective hiding places and ask what the second amendment actually says.  I am not a scholar, but as I recall it speaks of a " well regulated militia" in conjunction with the right to "keep and bear arms".  When the constitution was written the arsenal was not the guns that are made today.

My brother had a .22 rifle.  It was to hunt rabbits which we ate.  Over the years guns have become symbols of something I know nothing about. Apparently a man can arm himself with a full aresenal that includes an AK 47 and anything else he is man enough to carry and go wherever he wants.  It is only when he begins to shoot at people that it becomes illegal.  Not so in my world!

Keep your guns!  Store them where the sun does not shine!  Fly your Confederate flag.  But not in my world.  For years I have donated to animal welfare, veterans, St. Jude, the church, homeless shelters and things like that.  No more!  I am now going to be putting my energy and money to changing gun laws.  Sandy Hook, Orlando, and now a little town in Texas.  It has got to stop and if gun owners cannot police themselves, we will do it for them.  The NRA is one of the biggest contributors to government elites and that has got to stop.

I implore you who are reading this to join me in researching candidates a little better.  See who supports them.  The NRA is not our friend.  The guy with the Confederate Flag flapping out the back of his truck is not our friend.  Our friends are the kids who did not make it home from school yesterday.  Our friends are the standard bearers who placed them in the ground and covered them with dirt while tears fell like rain.

May God grant me the courage the change the things I can, the strength to accept the things I can not and the wisdom to know the difference. (from AA and this is not accurate, but you get the idea.)

Kansas at it's best!

I did not plan a trip to Kansas, but here I am,  I knew I was missing my sister and my nieces and nephew, and it was my desire to travel back home a some point, but just not right now.  Kansas is rather notorious for tossing a tornado into the mix when you least expect it and that is why I had not wanted to come here at the height of tornado season,  But here I set!

Today I had lunch with my friend Joe at Skaets Steak Shop, which is owned by my sister .  Then on Saturday my daughter and her husband will be here with 3  great grandkids,  Probably have supper with Alina and Tom, spend some time with Evelyn and then get up on Sunday and head back to Colorado.  I grew up in this neck of the woods so i know a few people.

Right now the weather is kind of cool, but it knows how to get hot and humid when it wants to!  I am hoping it will not do that, but who am I?  The wheat is looking good and I think there will be a bumper harvest this year!  I tried to call cousin Daryle, but no answer.   Sister Donna is asleep on the couch, so I am left to my own devices.  I think I will wander down stairs and see what became of the room I used to sleep in when I came.

Guess I am at a loss for something to do.  Just wanted to check in,

An incident.

 Incident is described in my Webster's as 1."an occurence or event.  2."a seemingly minor occurrence that can lead to serious consequences."  And that all sounds so simple.  Something happened and it was of no importance on a normal day, but when a life is lost through something that should not even matter, it is a different story, isn't it?

My son had a friend.  They went to school together, rode bikes together, smoked pot together, drank together and then began to work, date and become responsible adults together.  There was an "incident" and now the friend is dead.  It all began so simply with a cell phone call.  The lady on the phone drifted out of her lane, just a little.  Seemed innocent enough in itself.  But the car in the lane to her left had to swerve to avoid a collision.  He saw the car pull into a drive and followed to tell her what had almost happened because she was on her phone instead of paying attention.  He was in her driveway when her husband looked out and seen a stranger waving his arms and confronting his wife.  He opened the door with a gun in his hand and shot him.  No questions.  No communication at all, just pulled the trigger.  Now, I ask you, who was right?  No one.  Who was wrong?  No one.

The lady who had been on the phone tried to do life sustaining measures to save his life.  His girlfriend watched as his life ebbed away.  The man who pulled the trigger cried.  An incident?  Seems like there should be a word that better fit the circumstance.  Who knows.

Did anyone learn anything from this incident?  I hope so.  I hope the woman on the phone can wait to answer the next call until she is parked.  I hope the man who shot him will take a breathe the next time he has a loaded  gun in his hand.  And I hope his girlfriend can find the help she needs to deal with this incident.  They had been a couple as far back as I can remember.  No doubt she is being told there is help, but finding it is a whole different matter.  

Rest in peace Matt.

Momma never really left me.

 Momma is still with me.  I see her arm and hand coming out of my sleeve.  I see her eyes watching me in the mirror.  I even hear her voice in my head when I am faced with one of my dilemmas. (She would be proud that I spelled dilemmas correctly on the first pass!)  My mother was very smart.  She was also very pretty.  When I went to live with the grandma's at the start of my freshman year, I was enrolled in Plevna High School.  Mother enrolled me and at that time girl's were automatically enrolled in Home Economics.  There were no such thing as electives, it just was what it was.

To get to the crux of the matter and set the background for this post, the Home Economics teacher was a lady named Ms. Crawford.  Ms. Crawford had gone to school with Christine Haas, who just happened to be my mother, Christine Haas, at the time.  Now my mother was not only very smart, she was also beautiful.  She had the prettiest hazel eyes, trim figure and flawless skin that was to die for.  I inherited my skin clarity and tone from her.  All through puberty when the other kids were battling acne,  my skin remained smooth as silk.  To this day I do not recall ever having one of those things called a pimple.  I was very lucky.

Back to the topic of Ms. Crawford.  Home Economics in the Plevna High School encompassed all 4 years.  As a Freshman in a class of 12 meant that the Home Ec class meant there were 7 of us girls in her class.  The first day she picked me out as that little Bartholomew girl.  Her nose sure looked long when she looked down it at me and announced to the class that she had gone to school with my mother.  Something about the tone of her voice when she said "your mother" made my blood run cold.  Her whole demeanor to me was different then with the other "farm kids".  It was my first case of being disliked simply because of jealousy over which I had no control.

Needless to say, I flunked Home Economics with flying colors.  There was no way in the world I could do anything to please that woman.  My other grades were high, but there was no hope in that class.  Suffice it to say, after that debacle I grew up to work as a cook, manage a restaurant, and own a restaurant, so I must have learned a lot after I left there!  

I have often wondered just what caused the animosity between those two women.  I guess it was not between them, just on Mrs. Crawfords side.  Momma  picked me up take me home to Nickerson one time and Mrs. Crawford passed us with her nose in the air.  I told Momma that she did not like me and Momma said, "It has nothing to do with you.  That is just how she is.  She does not like me."  That was all that was said about it.

And here I set 65 years later wondering what that was all about.  I could never fathom what caused the animosity between those two and now there is not a soul left that could tell me.  I just know this, my mother was the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful woman to ever grace God's green earth and it was Mrs. Crawfords loss.  

And another thing momma told me was "You never know anyone.  You know of them.  You know the part they let you see."  Momma was right.  Over the years I have known many people, but I have not really known them.  I have loved many times, but not known most of them.  A leopard never changes its' spots.  Momma said that.  Momma was usually right.

I miss my Momma.

Life before the street lights came on.

 I started first grade a month before I turned 5.  I remember my teacher was Miss Donough when we started and she was Mrs. Breece when school was out for the summer.  We lived on the Stroh place when we started, but moved into the only home my father ever bought before school was out for the summer.  I have few memories of the Stroh place, but those I have are vivid.  Dorothy was born there.  Mother went to club every month there.  There was a big mudhole by the house that we were not supposed to play in there.  Donna poked a turtle with her finger and it latched on and John Britan had to cut its head off to make it let go.  Jake was kicked in the face by our Shetland pony.  He carried the scar until the day he died. Our old cow caught some disease and died, leaving us with no milk for the baby.  But in the spring, we moved to our own house on the other side of town out by the cemetery.  Dad bought another cow.  That was Strong Street.  709 North Strong Street to be exact.

I do not remember where the street light was located, but it seems to me it was right past the Reinke house and before the Smith house.  Probably right in front of the Goodrick house.  I do know we went out every night after supper to play in the "hood".  We had to be careful not to speak to any strangers because they would kidnap us and kill us or sell us to the Gypsy's which was a fate far worse then death!

Strong Street was a destination, not something you came across by accident, so we were fairly safe there.  Hank Windiate, the old crippled man with the horse and wagon lived on the end of the street, right across from Jerry and Ora Ayres.  First was our house, then the Reinke house, then Jake Smith and then Hank Windiate. The Ayres house, which was seperated by a vacant lot from the Goodrick house was the last house on that side of the street.

  

Our house, the Reinke house and the Ayres house were the only houses that had kids.  The Reinke girls, whose mother had died after giving birth to her last child, were not allowed out after dark.  Neither were the Ayres kids who were older, so it was basically just us.  So every night it was a rousing game of "Kick the Can!"  Now, for those of you who do not know how to play this, I will explain the rules.

First, you must have a can.  Now back in the 40's, a tin can was a coveted item.  First it meant your parents had enough money to buy a can of vegetables, or your brother had gone to the dump and foraged around and found a nice solid tin can!  Jake was good at that!  The can was placed upside down over a place that was designated as "home" and was usually located by the old Catalpa tree.  Whoever was "It" closed their eyes and counted to 100 while all the kids ran and hid.  Then "It" would go and find the hiding kids.  That kid would be brought back to the can and placed in "jail."  The only way to get out of jail was for one of the "hiders" to wait for the "jailer" to wander off and look for another hider to tag and "arrest".  When the jailer left someone could run in and "kick the can", thereby freeing all the kids held in the jail.  Some times one of the kids from "town" would come by and play.  That always made it more fun.

We were allowed to play for 30 minutes after the street light came on.  We knew when 30 minutes was past because mother would holler for us to "get in here and get ready for bed."  Now "getting ready for bed" was another ritual.  That simply meant washing our feet in the wash bowl in the kitchen and drying them on the ragged old towel that hung from the back of the chair.  Now that may not sound like much to you, but to this day, I can not go to bed with dirty feet.  Of course, now that I have shoes AND socks, dirty feet are a rarity around here, but some memories never die.  

Sometimes I find myself looking at an empty can and thinking how Jake would immediately think about using it for our next game of "Kick the Can."  I wonder if my sister, Donna Bartholomew remembers those nights on Strong Street?

The years have dimmed my eyes and slowed my feet, but my mind continues to relive some of the best times of my life back when the hardest thing I had to do was "Kick the Can" and save my sisters and brother.  I wonder if that helped make me into the woman I am today, that marched in the Gay Rights Parade and held the hands of the hospice clients as they crossed to the other side?  I like to think so.  

I do know Mothers Day is just around the corner and I would give my right arm to just be able to see my mother one more time and look into her gray eyes and tell her I love her.  I think she always knew, but I never said it often enough.

I host a high tea at my church the Saturday before Mother's Day.  Tickets are $25 if you are interested.  This year I am going to have a table for "Mothers pictures."  If you are interested in attending contact me here on facebook or call my church at 719-544-1892 and leave a message with Jill.   My number is 719-546-1555 here at home.

Talk about a nightmare!!

 I just woke up from a nightmare to end all nightmares!  I dreamed I got married and the reception was in Miramount Castle!  Apparently, the wedding was early morning because the reception was breakfast fare.  Lots of bacon!  That part was good, but for some reason I got separated from the wedding party.  I never did get a look at the groom!

The point was that I had fixed a "to go" box and put it in a gunny sack and placed it under my table and then wandered off to explore the castle.  I did my exploring alone.  When I realized that time had slipped away and I was going to miss my ride I panicked. I could not find any of the people in my wedding party and my gunny sack full of food was no where to be found.  That was the part that upset me most.  While I looked under every table in the giant hall, no one paid any attention to me.  It was like I did not exist.

I did finally find my gunny sack, but it was empty.  Since I was crying hysterically by this time, a very nice man offered me a grilled cheese sandwich, but since a bite was gone out of it, I declined.  He was very shabbily dressed and appeared to have been drinking.  He pointed down the hall to the exit door which I scurried forward to and opened.  The parking lot was completely empty of vehicles and only one person stood there.  I approached her and she shoved me over the edge of the cliff. That is all I remember of that dream.

Now, let's just analyze this little dream in the cold hard light of day.  I had been to Miramont Castle because Rebecca and Ron took a few of us to a high tea there a few months ago.  It was a delightful experience so that would explain wanting to go back to the castle.  Now as for the wedding, I do not know where that came from!  I do have a man friend in my life, but it has definitely not advanced to the wedding bells.  Not something either one of us has contemplated nor discussed.  Friends indeed, but getting naked at my age might not be a good idea from either his or my point of view!

Now, the bacon part is the part that I can understand.  I love bacon.  I do not eat much bacon because it is messy to cook and is best savored in a BLT with farm fresh tomatoes.  Farm fresh tomatoes are a little hard to come by here in Colorado in the middle of winter.  I do confess, a really good BLT is right on the top of my favorite foods list, but let us analyze further.

A gunny sack to hold my wedding gifts?  Really?  What kind of friends do I have?  And what kind of friends, not to mention the new husband, would leave me to wander a castle alone on my wedding day?  And who was the woman in the parking lot who threw me over the cliff?  Did I die?

Enough of this!  I rarely have dreams that I can recall so vividly and odds are this one will fade from my memory rather quickly once I start my day.  I sure hope so!

If my former therapist is reading this (and you know who you are) please let me know if I need to get back into therapy.  Most of the time I tend to be pretty level headed, but this one had me talking to myself when I woke up.  Probably scared my neice to death!

Opal

 Over the years during my life here in Pueblo, I have had a myriad of friends.  Of course, I still do!  One of them was Opal.  Kenny and I were newlyweds when I entered the phase of my life that Opal would be an integral part of for many years.  Back then she was a feisty little red-haired woman who lived in a small one-bedroom apartment behind King Soopers on Northern.  I never knew her to drive, although I assume she did at one time.

She had two sons and a daughter.  During the course of our friendship I became friends with all of them.  It was early in our friendship that she had gone to King Soopers, which was within easy walking distance and came home with a few groceries.  She tripped and fell into the concrete step in a face plant.  Poor little thing had two black eyes and a very fat lip for several weeks after that.  Still she lived alone.

Over the course of the next several years we remained friends.  I must confess that I sometimes let life get in the way of our friendship, but that is how life is.  Kenny was working out of town a lot and I liked to go stay with him in places like Denver, Grand Junction and I certainly enjoyed trips to Paonia and the drive there through the Black Canyon.  With him working out of town most of the time, life here in Pueblo suffered.  Course Sam and Susie were still at home until Sam went off to college.  

It was after Kenny passed and the kids were grown and gone, that I finally got to spend more time with Opal.  We attended the same church where her son played the piano.  Later he hired me to clean his home and spend time with his mother.  When he went out of town for meetings some where I would bring her to my house for the night and then take her home for the day so she could "putter". 

To say Opal and I were friends would be an understatement.  It was more like an invisible bond of sisterhood.  As she grew older, she became more forgetful, as did I.  We would return to my house  for the night and neither one of us could remember if we closed the garage to the town house, so we would load into the car and drive back over there.  It was always closed.  We finally had a piece of paper in the car upon which I would write the time we seen the door close firmly.

She had stomach aches fairly regularly and Chuck and I both thought it was mostly her imagination.  She used a lot of Alka Seltzer.  And then one day she was in so much pain she could not stand it and ended up in the hospital.  The diagnoses was that a scar from her appendectomy many years ago had grown and closed off her intestine.  Nothing could be done.

I miss that feisty little used to be red head.  I miss her son who passed just this past year.  But you know what?  Life is made of our memories.  And the best part of memories is that we can tailor them to fit our  needs at the time.  Opal was one in a million.  I loved her and she loved me.  The bond may be ethereal, but it is not forgotten.  When I think of Opal I remember all her endearing qualities and I hope some day some on will look back on me with only half the tenderness that I remember little Opal!

Rest in peace my little friend.

First lucid thought of the day!

 Setting here with my first cup of coffee of the day and Sam Seeger and Richard Meyer pop into my head with  brief memory from long ago.  Sam was in Central High here in Pueblo.  Richard was a son-in-law of Kenny's.  Sam was probably a Sophomore at the time.  One of his subjects was the German language.  He would come in and spout off phrase he had learned in school that day and sometimes I could decipher it, which always surprised him.

Just a little background here.  My grandfather came into America via Ellis Island when he was 9 years old.  Most of my ancestors were fluent in the German language and at family gatherings the elders would converse in German, so I had a passing knowledge of the language.  My first husband was probably more German than I was.  When he proposed, he did so in German.  So, like I said, I knew a little German, but not enough to guide Sam through the language with any degree of competency.  Back to the story.

I had told Sam that Richard spoke German and I felt if he wanted to learn it would be nice to have Richard for supper and they could converse.  Sounded good to him so the invitation was issued and Richard accepted.  I told him Sam would be trying his German skills on him and he agreed to the plan.

The night arrived and supper was cooked and the table "laid".  Now "laid" was the term that the grandma's had always used for "setting the table." Grace having been said, conversation could begin.  Sam and Richard exchanged "Guten abens" and then Sam uttered something in German to which Richard replied with several sentences in fluent German.  Sam once more more replied in his halting German to which Richard replied with a fluency that I had not heard since leaving grandma's house.  Then the table fell silent except for the conversation between Kenny and Richard about the "job".  

Sam and I were cleaning the kitchen after and the men had gone outside to the garage, which meant Kenny had gone out to smoke his pipe and visit with Richard away from the domestic stuff inside.  

Sam began our discourse with "Good Lord!  You did not tell me how well Richard knew German!  I just made a complete ass out of myself and you let me!"

I replied that I thought the conversation had gone rather well to which he replied, "Oh, yeah!  It went well, but I do not think Richard gave a damn how fast Tom can run, or how far Mary walked to school!  You didn't tell me how well he knew German."

I asked him if he understood anything.  He replied that he did, but that was our one and only discourse.  He went on to go to the German club, I think and maybe learned a little German.  Since coming to Pueblo I am no longer around people who speak any German, except for my friend, Jerome.  

So, this is what is on my mind the very first thing this morning!  

Hope you all have a good day! 

Guten Auben. (I think that is right.)

His name was Gene.

 It was a long time ago, but it still haunts me.  I had divorced my first husband, and my second when I met him.  I owned a restaurant on Fourth Street in Hutch at the time.  I had dated my soon to be third husband, but discarded him as a lost cause when I met Gene.  He lived in a small town up near Kansas City.  He loved to dance.  He had a sense of humor.  He loved my kids and most importantly, he loved me.  He worked with my sister's husband and that was the downfall.  He and his wife were in the middle of an amicable divorce and I was all set to become Mrs. Happy Wife when fate intervened in the shape of my sister.  

He stopped calling.  He changed his phone number.  Communications back then were not the convenient little texts and stuff that they are now.  So, I gave up on Gene.  I started dating Charlie.  I never for a minute forgot Gene.  My sister told me he had gone back to his wife.  But one night as I was alone after closing the cafe, there was a knock on the window.  There he was.  He came in and I made us coffee.  It was a very strained conversation as he explained that he had gone back and he and his wife, although not happy, were comfortable in a marriage of convenience.  It was then that he explained that my sister had called him and told him that I had married Charlie and we were very happy so he should just move on.  She was married to his friend and co-worker, so why should he doubt her?

Maybe because she had lied?  Now it was too late.  Time had passed and while he still loved me and I him there was his wife to consider.  And Charlie.  He just wanted to see me one more time and tell me that while he was not happy, he and his wife were comfortable in their marriage of convenience.  And of course, there were grandkids now.....   I knew I would never forget him, and I was right.  Here I am 50 years later and I can see him as clearly as that night in Lou's Kitchen on 4th street.

I confronted Josephine and she explained that she did what was best for me.  Water under the bridge.  There is no going back, is there?

I do not think of what might have been, although it does pop into my mind from time to time.  My sister is gone and I am sure he is also.  I came to Colorado and have now been here fifty years.  I do think of the time we spent together and that will probably never stop as long as there is breathe in my body.  I will remember how we danced and laughed.  The last time I danced it was with him.  I woke up in the night last night remembering him and I can not see that ever stopping.

I never really forgave Josephine for her duplicity, but we never spoke of it.  It was a betrayal and a betrayal by any other name is still a betrayal.  

I have had a good life in Colorado.  I spent 20 years with a wonderful man whom I loved and he loved me in return.  I would not give that up for all the dreams I had.  

So rest in peace, my sister.  Rest in peace Gene.  When it is all said and done and the nails pounded in the coffin, it is all just a memory of what happened on our way to our destiny.

Good night sweet prince.

It makes me sad.

 As life goes on, so does my memory, which is actually a good thing until it wakes me up in the middle of the night.  Last night I woke up remembering my oldest sister and, of course, Nickerson, Kansas.  I was 15 years old and my sister, Josephine was pregnant.  She had a little girl who was 3 or 4 as I recall.  Her husband was at work in the oil field.  As I recall his shifts were 24 on and 24 off, but that could be just something that came into my head, because I never really paid much attention.

On this particular day I had been sent to stay with her to keep an eye on her daughter, who shall remain nameless for this story.  I liked the little girl so it was no problem to entertain her.  Josephine was another matter.  She stayed in bed and appeared to be in some sort of distress, but how was I to know what was actually happening?  I had no idea where babies came from and was not interested in learning about the birds and the bees at this point in my life.  I was there to entertain my niece, and that was what I was doing.  But Josephine had other ideas.

She called me into the bedroom and told me to take her daughter, my niece, and go get help because the baby was coming.  I grabbed my niece and ran next door to the preachers house.  He called the grocery store and told his wife, who was a nurse, to come home right now.  He assured me it was all under control and that I should take my niece and go to my house where mother was and send her to Josephine.

It was only 3 blocks, but it seemed like it was miles.  I carried my niece most of the way which was not easy as she was heavy for me.  But we made it.  Mom left on foot because we had no car.  To make a long story short, the baby was stillborn.  It was a little boy.  

The next day, Jack Lamb, the mortician, brought a tiny coffin to the house.  He brought it in and set it on the coffee table.  He opened the lid to show us a very tiny little boy wrapped in a soft blue blanket.  His little hand was positioned to hold the blanket closed and I would have thought he was only sleeping had I not known.  That was so sad and a picture in my mind that will never fade.  

Since that time, I have attended many funerals, but I always see that tiny baby in my mind.  I went to visit the Nickerson cemetery several years back and visited the tiny grave of Baby Boy.  He did not have a name, but he will never be forgotten.  Although he never breathed a breath on this side of the veil, he still lives in my mind and my heart.  65 years later he is still in my mind holding his blanket together under his tiny chin.

Some memories never die.