Happy Anniversary to me!

 40 years ago it was 15 degrees below zero.  I had been living in sin with Kenny Mercer for 1 year.  When we had been dating for a few weeks we decided we would get married.  I told him of my past marriages and that if we could live together for one year without me leaving I would marry him.  So began a life of sin!

That year went by very well with only a few bumps in the road.  We began a trucking business in and life was good.  On December 23, 1983 Kenny and Gene Baugh were putting a drive line in one of the old tandems.  It was 15 degrees below zero!  They went to Pueblo Brake and Clutch to pick the drive line up that had been repaired.  PB&C was closed!  They came home and Gene left.  Over a cup of coffee and a sandwich, Kenny looked at me and said, "Well, it has been a year.  Let's just go get this shittin' mess over with!"  So we did!

We picked up a license and found a retired minister in an assisted living place in Canon City.  He mumbled a few words, had his bed bound wife in the next room sign on the dotted line.  He stepped into the hall and found a befuddled old man to sign on the other line and we left the building as man and wife!  A quick stop at the donut shop for a cup of coffee and a chocolate doughnut and then home to Pueblo.  

Upon our arrival, we found a cheap bottle of wine in the middle of the table.  Apparently Gene had known what the plan was.  The next time Gene showed up we offered to share the wine with him in a celebratory drink.  He declined, saying "If I knew I was going to have to help drink it I would have gotten some good stuff!"

And so began my life as Mrs. Kenneth Mercer, a role I enjoyed until his death in 2003.  We fished, traveled, worked, learned to square dance, played cards, raised 2 of my kids and adopted a grandson.  He retired and I continued to work with my AIDS patients.  He baked cinnamon rolls and made carmel corn.  We joined a church and life was good.  

Do I miss him?  There is not a day that goes by that I do not see those twinkling, beautiful blue eyes.  He is the person who made me realize that I am a worthwhile human being and I should never sell myself short. I have learned to live alone.  He had always said that I should not give up when he was gone.  Life does not end for one just because it ends for the other.   I do date occasionally, but it never ends well. 

He was honest.  He was patient.  He was faithful.  He had an incredible sense of humor.  Trustworthy.  He believed in me.  

I guess mother said it all when she said "When you lose a husband, he immediately takes on sainthood.  Even if he is completely worthless, you will remember only the good in him."

Momma was right!  Momma was always right!

                                                            RIP Kenneth A Mercer  

                                                                    1931-2003

A high tea to remember!!!

 Today I went on an outing to end all outings!  My very dear friend Rebecca Wasil and her delightful husband, Ron, took Ross Barnhart and his step mom, Gail and myself to the Queen's Parlour Tearoom located in the Miramont Castle Museum in Manitou Springs.  Now I have been hosting a High Tea at our church for 7 years with the exclusion of the last 2 years due to Covid restrictions.  Hosting a high tea is one thing, but actually partaking of the ritual is a whole 'nother game!

We arrived early to partake of the ambience and believe me there was plenty of ambience to go around!  We were seated at our table which was set and everything was in it's proper place.  There were 5 of us and the table was set for 5.  

Our waiter's name was Daniel and he was most helpful since I could not pronounce most of the brands of tea.  About all I keep around here is black, green and a little stuff called Pekoe, what ever that is.  Here is Daniel and Leah, who was trying to make me look like I have horns, but she missed my head!  They were both lovely people and the place was busy so they had plenty to keep busy doing, but took time to make little old me feel special!

Daniel took this picture for us, I think.  Him or Leah.  Anyway they had to get on a chair to get this angle!  From left to right, Gail Barnhart, Lou Mercer, Ross Barnhart, Rebecca Wasil, and Ron Wasil.  I could not have hoped for a more congenial gathering of souls!

I am not sure what any of this stuff was, but it was damn good!  I can see that I am going to need to step my game up for the next high tea at First Congregational Church!  Wonder if I can con Leah and Daniel into serving?  Rather doubt it so I may have to train my servers a little better and I gotta say, the scone they fed me was out of this world.  Guess I better hone my cooking skills along with everything else!

All in all it was a wonderful day and I can not thank Rebecca and Ron enough for the experience.  And as tea companions, I could not have chosen anyone better than Gail and Ross!  Delightful light conversations and wonderful food.  Who could ask for anything more?

One thing I have learned....

 The one thing I have learned and the hardest thing for me to do is to set back and let someone else take the lead and do something for me.  My years with hospice were so fulfilling because it all came naturally to me.  My job was to accept a client in or near their final journey.  Sometimes the job was just a one night or day, but several lasted longer and I became a "part of the family" and remained so for the duration of that person's journey.  So it was with Dorothy and later Doug.  Mona was one, as was  Ruby.  My latest was Annie. 

In all of these journeys I have dealt with families on a very close and personal level.  Early in the  relationships, I would set with the family member while the caregivers took time for other activities.  They knew someone that they could trust was with mother, father, or whoever.  When death is imminent the family sometimes just needs a "friend" to help them understand what the process entails.  While I am not an expert on death by any means I do know that death is inevitable, and no one is going to get out of this world alive.  

In most of my dealings I was able to establish a relationship with the client and we could talk about the hereafter.  Having never been there, I can only imagine what life on the other side of the veil could be like.  I am pretty sure it is a big step up from life on this side and I tried to relay that to them.  It is a fine line between preaching and visualizing a perfect world that is waiting for us.  

It is after the death that I, by virtue of having been there through the last days,  become a part of the family.  My presence seems to give people a connection to the loved one on the other side.  I can not explain it, but that is how it is.  I no longer operate in the capacity of "companion", but I still deal with families who remember.

So now to the crux of the matter.  I am no longer with hospice.  I do not volunteer at any place.  I rest on my laurels and that pretty much is about it.  Covid has changed all of our lives and it is quite possible that this is our new normal.  But, I have been invited out by my friends Rebecca and Ron for a high tea at Miramount Castle in Manitou.  And I am going!  And here is the one thing I have learned:

My first thought was "Oh, no!  I can not do that.  It will cost her a lot of money and time and I am not worth the effort."  But then I analyzed the situation.  Rebecca is a wonderful person as is her husband, Ron.  [She actually sent him out to scope out the fox problem in hopes there was something they could do.]  They are dear friends and as such want to do something nice and include me!  So..... Saturday I am being picked up by car and transported to a High Tea!  I am sure it will be lovely and you can bet I will be giving you a full report.

Sometimes I have to just remember, that there are people out there who care about me and want to show me.  It is called accepting from others.  It is an art I need to cultivate.

I am so excited by this new adventure that I am almost tempted to go buy a dress.  Key word there is almost!  

Stay tuned for a full report next week!

Competitive little waifs!

 Following instructions runs deep in my veins and I rather suspect I have passed it on to my children, but I did not know until tonight, just how deeply it was ingrained in my son.  I have been referred to as "anal retentive" a time or two.  He is a vegetarian, bordering on, if not completely vegan.  Tonight we were talking about a visit to his doctor in which he was instructed to collect all of his urine for a 24 hour period.  Now being the obedient patient, he did just that.  Needless to say he drinks a lot of water.  LOTS of water!  

To say the doctor was surprised at just how much urine he actually collected would be an understatement.  Apparently his doctor has a bit of an accent.  When Sam produced his specimen jars, the doctor exclaimed that this was a lot of urine for 24 hours and he must drink a lot of water!  When he was relaying the conversation to me he used the accent.  Of course I got to laughing.  The upshot of the whole conversation degenerated into a laugh fest and I asked him if he had hauled it in with his little red wagon.  I never did find out what the doctor learned from all that urine or what he was even looking for.  Apparently the little specimen bottles from days of yore are not used in this doctors office.

Sam and I have much the same sense of humor.  Our conversation had started because I want to sell a china cabinet and he thought I needed money. I explained that it was not full of what it was supposed to be full of and had now become a "catch all" so I wanted the space more than the piece of furniture.  When I finally got it across to him, he was good with that.  Little guy just worries about his mommy going around the bend!

I go once a year for my annual exam.  The doctor does not actually touch me.  He does wave the stethoscope at me  which is anti-climatic since he does not use it.  The nurse does take my blood pressure and it is always a tad bit low unless I have just made the dash across the parking garage and up three flights of stairs.  

Well this may be short as the cat is wanting to lay on the keyboard and if I do not yield to her wants she does tend to bite me and that hurts.  That and the fact that cats, by virtue of their  use of the litter box, are actually filthy little germ bombs, makes me give her a very wide berth!

So enjoy your day and remember, you can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself!  

You cannot get the toothpaste back in the tube!

 There are 2 phrases that my psyche is shaped by and that I also fight with most of my adult life.  The first is "Hind sight is 20/20 looking back." and the second is "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."  There are many little things momma threw in along this line and for the life of me I do not know where she got them.  I strongly suspect that she got them from her mother since they lived a fairly cloistered life there in south central Kansas.  The sad fact remains, that all these years later, those are burned into the depths of my being.

In my younger days I was surrounded by Aunts, cousins, grandmothers and a few uncles.  Males in my lineage tended to either die young or live forever.  Uncle Coon lived to be over 100.  (Now I am not sure that this was his given name.  Seems like it might have been Conrad, but it is irrelevant to this article!)  The point is that while the rule at the time was that children should be seen and not heard, the other was that men were the strong silent type and it was best to remember that.  As kids it was our past time at family gatherings to hide under the table and watch the men enjoying an after dinner cigar or pipe.  As I recall there was a lot of coughing and choking while this "pleasure" was being indulged.  

This pastime was second only to spying on the chickens in the coop and hoping one would poop out an egg and we could see where it came from. (To this day I do not actually know how the plumbing of a chicken works, nor do I care!)

I only recall one male cousin in my youth and that was cousin Carl. The girl cousins were named Rosetta, Alvina and Marilyn.  I had another cousin named Donna, but she lived in St. Louis and we rarely seen her.  She never married.  

Carl and I were close at the time.  We used to weed the garden for grandma after family dinners.  Carl grew up and married someone and they had one child.  I am not sure it grew to adulthood.  Seems momma was the only one out of the whole family that was a good "breeder."

Momma had eloped immediately after graduation.  She married a man named Jack Walden and ran away to Chicago.  They lived near the "Loop" whatever that was.  They had a baby girl and for some reason mother found herself hitchhiking back to Kansas with the baby in her arms and fearing for her life.  (Or so I hear. Little bit of "toothpaste" for you there.)  When the baby was but a year old she married what would be my father and they lived not so happily ever after.  While the marriage may have been a bit rocky it lasted until his death in 1965.  I ended up with 3 half brothers, 1 full brother and 3 sisters.  Guess Josephine was my half sister.

All that is irrelevant!  It was at my mothers knee that I learned the art of being seen and not heard.  I also learned that when the words "Little pitchers have big ears!" were used I was about to be banished to another room and I better not listen to what was being said.  "Ixnay" meant no.  Anyone who died went directly to heaven!  No doubt about it!  The meanest SOB that ever walked went to Heaven.  Man beats his horse; straight to Heaven!  Seems like the only thing that would actually keep you out of heaven was lying to your mother and disrespecting your elders.  Stealing and pulling the legs off grasshoppers were minor infractions.  

So, here I set lo! these many years later, still a child!  Could it be that as we age, we become our mothers?  I need to ask my kids how their minds work.  Did they actually learn anything from me and if so, what was it?  Did they walk away with my good qualities or the bad ones?  Do they look back on their childhood as a learning experience?  Was I a good mother?  I know I was rarely there, but do they know I tried?

I guess only time will tell.  I do know they are all independent, compassionate human beings and I love them and they appear to love me.  I hope that I imparted just a bit of my wisdom and honesty to them by my actions.  It may be something I never really know, but when I look at the lives they live, I am proud of each and every one of them.  And I am proud of their offspring.  

Kinda hope that the fruit does not fall too far from the tree in my family tree!

Peace and love!

No matter where you go...

 No matter where you go, you are still going to be there!  This was the brilliant observation of one of my  ex-sons in law.  Not sure which one it was, but I will attribute it to one named Keith and leave his last name buried in my memory.  I rather doubt that he reads this blog or even knows of its, but in the event he does, I am sure he will get a kick out of this.  I still see him from time to time and we are both surprised that the other has survived life this long.  Of course he is no longer with the daughter he was married to at the time, but since I was not named in the divorce action I can call him one of my old used to be sons in law.

Most of my sons in law lived in mortal terror of offending me in one way or another, but a couple actually endeared themselves in my heart and remain so to this day.  Take Hammer for instance!  He was 2 tours in Vietnam, a biker with a Harley, drank like a fish and had more hair than Lady Godiva!  He and my daughter Debbie, were jailed once for refusing to break the death grip they had on each other in the middle of 4th Street.  The first time he came to my house he ended up face down here in my office because an aerosol can exploded in the neighbor's trash that was burning in the field out back.  PTSD.  He said something once and I exclaimed, "Are you nuts?" and he replied, "Yes I am and I am certified!  Get a pension for it!"   They are still together and live in Eastern Kansas.  They are raising 3 grandkids and are approaching 40 years of wedded bliss, I think.  They were married at the Pueblo County Court house.  I was Maid of Honor and Shirly Smith was Hammer's Best Man.  Good times!

My girls are much like me in that they need to sort through and figure out just what they actually want in a husband and then they are settled for life.  My son, however, waited for what he was sure he wanted and is now living happily ever after in Dallas, Texas.

I guess Kenny spoiled me for ever wanting to take the plunge again.  I have been a widow for 20 years now.  I rarely date, and when I do, it does not take long to figure out that being alone suits me!  Something about not answering to a man appeals to my base nature. "I eat when I'm hungry, I drink when I'm dry, and if whiskey don't kill me, I'll live till I die."

Right now it is 3:21 AM and I am up for the day.  What man would understand this?  I am going to go into the kitchen pretty soon and warm up some butter beans I cooked a couple days ago.  Man would want something cooked like hashbrowns, bacon, eggs and toast with a big cup of coffee.  I may cook that some afternoon, but not today.

I am just setting here counting my sons in law.  I have 4 daughters and have had a total of 12 sons in law I think.  May have missed one there somewhere, but if so I apologize.  

The other thing I have learned in life is that when you are over the hill you pick up speed.  That little adage puts all the rest in perspective.  

So as my clock approaches 4:00 AM, I am going to say that I am happy with the men in my daughters lives at the present time, and they all look like they have settled in for the long haul!  That is good.  Life is good.  My life is good.  One word of advice...

If life hands you a lemon, make lemonade!

Peace!

Way back when

 Back when I was a wee lass and protected from the harsh reality of the world, Thanksgiving was different.  Our mode of transportation was mostly on the back of an old plow horse or our two feet.  Of course we rarely left Nickerson, but occasionally we did.  The grandmas and aunts lived in Plevna which was 20 miles.  But this one time I am remembering my dad had a son that lived in Hutchinson and invited us to Thanksgiving dinner.  That was a 12 mile trip and central Kansas in the winter is nothing short of brutal.  So, us kids were all a twitter for the upcoming adventure.  

Since it had snowed the night before we awoke to a freezing cold landscape with a brilliant sun shining.  Mom and dad figured it would take us about 3 hours to make the trip.  We bundled up in our coats and scarves and prayed to the good Lord above to please, just keep us out of the ditch.  Mother had heated rocks in a bundle to help keep us warm since the cars back then did not have heaters.   We had wool army blankets to huddle under.  And off we went.

We sailed down the highway at about 6 miles an hour.  Of course we carried cans of water because the radiator leaked and we stopped regularly to add water to the radiator.  We arrived at Earl's house before noon and we were so relieved to be there.  His wife's name was Gertie.  The house was heated by a "gravity flow heater".  The heat was transferred to the house by means of an open grate in the floor.  One of the boys (Leon I think) had crawled across the grate and been badly burned.  Back in those days this was a fairly regular occurrence. He did carry the scars for as long as I knew him.

I do not recall the dinner, perse, but I know it was good and I know there was pie.  And corn, mashed potatoes, gravy, turkey, dinner rolls and casseroles of something.  We prayed over our dinner.  We never ate a meal that was not prayed over by the men of the household.  Well except at the grandma's because there were no men there.  We used to pray about everything that affected us from the moment we got up until the prayers were said preparatory to bed.  I kind of miss that.  But back to the trip.

We had to leave as soon as the midday meal was over and the kitchen "redded up" in order to be home in time to do the nightly chores.  So loaded with leftovers we began the trip back to our house.  We knew if we waited too long the roads would "freeze up" and make driving hazardous.  Every one of us had to make a last stop in the necessay room to avoid having to pee alongside the road where "God and everybody would see our bottom!"

Even back then at the tender age of 8 or nine, I loved my family.  All of them.  Even the ones I did not know.  Looking back is always better because I have my selective memory and I was bound to my sisters and brothers with a blood line that would never change.  Or so I thought.  I have one sister left.  We are not in touch any more.  She is busy and I am in Colorado.  It used to bother me, but not any more.  I have friends who are closer then any blood could ever be.  I have children that think I hung the moon! I just had my 80th Thanksgiving and there was no one there that carried my blood in their veins, but that does not matter.  I was thankful for the meal and the comraderie and the 2 dogs that showed up later.

The trip up and the trip back was uneventful and with traffic like it is, uneventful is good!  So this Thanksgiving I can give thanks for those that I love and those that love me.  Thanks for friendships and kinships that make my world go around.  And most of thank the universe for spinning and holding me to the earth, grounded in friendships, kinships and the tiny flowers that are going to sleep for the winter and will burst forth next Spring to thrill me with their beauty.

But most of all thank my God for surrounding me with the compassion of my friends and family who have accepted me as I am with all my faults and short comings.  Thanks to God for giving me a clear mind and a strong back and an innate insight that lets me see people as they are and overlook their shortcomings.

Today is the day that the Lord has made!  Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

Peace!       

Oh, the things you do not say!

 I have a friend and when he starts to talk, he crosses his arms in front of himself.  Feet are apart and his back is straight with toes pointing slightly outward.  Now this screams "I am going to protect myself and you are not going to get close."  The words that come out of his mouth may be as casual as what a nice day it is or what he had for lunch, but the message relayed to me is nothing I am hearing.  Psychology 101.

I notice this in myself also.  Usually, I am pretty laid back and not much ruffles my little feathers, but occasionally the defenses go up and I turn inward and you can talk till you are blue in the face and I will not hear a word you say.  The conversation inevitably begins with "You just need to..." and ends with me sorting the mail and cleaning off the table.   You may think I just "need to", but unless it is my idea the need evades me.  

So, friend or foe, let's do this.... let us sit down here at the table.  I will fetch us a beverage of your choice.  I have coffee, tea, and water.  Hot or cold on the first two.  And be aware before you get too comfortable, there will be no winner or loser at this table!  You will no doubt think I took every word to heart but you are going to be sadly mistaken.  The conclusion that you draw from our conversation is now what you think you wanted all along.  You have been played by the master!

Mostly my life goes on every day in a mundane manner.  The dust piles in the corner and the cat hair covers the setting places in front of the television.  I gave up on the green carpet of grass outside the front and back door.  I now opt for the late fall dead weed scenario.  I do not have much company and that is due to the Covid crap that some bat in a lab in China is credited with developing.  Do not misunderstand me on this, my life is good!  Occasionally I will venture down into the sewing room and sew something interesting, like place mats or a quilt.  I made a lap quilt the other day and may make more of them and drop them off at the nursing home.  Then again I may not.

Today I am off to Monument with Ross, Rooster and Missy for Thanksgiving dinner with Robin and Terri and their family.  We will be missing Anna who is still in England and I, for one will miss her!  (When are you coming home, my little friend?) 

I got a new "kitty bed" for my Icarus and she sleeps beside me when I work here on the computer.  Right now the only sound in my house is the sound of the furnace that keeps me warm and the tinnitus ringing in my ears.

Life is good here on South Road most of the time.  I did have a fox problem a while back, but I solved that by buying a trap and playing catch and release with the neighbors cats.  

Now I see I have once more digressed from the subject I started to write about, but then that is one of the reasons I write and you read!  So, let us all go enjoy whatever we have planned for today and then meet here again later!  Right now I have to go whip a pint of cream to pile on the Tres Lechen Cake I made to take with us.  I plan on tossing a few Blueberries  on top followed by a sprinkling of cinnamon.  Maybe tomorrow I will remember what I wanted to tell you today, but for now,

Happy Thanksgiving and may our good Lord watch over us in our travels.

Peace!

I missed the "dirty thirties!"

 Momma, Dad Josephine and Jake were there for the "dirty thirties", but I was but a mere gleam in my Daddy's eye at the time.  I think they were called that because the wind blew and there was no vegetation to hold the soil.  I could be wrong, but I think that, "therefore it is!" And we do all live by what we believe to be true, don't we?

I do know that I used to have a bunch of ration stamps.  I think I sold them on ebay because every time I looked at them, it made me sad.  There is just something about poverty that seems to eat at my very soul.  I am not poor and I am not rich by any means, but I am "secure" and that is what I have clawed and scratched my whole life to attain.  I guess I may fall in the category of the "working poor."   

Poverty seems to have a hold that goes to the bottom of my soul.  I have my house, car, savings and am secure, but I still have little habits that irritate even me.  I have all kinds of things I do to make a few extra dollars.  I am a seamstress and the money I make from that goes into my third bank account which is known as "my third bank account."  That money is designed for things I need and want as opposed to my first bank account which is for my retirement check which supports the house and feeds me.  I also have a savings account with a minimal balance in case the other two dry up.  To say I live from hand to mouth would be a good way to describe it.  But be aware that I do this not because I am dirt poor, but because the memory of when I was dirt poor is ingrained into my very being to the bottom of my soul.  It is an empty part in me that can never be filled.  It is what guides every thing I do from the time I get up until I go to bed at night.

First, I am a hoarder.  My closet is filled with clothes I have never worn and will never wear, but still I keep every stitch.  I went yesterday to buy new panties and bras.  I came home with 3 bras and forgot the panties.  I went through my old bras and did not throw any away.  The new ones are in the back for a "special occasion" and I want to ask you just what in the hell that means?  I can not foresee every wearing them until all the straps and fastners fall off the old ones and can not be stitched back on!  When I put a pair of underwear on and they slide down before I can get my jeans on, out they go.

It does not stop there!  I eat alone most of the time.  I do cook and I try to cook for one, but that does not happen.  I was trained in "institutional cooking", which means every meal is built with an army in mind.  this means that if I cook a pot of beans, I will eat on that pot until it is gone or until it grows a soft, green mold across its top whilst setting in the refrigerator waiting to be "warmed up one more time".

I am looking at plastic tubs in the middle of my front room full of yarn.  I love yarn and am now in the process of crocheting "market bags" since I hear plastic bags are going to be discontinued at the end of the year.  Sadly, most of my yarn is polyester or some such synthetic that for some reason I can not bring myself to use on my "recycle bags."  You do notice that the beginning of this paragraph uses the word "tubs" with an "s"?

It does not stop there.  Every scrap of paper must be used on both sides.  Any container with a lid can be used for storage of something that should have, no doubt, been thrown out long ago.  I have probably 6,000 yards of fabric down stairs that I will use "some day".  When I do make a quilt I go buy "new fabric" just for that purpose.

I have 2 heavy duty mixers and one Kitchen Aid.  Also have an assortment of ladles, mixing spoons, measuring cups and spoons, cutting boards, knives of every size and shape for chopping or cutting anything that does or does not move.  I have five different sizes of roasters!  One for a very small piece of meat all the way up to a 20 pound turkey and beyond.

My mother is the one who pointed out to me that I was a hoarder and why.  Kenny's mother used to wrap up a tablespoon of leftovers and put it in the freezer for "later".  

We save containers.  We save boxes.  We save change.  Nothing is save from us and everything that crosses my path has more than one use.  It is sad, but you know what is sadder?  That our society is not geared to people like me.  Drink a pop, throw away the can.  Eat a half of a sandwich, throw the other half in the trash.  Thirsty?  Spend $1.50 on a bottle of water and drink half of it and throw the rest in the trash.  I wonder how many tons of trash are generated every day on this poor planet?

The longer I live the more thankful I am that this world is not my home, I'm only passing through! click here to play

People who forget the past tend to repeat it!  Just something to think about!

Company's comin' up the road!!

 Back in the day when life was laid back and summer days were long and winter nights were cold, a visitor was a rarity.  Cars were few and far between and if a car pulled on to our road leading up to the Stroh place we knew we were going to have company and they probably would spend the night.  I remember one such visit, but I do not remember who it was.  Only thing I am sure of was that it was Aunt somebody and Uncle somebody.  

Apparently mother had received some sort of message either through the mail or a phone call from somebody and the visit was expected.  Momma would spend days cleaning the house in preparation for the big day.  I do recall the time Uncle Ode came to visit.  What I remember is that he was tall and smoked a pipe and it smelled so very good.  He asked it I would like a puff and of course I said yes.  Momma said "NO" but Uncle Ode stuck the stem in my mouth and told me to take a deep suck on it.  Oh, my good God in heaven, I damn near choked to death!  Of course Uncle thought it funny but mother did not! 

When Uncle Ode came he only stayed a few hours, but I recall one visit from Aunt and Uncle Somebody.  They had a new shiny black car.  I might note that back then there were two colors for a car, black or blacker.  Later they would add a dung green, and then brown.  I was  allowed to be lifted into the car and I could set there and look around, but do not get it dirty!  I wallowed in dirt all day long so I had to be "dusted off" before I was allowed to set on the pristine seat!  

Starting the car entailed poking a "crank" into the front of the car under the radiator and turning it firmly until the engine "caught".  Then the driver would engage the clutch, engage the transmission and when he released the clutch  the car would move forward and they would disappear in a cloud of dust!  Cars were few and far between in our little world, but we liked to see them.  Jake and I used to set under the bridge and hope one would pass over us, but not break the bridge down so as to kill us!

Jake always wore overalls and us girls always wore a dress.  I recall in high school one day a year was designated as "tacky" day.  We could wear jeans that day, but I did not have any.  When school started momma made each of us girls dresses and of course I inherited the ones Josephine grew out of and passed mine down to Donna.  When clothes were "worn completely out" they were then taken apart and went for another use.  The worn parts were rags for cleaning.  The still good parts were cut into one inch strips and a slit cut in each end.  These were then lace together and rolled into a ball.  When mother had enough balls she took them to the "weaver lady" who wove them into a rug.  Nothing was ever disposed of until it was completely used up.  We even had a "button jar."

I know that sometimes when I write on here it seems that my childhood was very sad, but it was not!  Back in those days it was different.  We had an outhouse, but a lot of people did.  Inside plumbing was a rarity and non-existent on Strong Street.  Meals were mostly pots of soup or beans.  We heated with a wood stove and cooked on one also.  We played "Kick the Can" when we were lucky enough to find a can.  Our quiet place was the cemetery behind the house.  Momma made our soap with old save up lard that was first used for cooking and then strained and turned into "lye soap" with lye she made by dripping water through soft, gray wood ashes from the cook stove.

There is not a day that goes by that I do not thank God for sending me to the mother he sent me to live with.  She was a pioneer.  She was honest to a fault.  She was dependable.  Her heart was broken by me many times, but she never gave up on me and never once ever told me I was a disappointment, even when I knew I was. 

So, fancy cars, running water, a cupboard full of food and a home that stays the same temperature all year long with the touch of a dial, are all taken for granted.  My ancestors were pioneers and I thank God every day for them.  And you know the best part of all of this?  I see it reflected in everyone of my kids.  They are all honest, dependable, God fearing little creatures that are always in touch with their momma!

And I am as proud of them as I can be!  And there is a song that reflects all this.  It goes like this;

Count your many blessings, name them one by one, 

and it will surprise you what the Lord has done!click here

It isn't always the words that count.

Did you ever have your tender little feelings hurt by something someone said?  Or didn't say?  I have been on the receiving end of both those scenarios.  I have to say that I appreciate the former to the latter.  When someone says something hurtful at least I know where I stand and honesty is, after all, the best policy.  My momma drilled into my head that I must be honest under any given situation.  And in all fairness, I learned early on, that a lie is hard to remember, so mostly I just stick to the truth because it is easier to remember.  This works well in most areas of my life, except my marriages.  Some times I shave off a couple, not because I am lying, but because a couple of them were not worth remembering.  I call this my "lie of omission."  Mostly when I divorced I took my previous name back because it matches my kids name.  I went from being Louella Bartholomew to Louella Seeger.  There was an Ivey, Bayless, Gonzales who all morphed into Lou Mercer.  And that is who I am today many, many years later.

Much like Mae West, I never met a man I didn't like and that is true to this day.  I have, however, not met a man that I felt like giving up my retirement check for to this day.  I also love Black Walnut Ice Cream and Wintergreen Lifesavers, but I am not adverse to a big bowl of any kind of ice cream and Spearmint Lifesavers work well too.  This just shows I am flexible!

There was a time in my life that I thought my given name was "stupid bitch".  When I left that man and had 5 kids to support with no help from him nor the welfare system, I was 103 pounds of next to nothing with no self esteem.  I had no life skills and no work experience except  3 weeks that I had worked at a laundry in either Garden City or Liberal.  But I had a vision!  I could see me someday in a home of my own and my kids would be fed and clothed.  It was a dream I clung to and by sheer determination I made it come true.  Granted, it was not the best house in town, but the roof did not leak and we were warm.

I worked for several months on the "shake table" at the Ineeda Laundry just up the street from my house.  Nights I washed dishes at the Blue Grill down on South Main.  It was there that I met a man named "shall remain nameless".  He was a writer.  My dream from the first day I held a Red Big Chief tablet and a lead pencil was to be a writer.  Nameless  and I were friends and he let me read a novel he was aspiring to publish.  I knew I could do better!  To make a long story short, he went on to be a news director at one of the local radio stations.  We dated briefly, but since I had a nest full of kids and he was a "man about town" that did not work out well.  I did run into him a couple years later and was amazed to see he had gone completely bald, was fat and still full of himself!  Very glad I dodged that bullet!

Shortly after meeting him I  discovered a lady who lived 3 doors down on 5th Street wrote for several of the "romance rags".  True Confessions was her favorite source of income.  It was from her that I learned that True Confessions and every other romance magazine was a figment of someone's imagination. They were all in the same form, woman meets man, man is not interested, man pursues woman and they kiss and then live happily ever after. 

I look back on that period in my life and realize that nameless was part of what made me into who I am today even though he was only in my life a short time.  He fueled me to write and journal and all the stuff that today is my salvation.   I did google him a time or two, but found nothing.  I at least published a book and collaborated on a second one.  I still have visions of being a successful published author, but if that never happens, and chances grow slimmer every year, I am still happy with my life.  

Mother always said "If you can come to the end of your life and count your friends on one hand, you are a very successful person." and I can!  My friends are legion, my dreams are many, and with God at my side I may still conquer the world!

Here's hoping!

Rode hard and put away wet!

Momma said it, so it must be true!  She also said, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions!"  "Hindsight is 20/20 looking back."  "Easier said then done!"  Now for some reason, I think these little quotes come under the definition of "idioms".  It might be fun to note here that "idiom" is seperated in my paperback dictionary by only 2 words from the word "idiot!"  That is just a little tidbit of meaningless trivia to start your day off right.

It is now 3:09 AM and I have been up for about an hour.  I made a cup of coffee in my French Coffee Press since I am too tight to go buy another percolator for the sole purpose of making one cup of coffee every morning.  I have finally mastered the fine art of making exactly one cup full with no coffee left over.  Living alone has lots of advantage this being just one of many.

As a single, live alone woman, I am free to step out of the shower completely naked and dash down 2 flights of stairs to answer the phone.  I am also free to take my shower at any given time of the day, or night.  Lunch may occur at 3:26 AM and breakfast at 3:26 in the afternoon and ice cream is liable to happen about any time and is not considered a snack, but rather a meal depending on which other 2 meals it occurs between.

When someone says, "I will call you," that means nothing to me.  "What day and what time are you going to call?"   "Friday" is not a definite time.  If you think I am going to set home all day on Friday waiting for your call, you are on some sort of ego trip and that is a game I am not going to play.  "Soon" is also not a definite.  When one reaches my age every day is a gift!  While your call may be important to both of us it is not what my life hinges upon.  And, if you are 3 or 4 days late in calling, I will assume you are dead.  (Note here that "assume"  makes an "ass" out of "u" and "me".)

Sometimes I wander out the back door with a purpose in mind, like opening the goose house for the day.  Then I see something I have been needing to do, like sweep the leaves out of the tin shed, and that leads to pruning the choke cherry bushes, which then leads to trying to find the damn Dremel that has "walked off"!

The cat understands me, and that is all that really matters!  Right now she is over under one of the tables that holds ebay items and she is digging in a box.  I am assuming she thought she smelled a mouse or rat, or maybe she is just trying to get a rise out of me for some reason.

I am thinking of all the things I need to do and people I need to call and I am pretty sure no one on the list wants me to ring their phone at 3:21 AM!  And, anyway, I am mentally running through my friend list and coming up dry as to who I could call now and hear a welcoming voice.  I could call Bernie since she is 3 time zones ahead of me, but I just talked to her a couple days ago.  I know Debbie is up in Eastern Kansas, but I will talk to her when she calls in about 2 hours, so....

Maybe I will make another cup of coffee.  I am trying to organize the lower basement where the sewing room is, but the Centipedes are doing the "centipede thing" and I do not want to deal with them right now.  So, I am going to re-read this and publish it and do something that I do not know what it is right now.  No doubt, the 6:00 news with find me asleep in my recliner!

Remember, "All's well that ends well." and God will never give you more than you can carry!

Peace!

Closing of the season.

October is a sad month.  It does not start out as sad, but it ends on a very low note.  1965.  October 30.  Dona Marie turned 1 year old.  Sam was 26 days old.  Duane and I had been married 5 years.  My brother was in a bad car wreck in McPherson, Kansas.  We left the kids with Duane's sister in Jetmore and drove to McPherson hospital arriving about 1:00 AM.  

My mother was alone in the room.  My brother lay swaddled in bandages on a hospital bed that held him in a semi raised postition.  His right leg kicked  constantly.  Mother said they had gone though a stop sign and broadsided a loaded gravel truck.  She thought he was trying to hit the brake, although he was not the driver.  He was incoherent.  Mother was already planning in her mind how she would bring him home and she knew he would be an invalid, but that was her son and she would take care of him.  Jake was her only son.

His name was not Jake, it was Delbert Leroy Bartholomew.  He was born October 5, 1935.  He carried a scar on his right cheek that he got when he was about 9 years old because he snuck up behind a Shetland Pony and "goosed it".  Of course it reacted and kicked him.  What did the silly little shit think would happen?

 

He introduced me to my first husband.  After that we sort of drifted apart.  Distance had a lot to do with that as well as guilt that my husband was not the knight in shining armour that Jake had anticipated for me.  The fact that he fell in love a couple times and now had a son he needed to help raise and another on the way made the distance even greater.

 

I missed Dona's first birthday that year and my sister in law cared for my only son that was 26 days old.  To say I was devastated by his death would be an understatement.  He was so young and vibrant.  He had his whole life ahead of him and I needed him in mine.  But, God had other plans.  

And, that my friends, is what this is all about.  God has a plan for our lives.  I do not know what his plan for me was, and I may never figure it out.  I do know that the little girl above being held up by her sister and brother could have aspired to soaring heights, but fell short of the goal!  I look back and try to see just where I went wrong and it is a mystery to me.  I wanted to be a missionary and when that fell through I just pretty much drifted along with the tide.  So, in all fairness, I think maybe God just put me here in Colorado to kind of shake up the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. 

I have worked to get AIDS awareness to the forefront and what was a killer disease is now a manageable health condition.  

Gays are now accepted as a segment of the population.

I worked the Eleventh Hour in the Hospice program and helped many people smile as they crossed the bar and looked back before leaving this earth in a cloud of fairy dust to meet their saviour.

My children all seem to be successful in one way or another and are responsible citizens.

The important part of all of this is that as I mark this anniversary every year.  I will spend October 30 crying most of the day, but I will do it where no one sees.  I have a shoulder to lean on that even I can not see.  They say "seeing is beleiving," but that is not always true.  I have never seen God, but I do know that without him, I would not be here today. When I am happy he smiles with me.  We have even been known to laugh out loud.  When I cry he holds me.

So rest in peace, my dear brother.  Jake, Josephine, Dorothy, Mary, Mother, Dad, Grandma, Aunts, Uncles, friends, lovers, in-laws and outlaws.   click here

The changing of the coffee pot!

 For over 30 years, this coffee pot has set in the same place and every morning I have poured a pitcher of water through it and been rewarded with a pot of hot coffee, just the strength I wanted, but yesterday my world changed.  At my age this should not be, and yet here I set with my world in shambles.  Kenny and

I bought this Bunn after about 10 years of marriage.  We both liked coffee and this pot would give you a full bodied brew in less than 2 minutes.

Now Bunn has a warranty that if something goes wrong they will replace parts for as long as you own the Bunn.  We did have a new something put on it a time or 2, but we are talking over 30 years!  Hell, my ovaries did not even last that long!  So when the hot plate switch did not turn off any more, I made an executive decision and since I do live alone, I can do that.  I set the Bunn over onto the trash can.  It has served me well and I will give it a decent retirement.  

I reached for my trusty French Coffee Press and I shall henceforth make one cup of coffee at a time.  It requires one tablespoon of coffee and one cup of very hot water.  Perfect for an old lady that lives alone!

Now, parting with the Bunn is not going to be easy and it will not remain in the trash can for an uncaring pickup man to small it with the hydraulic press that mashes all my other trash.  It will set by the back door for a while.  Then I will move it to the tin shed.  In the spring I will probably let it set in the garden for a while.  Some day, when I forget having coffee with Kenny every morning I will throw it in the trash bin.  

Now with utmost sadness, I have to tell you, I do not think it will ever leave the house.  I will never forget Kenny.  I have lived in this house for over 40 years.  I raised 2 of my kids and one of my grandchildren here.  I buried my husband and a couple ex husbands, my mother, a grandchild, sisters, in laws and outlaws with one hand on that coffee carafe.  I just can not see the Bunn ever being put out to pasture.  I might just plant an African Violet in the pot and set it over by the front window. For sure, it will not end up in the trash!

So for now, I am going to heat up another cup of water and put a tablespoon of coffee in the French Press and take another look back down the road I have been traveling and relive a little of the life I no longer live.

Never forget the good times!  

And once more it is the changing of the seasons.

It is amazing that no matter what we do as mortal men/women, it pales in comparison to what Mother Nature guided by the hand of God can do!  The sun comes up every morning and goes down every night.  It's path across the sky is always the same.  We look at the same horizon that was placed there lo those many years ago.  The sun I will see in a few minutes is the same one that my mother watched on the plains of Kansas and is the same one her mother and grandmother watched  across the ocean in a land I will never see.

Always in the back of my mind, when I think of my ancestors, I picture Ellis Island.  I will never see the Statue of Liberty, but it is as clear in my mind as the keys on this keyboard that I write on today.  I see the Haas family clearing land along the river to build a home to raise children.  The natural progression of live never ceases to amaze me.  Nature never ceases to amaze me!  

When I was a child, I thought as a child and when I became older, I put away my childish ways, or did I?  Life was so simple when all I had to do was play in the dirt and eat wormy Mulberry's from the tree North of the house.  Sunday's always found us in Plevna, Kansas at Grandma Haas and Great Grandma Hatfield for Sunday dinner.  We always gathered at the round oak table and there was always room for all of us and we all had a chair.  Grandma Hatfield always cooked the chicken and there was always enough.  It always amazed me how that worked out!  There were never leftovers and no one left hungry.  There was always pie for dessert and the pies were always cut into exactly enough pieces.!  

Grandma Haas was crippled by a stroke and she walked with the help of a walker.  Great Grandma Hatfield took care of her, but still kept her active.  They both wore aprons.  Always.  Get up, get dressed, put on your apron.  I have an apron that I usually wear when I am baking, but other than that, just clothes.  Great Grandma would get a pan of potatoes and a paring knife and hand them to grandma.  It took grandma a while to get the potatoes peeled, but it was her job.  

The parrot, "Polly" would set on its perch and sing "After the ball is over, after the dancers are gone....".  Great grandma would step around the corner and feed Polly a piece of apple, or celery or something.  And the Grandma Hatfield would tell how Polly had come from Brazil and was brought here by an ancient relative who "sailed the seas".  Polly had been featured in the Kansas City Star many years before.  When Grandma Haas passed and Great Grandma Hatfiield moved to Coldwater, Kansas, Polly and her perch went with her.  When we learned of Polly dying, we were all devastated.  An era was over.

Great Grandma Hatfield lived to be 104 years old.  I never seen her again.  When she passed she was returned to Abbyville, Kansas to rest in the family plot there.  I want to return some day and see her grave.  When I have served my time here on earth, I will be interred in Pueblo, Colorado.  Just seems like the place to be.

I love to go "back home".  I love to visit the graves of my forbearers.  It gives me a sense of peace to look back on the road I have traveled. My heart swells with a sense of pride that the ancestors that came before me  forged a living from unyielding earth to make a place that this skinny little, knob kneed creature that lived to become "Lou Mercer" could grow and thrive.

Momma taught me to never forget where I came from and always be proud of my ancestry.  

And I am!

My new bedroom.

I recently had a major renovation in Sam/Bret/'s old room.  It entailed  a bathroom "remodel".  It was a majorchange and I want to tell you that the man in charge of said remodel is nothing short of a genius.  He knew more about what I wanted in a bathroom than I did.  Suffice it to say, I am now in the process of moving my bedroom down stairs so I can be closer to "my bathroom."  I do realize that as the homeowner, every room is "mine", but this room is special.   

 t

When I paint a room, it changes the color, but when a room is redesigned by someone else and reflects my wants and needs so in tune to my desires so perfectly, it is damn scary.  This man  even knew what colors were in my head.  Few men even know I have a head much less one with a brain rattling around up there,

but Mitch is one in a million.

So, now I have a house full of kids for my "Happy Birthday Weekend" and I am down here in what will soon be "my room".  Right now I have a twin bed in here, but that shall  change,   Kay has an old  (I mean antique old, not old "old"} which she is giving me and as soon as I get this room carpeted and buy a mattress and hang a curtain on the window, it will be my sanctuary.

As I bring this to a close know that I am setting on a paint can with my laptop on my knees and this is not my best work, but it is what it is.

I am on the up side of the sod and that is good!!!

A time for new beginnings?

 A Happy Birthday to me!!  These keep right on coming and the only way to stop them is to die, apparently.  Since I am showing no signs of that, I will just open my cards, answer my phone and say thank you.  I realize birthday is a good time to look back down the cluttered road of my life and remember birthdays before.  Now here is the really sad part, I don't remember them.  There is only one birthday that I can actually focus in on and remember it clearly.  That was my seventh.  

First I want to tell you that over the years I have had husbands, kids, friends, acquaintances, teachers, co- workers, lovers, family and my birthday has never been forgotten.  And every card, letter, phone call or personal visit has meant a lot to me.  I have been covered in flowers delivered by FTD and the aroma still fills my senses.  I love flowers!  I hate it when they have stayed past their prime and I have to throw them out and put the vase some where.  All of these touched me deeply, but the one 73 years ago will travel with me to the streets of gold!

Mother cleaned houses as a side job and one of her clients was a lady named Paralee who was also a cousin to mom.  Paralee was also the neice of Aunt Helen and Uncle Skinny Lang.  Not real sure how all the blood lines worked in here, but I do know that side of the family had money.  That and the fact that Paralee and her husband worked and only had one kid.  On this particular birthday, Paralee wanted to see that I had a birthday party.

I am not sure how many kids from school showed up, but I do know somebody gave me a gift of a cookie cutter.  It was red plastic and the design was Cinderella.  I was ecstatic!  It immediately became my favorite possession.  Now you need to understand that growing up in Nickerson without benefit of running water in a house heated with a wood stove was not exactly the lap of luxury.  Gifts were few and far between and the cookie cutter joined the Chiquita Banana cloth doll that mom had gotten with coupons saved and then stitched  the pieces together by the light of a coal oil lantern.  I slept with the cookie cutter and the cloth doll.  I dreamed of the day when I could make cookies and cut them with my own cookie cutter.  

The dream of the cookies I would make was much like building castles in the air.  Sugar was rationed.  Since the cow had died, butter was non existent.  Store bought "butter" was a one pound block of white grease with an orange pellet that you poked a hole in and then worked it into the white grease so it looked like butter.  World War II left an indelible mark on most of us kids back then.  Our sole source of information was what we picked up listening to the adults.  I know I was too young to understand, but I can remember the jubilation when the war was over and our troops came home.  

Some how all the horror of Auschwitz and the pictures of the emaciated bodies of the Jews still lives in the recesses of my mind.  The stories that came out of that period must never be forgotten.  We must never again turn a blind eye on man inhumanity to man.   

And once more, my mind has turned a corner.  How did I go from a happy 7 year old at her first birthday to Auschwitz?  Could it be that perhaps this is where my passion for lifting the downtrodden  comes from?  I can clearly remember things that I should not remember.  I can hear Roosevelt announcing on the radio "The war is over."  I do not think it was actually him since the war officially ended after his death, but memory is a funny thing.

Momma always said that our mind will remember what our mind wants to remember and momma was right.  I want to remember a red Cinderella cookie cutter and a birthday party that may or may not have actually happened.  So, on my happy birthday to me day, that is what I will remember.  And I will see friends that love and care for me.  By the very act of clinging to life for 80 years, I have earned my stripes!

So Happy Birthday to me!  And rest assured, I am not done yet!  I may be the matriarch, but I am still 7 years old in my mind; an innocent little girl aching to grab the world by it's horns and make it her oyster!

Peace and love!

A Louisiana sweet roll

 I rarely think about husband #3 who also has the honor of being the only one to be #4 and the only one I had to divorce twice.  He is also the one who moved me to Colorado where I would thrive for the next 47 years and he is the one on my mind this morning.  Oh, not because of an undying love but because I woke up thinking about an old orange cabover that Kenny owned and taught me to drive.  We owned several of the big rigs when we were trucking early on in our marriage.  It only made sense that I should have some sort of an idea of what driving one entailed, so up in the cab I crawled with Kenny in the passenger seat.  

Now, I chose the cabover because I wanted to be able to see the road and the ditches and all that stuff.  A conventional has a big long hood and I am only a little over 5 feet tall so seeing the road was a challenge.  If you have never driven a stick shift, you will be lost in a truck that has 13 forward gears.  My Honda has 5 forward gears and I get along very well, but it is only about a foot off the ground and if I stretch my arms I can reach clear across it.  But I digress.

Charlie was an operator by trade.  Now an "operator" in this context is someone who operates heavy equipment like front end loaders, backhoes and stuff like that.  The big yellow ones you see on construction sights.  At the time of our marriage I owned a small cafe.  To get back on track, shortly after we married he took a job with Krause Plow and Implement as a truck driver.  His first assignment was to deliver a load some where in Louisiana.  Krause let the drivers take their wives if they wanted to, so off we went.  My first adventure!

The trip to Louisiana was only 300+ miles "as the crow flies", so we arrived at our destination late at night.  He found a place to park the tractor/trailer with "facilities" nearby and we crawled into the sleeper.  I was tired and slept like a log.  When I awoke the next morning I was alone.  Very soon I heard a rapping on the door.  Charlie had returned with a bag in his hand.  Inside  was coffee and a roll.  He was very excited about the roll!

"It is a sweet roll!  They are authentic Louisiana sweet rolls!  Here eat one!"  I took what looked like a biscuit that someone had forgotten to add the baking powder ingredient.  It tasted the same.

"This is not a sweet roll.  This is not sweet at all."  His eyes lit up.  

"I know!  Here!  You have to put honey on it!  That is what makes it sweet!"

And that was the highlight of the trip.  We did have that memory and every time I made biscuits after that, we had to have honey.  That made them sweet rolls.

Since coming to Colorado life has changed.  I am now widowed from husband # 6, but when I see a biscuit, I still think of old Charlie and how excited he was to introduce me to authentic southern cuisine in the form of a "sweet roll" that was really nothing more than a dry biscuit, but then isn't that what makes life interesting?

Momma always said, "If life hands you a lemon, make Lemonade.  Charlie taught me if life hands me a biscuit, make a sweet roll!

Our journey here on this planet is up hill and down hill, but when it is all said and done, it is the good times that we remember and it is our journey that shaped us into who we are.  And when the trumpet sounds I plan on having my little jar of honey just in case someone brings biscuits!

Peace!

Would you like something to drink?

 Sure.  An innocent question I ask or am asked quite frequently.  It is a social thing and accepted as harmless fodder in our day to day interactions with people.  Sure.  My drink of choice is water with ice.  An occasional soft drink on a hot day or a  big glass full of ice with tea goes good.  It has not always been that way.  Sadly I am one of those people for whom "a drink" means stay the hell away from anything that contains alcohol.  One drink is too many and a thousand not enough.

I learned very early on that if there was booze at the party it was not going to end well!  The boys in the crowd quickly learned that the best they would get out of me full of liquor was barfed on.  Dancing went out the window.  I became belligerent.  My first date with my first husband was spent with him holding my head while I wretched out the door of the car.  This was followed by me passing out and brother Jake taking me home, putting me fully clothed in the bathtub and throwing a blanket over me.  

I hated hangovers more than fried apples, which I loathe with every fiber of my being.  Every time I picked up a beer or mixed drink I told myself, "This time it will be different.  This time I will just have this one.  One.  Well, maybe one more."  And down the rabbit hole I went.  "90 miles an hour down a dead end street," so to speak.

I managed to function in my job because I limited my drinking to my days off from work.  I drank at home after the kids were safely in bed.  Since I was a single working mother with no child support I could not afford my habit.  Had anyone suggested AA I would have been offended.  Life has a funny way of putting us where we need to be at the time we need to be there and I am a prime example of that.

  My third husband brought me to Colorado and after about a year we divorced.  At that time I learned my first husband's brother was living in Pueblo with his wife.  Delvin and Nedra and I got together.  They were big on "AA" which is the acronym for Alcoholics Anonymous.  They attended meetings probably every day of the week and would swing by and share the "Big Book" lessons with me.  I explained to them that I was not an alcoholic because I did not drink.  He explained to me that being dry did not mean I was not an alcoholic.  I was one drink away.  And you know what?  He was right.

I would love to have a big red tomato beer.  Or a Pina Colada.  Or a Rum and coke. Or a fifth of rot gut whiskey and chase it with red Kool-Aid, but that is not going to happen.  I know myself enough to know that one drink is too many and a thousand are not enough.  I have overcome the nicotine addiction and put the cork in the bottle, so it is all down hill from here.  I just gotta' keep breathing, putting one foot in front of the other and some day the trumpet will sound and I will be out of here.  Keep my hand on the rudder and my eye on the prize.

Maintain.

Into each life a little rain must fall.

I remember back when I was a kid that life was so simple.  One of the highlights in my memory is crouching in the dirt and watching through the chicken fence as an old brown hen laid an egg.  I recall her looking at me a time or two and wondering if she was ever going to get done.  I do not recall it being any kind of "bonding moment" with the chicken, but in that few moments we were alone in the universe.  After she laid her egg and left the nest, I picked it up and took it into the house to momma.  While she was pleased that I brought her the egg she was upset that I had bothered the chicken it her egg laying business.

So, now to the crux of the matter.  Looking back I can see the folly of my experience.  First, laying face down in the dirt I was subject to all kinds of bugs and spiders.  Not to mention the fact that snakes also slither around chicken houses looking for prey.  And had the chicken not been engrossed in the act of laying an egg, she could have pecked my eye out!

Living on the farm was a constant learning experience.  The chicken experience was mild compared to the life and death struggle that went on constantly.  I recall the "dead animal wagon" coming to pick up our old Shetland Pony, Star.  Dad had gotten Star back when we lived on the Stroh place.  As I recall that was one of Dad's biggest follies.  He had gone into Hutch to join some of his old cronies for "a drink" and returned many days later with Star in a horse trailer.  That was the meanest damned horse that ever crossed the pike!  As Dad was unloading him he was kicking at the sides of the trailer and when he was finally on the ground, he made it clear that no one was going to set on his back! Or pet him! Or brush him! Or do anything but feed him and stay the hell out of his space!

We moved to the Strong Street house about the time I started second grade and Star died about a year later.  I recall the "dead animal wagon" coming to the house and the man taking a wench line out of the back of the wagon and into the barn.  Mother made us go into the house at that time and let us out as the truck left the yard with a horse leg sticking straight up in the air.  The demise of Star was complete.  He would be made into dog food.  I learned that from my school chums.  "Yes!  Dog food.  And his hooves will be made into glue."  Now how in the hell 7 year old kids knew that was beyond me, but it sounded true enough to me that I spent several nights crying myself to sleep, mourning a horse that was meaner than hell and no one could get near. 

There was a big Mulberry tree in the back yard there and under it I started a cemetery.  Donna squeezed a baby rabbit to death and  I buried it under the tree and put a stick to mark the place.  Dead birds were eulogized as well baby chickens that did not survive.  A mouse made it in also. And then I lost interest.  

Jake went off to the Army and I entered high school.  The days of sand and shovels were behind me.  Time to grow up and plan my future.  I would be a missionary.  I read about Africa and how the natives needed saved and brought into the grace of God.  Reverend Barnett gave me books to read.  I  learned that a lot of them were cannibals!  That kind of scared me, but at 15 years of age the world was my oyster!

And then I went to live with Grandma Haas, who was crippled by a stroke, and Great Grandma Hatfield, who was caring for her.  And the rest is history.