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! 

Life in the land of Covid.

 Wending my way through this life has been interesting to say the least.  As I enter my (what I hope are) twilight years, I find myself in a unique position.  I have gone though my life without a lot of medical problems.  The removal of my tonsils when I was 12 was the only surgery I really needed.  I still have my appendix and have very few medical issues.  A few tetanus shots, necessitated by stepping on rusty nails, was all I ever needed.  Until now.

Welcome to the land of Covid!  I did the responsible thing I got my vaccinations.  I had 4 of them to be exact.  I wore my mask.  I isolated.  I did everything just like the CDC recommended.  And for the first  year all was well.  And then I had some work done on my house.  Very nice man.  Single and only a few years younger than me.  An anti-vaxxer.  He was careful.  He wore his mask.  Ya da, ya da, ya da. He caught Covid.  When he was first diagnosed, he called and enquired as to all my family and friends, sure that my house was ground zero.  Nope.  I didn't have it, nor did any of my friends.

He finally traced it back to some one he had worked with on some plumbing job.  So he let me off the hook on that one.  Yes, he was going to get vaccinated!  Then, no, he was not getting vaccinated.  He did not know what was in the vaccine.  Of course he doesn't know what is in the food he grabs from the deli every day either, but you know how men are.

And then, after two years of dodging the Covid bullet, I finally seen the second line appear on my covid test.  I was devastated.  I had been so careful, but I had him for supper one night and the next morning he tested positive for a second time in only a few months. That was all it took.  Responsible?  I think not.  Talk about Typhoid Mary!

I do have to say this, if you are vaccinated and still get Covid, you will have a lighter case.  I am very glad I was vaccinated, because had I not been, I am sure I would not be writing this today!  For the first day I slept most of the day and ate very little.  Second day was not much better.  I am still in quarantine.  I do not care if I ever leave this house again.  I do not want this again!  

The above was written several weeks ago, but it is still fresh in my mind.  I do not want to get that crap again, but here is the deal.  It is still out there.  It is still being passed around and I am sure it is still killing people.  I have the masks that I wear which are the approved ones, but I seem to be the only one wearing one.  I went to Walmart yesterday and there was myself and one other old lady with a mask.  I go in the neighborhood drug store and they wear no masks.  A few employees wear masks at LaGreese, but very few of the customers wear one.

I used to have Covid stats in my toolbar and checked them every day, but then I decided that was no longer necessary.  So where do we stand on Covid?  I do not know.  I sometimes think I am the only one worrying about it, but then I may be the one in charge of worrying.  The sad thing is I remember the days of iron lungs in hospital corridors and the death toll from polio.  I remember the days before vaccines for childhood diseases when quarantine signs were tacked on the front doors of houses and the inhabitants could not leave until the doctor said they were clean and free of germs.

I also remember that when I had my babies, I dutifully took them for thier  "childhood" vaccinations.  There was never a question of whether they wanted them or not, just something we did.  It was being good citizens and that is what good citizens did.  It is a little hard to find people of my era that does not carry the small pox scar. And now there is something going around called Monkey Pox.  De ja veau?

Could very well be!

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.

The saga of the perfect Pinto Bean!

My journey to the great state of Colorado began a long time ago.  I think the year was 1973.  I do know that Susie was a wee little tyke.  She is the only child of mine that actually started and finished school in Pueblo.  Sam finished here, but did not start.  The other girls were sporatic as to where there roots really were.  I just lived in a state of confusion.  I finished school here by getting my degree in Accounting, but I never really graduated high school at all.  But that all has nothing to do with the sacred Pinto Bean which is a staple of Colorado and an art that must be cultivated!

Back home on Strong Street, the beans were Navy beans.  They were a staple and were cooked on the top of the old wood stove.  If we were real lucky we had a ham bone to throw in for a bit of flavor.  Winter or summer made no difference as to how we cooked.  A wood stove was what kept us alive in the cold and fed us in the heat of the summer.  But I digress.

When Charlie and I came to a parting of the ways, I knew I needed a job that paid more than cooking and waiting tables, so I got myself down to the Business College and signed up for the course that would give me my Accounting Degree.  I worked for a construction company days as a bookkeeper, nights I went to school and late nights I waited tables at a place in Bessemer called Liz's Cafe.  I know the older Pueblo people remember that place!  When the bars shut down that was where they went to eat and I waited on them!  I meet very few people now who were regulars, but once more I digress.  Back to the Pinto Bean.  

At that time the day cook was a lady named Angie.  Angie was ageless in that I knew she was older, but age did not seem to matter than.  Of course we became friends.  As the day cook it was her job to keep the kitchen in staples for the afternoon and evening.  Every day she cooked a very big kettle of pinto beans.  They were delivered in a 50 pound gunny sack and had to be sorted and cleaned.  Therein began my education in the fine art of the perfect refried bean!

She was also the breakfast cook so she also cooked orders as they were turned in to her.  Huevous Ranchero's is a meal I had never heard of until I started at Liz's.  The plate contains 2 eggs, hashbrowns, a spoonful of refried beans and tortilla.  Everything is served with refried beans and covered with a genereous serving of Green CHile over the whole plate.  The beans  are in the burritoes, taco's  and any other thing you choose to eat!  As such they need to be perfect!  So, here goes...

The can full of pinto beans is dumped onto a stainless steel table.  Then begins the chore of touching every single bean and deeming it worthy of the pot!  The bean must be complete with no loose skin, crack or off color.  By very nature of the way beans are harvested, a rock sometimes shows up.  Of course that is a no no!  But Angie was Queen of the Bean and taught me how to quickly seperate the "wheat from the chaff," so to speak!  I do not remember Angie ever having a day off while I was there.  Surely she did.

When I first started there the matriach, Liz herself was just living in the back and not really working, though she did pop out from time to time.  The resturant was run by her son and daughter in law.  Later it was overseen by her granddaughter and her husband.  Shortly after I left it was on it's downward spiral.  People change and the mill was no longer the central part of Pueblo's world and the mill had been a mainstay of Liz's.  But life goes on. 

The building now sets vacant as do a lot of buildings down in the Bessemer area.  I do know that area was called Bessemer because the mill was there and the process they made steel with was the Bessemer process.  So anyway, time marches on!

I am now an old lady and do not even need my Accounting Degree.  I would rather make cookies and take a walk along the ditch, but let me tell you this....when I cook beans, they are sorted and cleaned and cooked with a big spoonful of lard!  Not shortening or bacon grease, but lard.!

After all I did learn at the tutelage of  the master, Angie Whateverherlastnamewas!

Bon apetite!!!

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.

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.

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.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness!

 At least that is what momma always told us.  Now back in the day that she preached that, we did not have running hot and cold water.  We never actually had any running water in the house.  We had an electric pump out by the horse tank.  Horses need a lot of water.  Since their water needed to be clean, we were not allowed to play in the horse tank no matter how hot it was.  Of course, I was terrified of those big horses with their big, yellow teeth.   There was no way in the world that I would let them come near me.  Of course, my dad was not the best fence builder, so it was not unusual to find they had escaped.  That meant we had to go find them and lead them home.  "We" was usually Jake and I.  I digress.

Summers in Kansas are very hot!   Very hot and usually very dry, but occasionally we did get a rain.  When that happened, Strong Street was usually flooded.  Since we had an old car that was only used to go to Grandma's house, we walked everywhere.  Now you should know that barefeet in the mud is one of the small pleasures we had.  A mud puddle was meant to be walked through barefooted!  I think that might have been a law back then.

Now, you should know that bare feet and cool water in a mud puddle is not the only joy of my childhood!  When the mudpuddle began to dry up, we did not walk in it.  We waited patiently for it to dry up and when it did there was a whole new joy!  When it was completely dry, it formed a crust.  The crust then turned into a curled- up crust and we could step on the curls and feel them crumble beneath our feet.  Oh, my vision of heaven contains a lot of mudpuddles!  Of course, this was the bane of my mother's existence!  Before we came in the house we had to go to the pump and wash our feet.  "You are not getting in that bed with those filthy feet!"

So, Jake and I would take turns pumping for the smaller kids and each other.  Bonding was different back there on Strong Street than it was on Avenue A in Hutchinson.  When we moved to the big city with running water, we were afraid to use it.  We did not want to "wear it out" or "use it all up".  We did like to set in the bathtub with no water on hot days and watch the little red haired boy who worked at the film developing place across the alley.  Forgot the name of it, but the boy's name was Tommy and my little sister, Mary ending up marrying him!  Sadly, they are both gone now.  There is  nobody left but Donna and I.  

Funny how that works, isn't it?

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.

Oh, for crying out loud! Just do your job.

 I am having a very hard time believing that my life has completely changed and that Covid is to blame.  Prime example would be my trash service, or rather lack of it.  I got my bill.  I picked up the phone and called the office and paid my bill.  I know if I do not pay when I get the bill that I will do the procrastination thing and end up receiving a friendly reminder.  Most of my bills are on level pay with an automatic deduction from my bank account.  This one is one I need to pay every 3 months, so I paid it.

Next week I did not have much trash and so I am not sure if it was picked up or not.  Week 2 and no trash pickup.  So I called the office.  "Oh for sure!  So sorry!  Shall I send a special truck out?"  I did not think that was necessary.

Week three and the trash is now up over the top and the neighbor cats are having a field day!  So once more I called the woman  who is now my sounding board for frustrated old ladies who are spending a lot of time on the back burner!  

Of course she checked and they must have just missed me quite by  accident.  Could I just load it into the car and bring it out to the yard?  This struck me as rather ludicrous to say the very least!  I am 80 years old and drive a Honda Fit!  I am doing damn good to get a bag of groceries in it!  Trash is heavy and this is now beginning to smell like garbage.  I do not want to touch it, let alone load it in my car and haul it somewhere that I do not know where it is.  She assured me that this time my trash would be picked up next Thursday as scheduled.  Or Friday if it snowed, which of course it did.

By this time, the dumpster was overflowing, so I had wrapped it with a rubber rope and taken it to my back door to deter the 8 cats that live next door and love to forage.  So, I pulled it to the front yard for the trash man on Thursday.  It set on the front parking all Thursday night.  I did not untie the rope.  I thought I would run out when the man arrived.  

Friday morning dawned and my hopes soared.  Friday night I dejectedly drug that damn thing back to the back yard! Saturday we repeated the scenario.  Today is Sunday.  Tomorrow is Monday.  My trash day is Thursday.  I am beginning to see a pattern here.  Had I not paid my bill, they would tell me my trash would not be picked up because I did not pay.  So...... now what?

I will call out there tomorrow and she will tell me how sorry she is, but you know what?  Sorry doesn't cut it.  Society has rules and one of them is that we pay our bills on time.  I did that and here I set a month later with the same damn trash that I had when I paid my trash bill!  

So, do you have any idea how I can get all that trash in my car to haul it across town?  Will the secretary come to my car and unload it for me?  Or better yet maybe I can just take the tote up to South Road and leave it there.  Someone will see their name on the side and report it as abandoned.  Course that does not do anything about the 3 months of service that I have paid for, does it?

I will call the company Monday and the lady will be very sorry, but you know what, sister?  Sorry isn't going to cut it this time.  I am 80 years old and tired of being screwed with.  Every bill I have is on auto pay so I do not have to screw with people who do not give a damn about whether my trash gets hauled off or not!  You are not the only trash company in town so here is the deal....  I am going to send you a copy of this blog and then Monday morning I am going to call you, cancel by service and demand my money back.  Then I am going to call the Better Business Bureau and tout you as the worst trash service in town.

If you are so busy that you can not service your customers, you sure do not need any new ones!

Ok, now it is getting personal!

 Time to vote and that is what I do.  It is my right.  It is my duty.  You have the same right and the same duty.  I respect that.  I used to love to stand in line and wait my turn at the polls.  I would visit with people in my precinct that I had not seen since the last time I voted.  Course that is all changed.

Now, I get my ballot in the mail and fill it out at my kitchen table.  I then put a stamp on it and walk it back down to the mail box.  Or throw it on the dash board of the car and drop it in the ballot box behind the "used to be bank" building on 8th and Main.  Never had to worry about poll hours or anything that way.  

Now we have a faction in this country that wants to change the voting laws and the way the electorate works.  There has got to be a way to keep the poor, the minorities, the "less equal then us" from being able to cast their ballot without it becoming a hardship!  No mail in ballots, no early voting

I also used to watch the news faithfully to see what was going on in the world.  Occasionally there was something on there that made me feel good, like the time that the rescuers saved those boy scouts who were lost in a cave some where overseas.  A place I never heard of, I think.  Those days are gone.

Now it is politics.  "Them versus us".  It seems that my world pretty much went to hell 3 or 4 years ago.  Respect for government has pretty well gone out the window.  Did it start when the world watched on live feed as a white policeman knelt on a black man's neck until he died? Did it culminate when a band of thugs breached security at the nations capitol and destroyed a piece of history?  And then when we were most vulnerable I watched the television screen show a little red "x" leave Wuhan,  China, travel across an ocean to Seattle, Washington and then cut catacorner down to Florida to begin spreading something called the "Corona Virus" in our country.  

It was then that we scrambled to find a vaccination to contain it and our mortality rate began to sky rocket.  It was then that a faction of America rebelled and refused to wear a mask or be vaccinated because "they" had "rights" that I do not have.  Death rates began to spiral from a pandemic that parts of our society dub a "government conspiracy" to circumvent their rights.  What the hell?

Where is my America?  You know, the one where we cared about each other?  Where are the lines for immunization where we all lined up to fight mumps, red measles, polio, diphtheria.....?  We quit flying the Confederate flag for a reason.  We used to be considerate of other people.  We used to say "excuse me" and "sorry".  A tear running down someones cheek used to invoke sympathy.

Where in the hell did MY America go?  Where is the compassion and common sense?  Maybe I am just a dreamer to think that this country can survive if we all pull together.

It just ain't happening, is it?

Pecan pie and a thief in the walk in.

 

Somebody said something about a pecan pie over on facebook and I immediately remembered back to my days at the Red Carpet Restaurant and the boss's venture into the bakery on south main.  The bakery was in trouble so Bob leased it at t very low price.  Mother had a husband who had a grown son who needed a job (Dammit! I forgot his name, but maybe it will come to me.  The son, not the husband.  His name was George.)  Seems like I had an in with Bob so George asked me if I could talk to Bob and get (I will just call him dipshot for short until I remember his name.) Dipshot hired .  So I did.  Course Bob let me know that I would be responsible if Dipshot screwed up.

I would close the resturant kitchen at 10 o'clock and head by the house to pick up Dipshot and take him with me and we would head to south main to bag the bread that had been baked earlier.  First we had to slice it and then bag it and twist tie it shut. This usually only took a couple hours.  Then Bob decided to add pies to the line.  So cases of pies were delivered to the Restaurant.  I baked these while I was working and returned them to the case which was then taken to south main and sent out to the stores. 

Now Dipshot was not the brightest bulb in the box and honesty did not run deep through his soul!  I was however, mildly surprised when I opened the refrigerator in my kitchen at home and found 6 freshly baked Pecan Pies. Upon closer investigation, I determined that they were from the stock in the walk-in at work.  The fact that there was a piece gone out of one led me to believe that perhaps Dipshot had releived the boss of a case of pies.  A conversation with him later in the day proved I was correct.  I had a thief in my house!  This did not set well with me.

He, of course, promised that this was a one time thing and he would never do that again.  My mind, however, knew that "once a thief, always a thief".    I explained to him that we were going to take the pies back and he could just explain to Bob what he had done.  Of course, he swore he would never do something like this again if I just let this one slide.  Confessing  to the boss was not an option that interested him.  However, being the purist I am, I could not let this go unpunished.

I loaded the pies in the car, retreived my house key from him and bade him a fond farewell.  He had been a friend for a time, but honesty is paramount in my world.  So I drove to the restaurant and explained to Bob what had transpired.  I put the pies back in the walk in.  My heart was heavy at the loss of what had happened, but Bob never brought it up again.

I do not know what ever became of Dipshot, but the last I knew he was living in Western Kansas with his sister.  I lost my brother many years before and for a while I was happy that I had a replacement.  But you know what?  No one could ever replace Jake!  Jake was one of a kind and all of us kids were raised to be honest and respectable people.  And there was something else momma always said that rang true in this experience!

Don't let the fox guard the chicken house!  That woman was always right on!

Peace.   

Christmas Day 2021

 For those of you out there who worried that I would be sad on Christmas, you can put your worries to rest!  I had a very good Christmas! I went over to Ross Barnhart's and had lunch with him and his family.  Food was delicious because Rooster and Missy grow their own vegetables and cook from scratch.  I think Ross made the pork roast.  Robin and Terri made something very good as an appetizer, but I do not know what it is called.

This is Ben!  Ben belongs to Robin and Terri and is a very sweet boy.  He likes to play video games and you will hear more about that yellow thing that someone is playing with there a tad bit later.

This is Terri, Ben's mom.  She appears happy, but trust me, you better "duck" when she looks at you!

This is Robin, Ben's dad.  He is trying to look so innocent here, but do not let your guard down. He kind of loses something against the bright window, but is still a lovely person.  You can not see too well, but he is setting with a cat who is almost as old as Ben, his son.  Terri and Ben belong to Robin, Ross's brother.

This is Ross's other brother, Rooster!  Rooster is married to Missy and I did not get a picture of her for some reason.  Rooster appears very innocent, doesn't he?  He is not!!!   For the record, he "ducked" me many times!

Now for the record, this is a duck!  It is a rubber duck!  It is about 3 inches long and made of rubber.  You stick your finger in it's head, stretch it out and let it fly at your opponent.  Now for some reason all of them decided I was fair game!  Can you imagine that?  little innocent me! 

This is the host, Ross Barnhart and the smile that looks so innocent is acutally an evil snicker!

And this is what they did to me!  They all shot me with ducks and almost killed me!  But, I have to be honest.... I shot them back!! I am not sure if those are ducks or chickens, but they stretch out to be about a foot long and fly through the air and do not hurt a bit when they hit you.  Where do people come up with this stuff?!?  I am thinking an idle mind is the devils workshop!

I do have to admit, this was one of the best Christmases I have had in recent years!  I usually just go to church and then set home and be miserable, but not this year!  I must admit that this is also the first time I have ever shot a duck!  I did try to conduct myself with some sort of decorum so maybe they will invite me back again!  Sure hope so!

So now, Christmas is but a fond memory and we are fast approaching the New Year.  Christmas was so much fun that New Years Eve will surely be anti-climatic!  And since I am so slow in my blogging now days, I am going to go ahead and wish you all a very Happy New Year!  

  Remember that what does not kill you will make you strong.  May the new year bring you peace and harmony and may the Lord shine his face upon you. 

 

But most of all I wish you peace and love, because when it is all said and done we only get out of this life what we put into it.

Shalom!

Oh, the memories!!!!

 It is almost 5 AM and today is Christmas Eve.  I have my coffee and there was a time I would be enjoying (?) a cigarette.  Not any more.  I checked with my friend Cathy who quit the same day I did.  It has been 12 years!  My lungs are clear which amazes me since I smoked for 54 years.  God has sure been good to me in that area.  Well, let's face it, God has been good to me in every area of my life.

First he gave me the wisest mother that ever lived and definitely the one who was the best mother for me!  Momma always said that I thought she was the best because I never knew any different.  She might be right on that!  I do wonder if I had been born into money and prestige if I would be the same person I am today?  I wonder had my first husband been the one I stayed with my whole life, would I be the same person I am today?  

I can look at my kids and see shades of my mother in each and every one of them.  Debbie is the oldest and the most like me.  She even looks like me.  She spouts things mother would have said.  "What don't kill you will make you strong."  She is a pioneer woman to the core.  She lives with her husband in Eastern Kansas and is raising 3 grandkids on a 40 acre dryland farm.  Her husband, Hammer, bought her a new backhoe or something like that for her birthday or some such occasion.  Mine used to send me flowers!

Today is Christmas Eve.  Holidays are not my strong suite.  To be honest, I could function very well with out any holidays, but nobody asked me.  Tonight I will attend the Christmas Eve service at my church.  Christmas is the holiday that marks the birth of my saviour.  I will go alone and I will come home alone.  I will make oyster soup for supper because that is what Kenny and I did for years.  I guess I am a grinch!  So be it.

The end of the year is for me to look back and reflect on how things went and how I can improve and do better next year.  I spent New Years Eve of 2003 watching fireworks on Pikes Peak.  I set alone in the cafeteria in a hospital where my husband lay on life support.  While I do revel in the baby in the manger, I am a realist. I know how the story ends.

So, to my friends and family, Merry Christmas!  The babe in the manger is our hope for the future.  Take time to reflect on just what that babe did for us.  Our hope for the future and the remembrance of things past.  New Years is coming and we have a chance to make this next year different.

So when you think of the baby and the manger remember it is all part of a much grander scheme than we could even imagine.  It is the birthday of our saviour!

Welcome to my life, Jesus Christ!