Where did Chiquita Banana disappear to?

If there were just some way to shut this mind of mine down, we might all be better off for that.  It is 4:35 AM and the coffee is made and my hair is combed and Chiquita Banana is still fresh in my mind.  I have 2 nieces and 1 nephew by my oldest sister Josephine.  The oldest is named Mary and must be pushing 70 by now.  When she was but a wee lass and I mean so little she was not even crawling yet, I was allowed to play with her on the bed as long as I was real careful.  I was very careful, but bear in mind that I was only about 7 years old and not yet wise in the ways of wiggly babies.

As I recall she was dressed in a white something or other which started at her shoulders and ended below her feet.  It had a drawstring that tied so her little feet would stay warm, but it was loose so she appeared to be a tiny little angel!  I way so enthralled with the vision of an angel in my arms that I loosened my grip for just a moment and she shot out of my arms and fell between the bed and the wall!  Ah, sweet Jesus!  I never heard a human emit screams like that in my life and it did not help to know that I was the cause of the pain.  Since I was only 7 years old I could not pull the bed away from the wall to save the baby.  Enter Josephine, Mary Jo's 12 or 13 year old mother. (Yep.  They married young back in those days.  And you might also remember that it was a very long time ago and reality then and reality now, are sometimes 2 different things.)  Let me tell you right now, that old gal had no problem jerking that bed out and screaming at me at the top of her lungs while she was doing it.

Of course, Mary was alright.  She was a little shaken by her early flight from being my little angel to being a missile launched behind the bed.  Of course Josephine would not let me touch the baby again for a very long time.  I, of course, did not actually want to touch her just in case I was some sort of ax
murderer.  I was told every time I looked at the baby how careless I was and not to touch her.  It was kind of sad because Mary used to look at me and smile and laugh and coo, like babies are known to do.  She learned to crawl in due time and would crawl over to me and I would run away.  So much for bonding with my niece.

It was sometime during this period of my life that mother brought home a folded piece of fabric from someone who did not want it.  She unfolded it to reveal the front and back of a Chiquita Banana doll.  All she had to do was cut it out, put it right sides together, stitch it leaving an opening for turning and stuffing, stuff it and it would be mine!  How could I ever be so lucky?  Mother did not have a sewing machine at that time, so it would have to be done by hand.  Of course I was such a patient little girl as I waited every day for that to happen.  When I had finally given up on Chiquita ever being anything but a couple of flat cloth pictures, Mother whipped it together one night and handed it to me at bedtime.  You would have thought she had handed me the world!  It was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen!  The fact that it was not even a real doll, completely escaped me.  She was mine and she was special because my mother had made her for me!  I could picture her dancing in the moonlight with her hat of bananas on her head.  She was so beautiful and I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.

I have not thought of her in years.  My mother ended up helping raise my oldest sisters three kids while their father was in the Navy and their mother was busy doing her thing.  I remember special things about all three of them.  Charlie had bears in his bed most of the time.  I could never see them, but he assured me that he could.  I asked if he was afraid and he told me no, that they were nice bears.  I wonder if he still sees them?

My niece, Cindy was the youngest.  Since Mary lives on the northwest coast about as far north and west as she could go, I do not see her.  Charlie and I had a falling out years ago and I have no idea where he lives.  He has his demons and I have mine and never the twain shall meet.

But, little Cindy is firmly ensconced in my heart.  I have been to see her once and talk to her occasionally on the phone, but she is a homebody and so am I.  And she looks after her Aunt Lou.  Just recently I posted a picture on facebook of an old mixer I had fallen heir to through a death and I had used it to make cinnamon rolls.  My phone rang and Cindy wanted me to know that a new red mixer was on its way to my house to replace the last red mixer she had sent me, which had replaced the pink mixer which had replaced the black one.  Kitchen Aid has her on speed dial!  She looks out for me!  When I told her the story of the old mixer I had inherited, she told me to do something with my old red mixer because it was being replaced anyway.  Bless her little heart.  It warms the cockles of my heart to know someone out there is listening every time I speak!

The "old" red mixer will go to Pastor Faye in Colorado Springs.  The "old" pink one went to Rosie out at Los Pobres.  The old black one went to one of my kids.  The good Cindy does through me makes a lot of people happy and isn't that what it is all about? We are all shaped through out past into a vessel that will serve us in our quest for the golden ring of happiness.

And, like it or not, we spend 9 months in our mothers womb and the rest of our lives either immolating our mothers, or trying to escape the havoc they wreaked on us.  It is all in the cards we are played.  One day we all look into the mirror and see our mothers face looking back at us. We can never escape the perils of our childhood and my only advise I can give at this late date is to "Bloom where you are planted."  Nothing else can happen

As for I Chiquita, I suppose I will always wonder what became of  her.   I expect she ended up tossed into a mud puddle some where, but she should know that I never forgot her completely. I like to think that she ended up in a good home with a little girl who would love her and dream of being just like her when she grows up.

Five words no mother wants to hear, ever.

Always in my mind, the 5 words I never wanted to hear were, "There has been an accident."  I heard them years ago when I lost my brother.  And then I heard them yesterday.  They held the same paralyzing fear yesterday as they did back in 1965.  Only this time I heard them through my mother's ears and there were other words, motorcycle, son, ambulance.  Each word was tearing me apart and I had to pull into a parking lot to make sense of them.

Lou, this is Carolyn and I was on my way to town and there has been an accident.  Bret, Amanda, motorcycle, Cruiser, ......."I need to know which hospital you want him transported to.  They will want to know."  A million questions rushed through my mind, but I asked none.  She had no answers, so it was not fair to ask.  My first instinct was to race to Santa Fe Drive to the scene, but a cooler head prevailed.  I would go to the hospital and wait.  So I did.  I left my car with the valet and went immediately to the ER.  No ambulance yet.

I would call my minister.  Phone book was in the car.  So I called the church.  Answering machine.  In case of emergency call.....my pen was in the car.  Why is it that we delude ourselves into believing we are organized right up until the moment when we need to lay our hands on information and we find we are like Babes in the woods.  I knew I should call some one, but I did not know who.  Oh, wait.  He has sisters, I have kids!  But what would I tell them?  What did I know?  Motorcycle, son, ambulance.

So, Lou Mercer, the woman with so many friends stood in an empty emergency room staring out a window all by herself, the loneliest woman in the world.  And like so many mothers before me I turned to the one person who could and would listen.  I had never faced anything like this with any of my children before, but yesterday I did and yesterday I remembered why I had spent my whole life clinging to this man.  So I called on him,  "Oh, God!  I know I am always wanting something, but this time I really, really need you to do this for me.  Make it right.  Make this go away and if you choose not to do that then give me the strength to deal with what I must."  I am sure there was a lot more said and I bet I made promises, but God knows me pretty good.  We have been there before and while some of his greatest gifts were unanswered prayers, I knew in the depths of my being that he would answer this one.

It was orchestrated from the beginning when a friend came upon the accident and she chose to call me instead of letting the sheriff call, and she was allowed to call.  Things always come easier when delivered by a friend.  I want to thank her for doing me that favor.  I will not use her last name, but she know who she is and she also knows that I loved her when she was my daughter in law and I love her today, because she is a beautiful person.

So, as you have guessed by now, little Bret is alright.  He is alright because all the things that usually happened did not.  The speed limit there where this happened is 50MPH but it was moving slow.  Amanda saw a wreck ahead so she slowed down and changed lanes.  Bret passed her and then he saw the accident so he cut in front of her and slowed.  Some one ahead hit the brakes, Bret hit his brakes and Amanda hit hers.  She hit the back of the bike which shot out from under Bret.  All speeds were reduced or the boy on the bike would not be here today.

Later Bret was recounting the accident and he said " I seen Amanda coming behind me and I knew she was going to hit me, but I had to brake."  I asked him, "Did you at that point in time wish you might have been a little nicer to her?"  His answer was, "Oh, yeah!"

So today we are getting through the "what if " phase of this.  Will he ride his bike again?  Sure!  Will he wear a helmet next time?  No!  I never wore one.  It restricted my vision and my hearing.  On long trips I guess they are all right.  Will Amanda drive again.  Sure!  I hauled her to work today, but that is not going to happen again.  Things happen.  Life goes on.  What will I do different?  Keep a phone list in my purse or make sure all the important numbers are in my phone.  But the most important number is burned in my brain and that is the hot line to Heaven.  And the best part is that no matter where I am, it is still a local call!

Merry Christmas!!

Well, it is here.  The longest awaited day of the year.  I went to church last night and was absolutely amazed at how many people were there that I had never seen before!  My little church was filled with strangers and the best part is many of them were young people!

For many years I have been a cynic as to why people treat Christmas as a pagan holiday and a time to celebrate lord only knows what.  It is feverish shopping, ostentatious over decorating, over indulgence of every sort, and gotta have a drink cause it is Christmas.  Last night gave me insight into what exactly is going on. 

Now this was not my first rodeo as far as Christmas Eve service goes, however, this was much different.  Usually it is the Sunday morning crowd all dressed up and out after dark.  This time there were very few of the Sunday morning crowd, but there were a lot of young people.  Our church has only 3 small children.  They were not there last night, but these were young adults I had never seen before.  It was just great and made me think back to the Nickerson, Kansas, First Christian Church with Reverend Barnett.

I met a lady in South Fork (and that is another story altogether that I shall tell) many years back who told me Reverend Barnett wound up down in Texas and had lost everything in the collapse of the Savings and Loan business, which is but a dark, lurking memory and I am not going there today. 

Mother always took us to church on Sunday and of course Christmas Eve.  My father was an agnostic so he never attended any of that stuff.  Now you need to know that in the period I grew up in, poverty was the norm.  How my mother ever managed to put anything under the tree still amazes me to this day.  On the last day of school before we left for Christmas break, one of the teachers would give one of us 5 kids the tree from their room.  Which ever one of us received the tree would drag it home the mile to the house and mother would put it up. 

Then we strung popcorn or made a rope of papers glued together and draped that around the branches.  Somehow we always had hot chocolate on that special night.  Nothing for Santa though because he was getting plenty of cookies from other people.  I wish I had owned a camera then.  I do not think we have a picture anywhere of Christmas morning at our house.  But those days are as clear in my memory as if they were happening today.  One year it was an orange (always it was an orange), a book of paper dolls to cut out, and a red ball.  Once when times were really good, I got a tin  miniature doll house with miniature furniture and tiny mother, father, boy, girl and dog.  It even had a tiny patio!

Those memories are best left locked in the back of my mind if I want to be in any kind of mood to be festive today.  Why is it that the past, that was so stark and depressing, is the time we yearn for in our heart of hearts?  I think it is like my mother said, "You grew up with that.  That was your normal life.  The tasteless food is what you ate for years and since that is what you know, that is what you want."  My mother was the wisest woman in the whole world and I miss her with my whole heart, especially today. 

Christmas is about the Christ Child and it is about reaching down deep inside yourself and remembering.  I know the greatest honor I can pay my mother is to never forget my roots; to always know that the generations that went before me left a legacy that I must carry on.  I must and have tried to teach my children that we came from good stock and our roots run deep in forgein lands.  Our life is founded on honesty, truth, compassion and a steadfast beleif in God.

And that, my friends is what Christmas is all about!  Welcome Christ Child!

Southern Colorado AIDS Project at Publo Pride Day!

Here I am on August 22, 2010 down on the HARP River  Walk at Pueblo Gay Pride Day.  These are a few of my friends from Southern Colorado AIDS Project.  On the left is the Reverend John Mark Hild of the Metropolitan Community Church here in Pueblo.  Directly behind me is Eric, a volunteer. The tall good looking guy there is Bill Sharpton.  He works for SCAP in the Colorado Springs office. If you recall the white panel on the AIDS Quilt with all the AA coins is his sister, Marty.

Gay Pride was quite a little event this year.  Makes me remember back to the beginning of my venture into the Gay Community in Pueblo.  I think it must have been about 1990 or 91 when I found PFLAG (Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays). There were 3 of us mothers and we met in the basement of the Red Cross Building on Pueblo Boulevard and prayed no one would know we were there.  We've come a long way, baby!

We now have a presence all over Pueblo in the form of youth groups, activist groups, clinics, support groups, World AIDS Day services, Southern Colordao Equality Alliance, and a scholarship program at the Community College.  I am sure there is much more, but this is good for now.  I am very proud to say the torch has been passed to a new generation and us old ladies that were there in the beginning can now set back and let the young'uns handle the load.  They have boundless energy and are all gung ho' on this and I am very glad.  This is one time we can truly enjoy the fruits of our labors.  Was not sure I would see this day 20 years ago.

Hey, have a good one today and every day, bearing in mind that Neil Armstrong made is own statement years ago when he said, "That is one step for man, and one giant step for mankind!"  Keep putting one foot in front of the other whether you are on the moon or in Pueblo, Colorado, or Podunk, Georgia.  Any step forward is something to be proud of and 2 other mothers and myself are proud of Pueblo, Colorado!!

Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt #5

Well, this picture is pretty blurry, but it will just have to do until I can get another camera.  We only have this installment and then one more and we will be done with the Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt. 

In the upper left corner we have

Robert Coghill

8/21/1954-7/19/2003

As I recall Robert served in the USMC.

Martha "Marty"Rayble

8/22/1953-4/9/2005

Marty was a very good friend of mine and spent a lot of time at my house.  The coins you see on the panel are AA tokens representing 13 years of sobriety.  Each one says "To thine own self be true."  Marty was good at that! She came one day to my house and we were in the front yard.  The neighbors had an old red turkey that ranged free.  This old tom turkey decided he wanted to set on Marty's lap!  We laughed so hard that day!  But that was Marty! Rather then being afraid or offended she could find humor in most situations!  

 Her biggest mistake in her life was being a good wife.  Like so many women I meet, and men too for that matter, love is a killer.   

At the bottom on the red panel we have

 Dennis Klovstad.

3/10/1956-7/17/2003

I do not know how tall Dennis was but I am sure it was about 6'5".  When I would turn around and find myself eye level with a belt buckle I knew Dennis had arrived!  He was a pretty solitary soul and kept to himself, but if I worked it just right, I could get a smile out of him.  This part is very sad; one year he came in and handed me a small envelope right before Christmas.  I opened it and inside found a note card with a teddy bear.  Dennis had written; "Thank you for being my friend" and enclosed a $1.00 bill!  He did not have much, but he would share what he had.  That card made my Christmas that year!  I still have that card and someday when  I am no longer alive, someone will find that card and I sincerely hope it brings a tear to their eye also.

                                            

Here, among the dancing Indians, we find my friend  Shirley .

Shirley Rezendes

7/9/1983-3/?/2002

Shirley loved Indians and may actually have been part Indian.  Another case of a woman loving a man.

Brent Hanna

7/31/1968-8/7/2003

Brent was a southern gentleman in the truest sense of the words.  Very genteel and very easy to talk to.  Miss that boy a lot!

John

2004

Sometimes this is all I allowed to put on a pane, but when I see it, I remember and so does his mother.

P M

2004

Another one.  This belongs to a teacher and the first thing he had to teach me was how to pronounce his first name.  First we had to spell it so I could visualize how to pronounce it.  Whole process took almost 15 minutes and I will say this, I remember to this day and will probably never forget!  A wonderful man who loved a wonderful woman.

There you have this one!  This has stirred up a lot of memories, but they are mostly good.  Of course part of all memories is sad, but the good is there also.  So I bid this batch of my friends a good night and a fond farewell.  It was a very trying year.

One in a million shot of baby goose and the mother!

Every once in a a while you get a shot with your camera that is actually worth saving.  This is mine!  Baby geese began hatching at my house Thursday evening.  This is a long arduous process. I have an Emiden setting in one part of the compound and Goosie, this African Gray, in another part.  Goosie is a story in itself so I will cover the Emiden babies a little later.

About 5 or 6 years ago  Bret decided he absolutely had to have baby geese.  The fact that we had 20+ ducks at the time was immaterial.  So off we went to Big R for the purchase of 3 geese. I do everything living in triplicate for some odd reason that only God is privy to. Any way, the geese grew and were quite attached to us and the ducks.  As luck would have it, we had 2 ganders and the one hen.  The first 2 years Goosie would lay her eggs and I would eat them.  I called this retro active birth control.

Then the third year the biggest gander developed neurological problems and had to be put down.  I let Goosie set that year.  Her eggs were not fertile, so there was a stinking mess!  The next year I had acquired  3 pairs; 2 Chinese, 2 Emidens, and 2 more Africans. They all set, except Goosie,  and they all hatched and the ganders trampled most of them, but I did manage to grab the 6 surviving babies and take them to my friend Penny to take care of until they were feathered. While over there 2 got sick and died, one was ate by a coyote and 3 survived. When they got tired of taking care of them they brought them back. This brought me up to 10. One of the Emidens did not make it through breeding season, so down to nine.

I decided to let Goosie try this year and we were very happy when this little fellow pecked it's way out of the shell.  Bret spotted this shot and took it for me.  If you click on the picture it will get bigger and you can see the little fellow nestled in  Goosie's wing with just it's head showing.

If you are ever in my neighborhood, feel free to drop on over and check out my little farm here.  Better hurry though, because the fox is busily eating my ducks and you may not see them if you don't hurry!!

Have a good one, and happy Father's Day to all the male species, with and without feathers!