I hate the time change, but guess what I found!

I woke up this morning at 4:15 AM.  That is because I usually wake up around 5:00 AM or so.  I laid there for a while and had a little talk with God.  Then I planned my day.  I tried to sleep and may have dozed off for a bit after cussing the government for the stupid time change anyway.  I am sorry, I just do not get it.  I know they are trying to save daylight hours, but come on people, are you really buying that?  My days are 16 hours long and I am going to be in the dark on both ends of it.  I have been closing up the geese at 7:00 PM when it starts to get dusk and letting them out about 7:00 AM.  Now it will be 6:00 PM and 6:00 AM.  It will be the same degree of darkness and they do not know the time has changed.  Only I know now that the time schedule has been altered thus screwing up my whole schedule.  Like I did not have my mind in enough different places.  Hell, it was yesterday that I finally put my shorts away because I thought August was now over and I know we don't wear shorts after Labor Day.  I completely missed Columbus Day,  The State Fair, Beulah Art Sale, the turning of the Aspens,  3 of the kids birthdays and God only knows what else!
And now I set here with my muddled little mind wondering where in the hell Summer went!  Seems like only last week I was bent over tending the tender little plants and digging out the lawnmower to chop the weeds into submission.  I tried to do my "year in review" and thought it was 1997!  Ever hear that old saying, "When you are over the hill, you pick up speed?"  That is sure going on around here.  Point is I have a hard enough time with out Uncle Sam messing with my bedside clock when my internal clock has already thrown most of it's springs!
So, now I bet you are wondering what I found this morning, aren't you?  I found my shadow!  I have spent a lot of the past week flat on my back on a heating pad feeling very sorry for myself.  Must interject here that the little talk with God this morning clarified the fact that he had me down so I could think about some things that were a tad bit awry in my mind.  So after I told him I was pretty sure he was right about that, I got up and as one is wont to do first thing every morning, I headed for the bathroom.  The first switch I hit every morning is the one for the office lights.  That leaves the bathroom dark.  I opened the door and there was my shadow, waiting for me!  Funny how we forget the little things in life, isn't it?
I had probably seen that little fellow a million times over the years, but I had forgotten about it!  The poem we used to say years and years ago sprang into my mind.  It goes something like this:

My Shadow

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;

I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

Source: The Golden Book of Poetry (1947),

Well, it goes exactly like that because I went to the Internet and stole it!  The thoughts that spring to my mind with this poem are always of Nickerson, Kansas.  I remember walking the dusty roads around the old home place in my bare feet.  My shadow was always with me and as my shadow grew longer it was closer to time to "go in".  Funny, we never called it going home, but always going in.  Always liked Friday and Saturday night because we could stay up late and play "Kick the can!".   Does anyone remember that?  We always had a can from some where and that was home base.  It was basically hide and go seek and when whoever was "it" found one of the hidden kids, they drug them back to jail.  Then when the "it" person went off searching for more kids someone could run to home base and kick the can, thus freeing the prisoners.  Ah, the good old days.  And for the record, I am sure mother always made us wash our feet when we came in from playing all day barefooted.  I know to this day, my feet are the one part of my body that is always clean.  Always without fail.
So here I set at the computer and I can not see my shadow.  I see my hands are making a shadow, but I must be setting on that little guy, cause he is now where to be seen.  And if I am a female, why is my shadow a "he"?

Ah, Daddy is off drunk some where and here comes the cyclone!

I do not know how long we lived on the Ailmore place, but I do not think it was very long.  My most vivid memory was one afternoon when Jake decided to work on a  car that was in the front yard. Cars were simple back in those days and if you had any mechanical abilities at all and could think of the concept of a motor, you could be a mechanic.  He was pretty sure that the gas line was plugged so he unhooked some line and told Donna to watch the other end and he would blow through it and she should let him know if air came through.  So she had it up close to her eye and he blew and gas shot out into her eye!  Oh, Lordy, there was more catawaulling going on than you could believe!  And guess what Jake got?  You are right!  A licking!  There was talk that Donna might lose her eye sight, but I guess they washed it out with something and she was fine.
Roy Keating lived very close there to us.  He raised pigs and those things were huge!  It seems like I was told that a pig will keep growing as long as it is alive and that is why they get so big.  Does not mean that is true, just means that is what I was told.  Dad was Mr. Keating's chore man which meant when Mr. Keating was not home that dad took care of the place.  That meant I had to go and gather eggs while dad "slopped the hogs."  Side note here...back in those days farmers kept "slop buckets" which held garbage, leftover or sour milk, and anything edible except bones. The bucket was carried out to the pigs every morning.  I was scared shitless of those big pigs.  And of course there was always the tale of a farmer or his child falling in the pig pen and the pigs eating the hapless person.  That rather kept my paranoia fueled!
The floods, the bull frog, the Barthold sisters, Mr. Keatings giant pigs, coal oil lamps, and I never remember snow or being cold there, so we may not have wintered over at the Ailmore place.  I do recall my dad taking us all to the Kansas State Fair once.  Maybe not all of us, but me, Jake and probably Josephine.  I recall the ride there.  We parked and entered the grounds.  We walked down the midway with the promise from dad that we could ride the ferris wheel later, but first he needed a beer.  We were not allowed in the hall and had to set on a bench outside the door.  It was hot and dusty, but ever the dutiful father, dad finally came out.   He got us an ice cream cone for our one treat on the way to the car to head home.  I can still taste that ice cream.  It was horrible and must have been something like pineapple sherbert.  When we got home mother greeted us at the door and that man got hollered at and screamed at the rest of the night for taking those innocent babies into a den of iniquity.  When he explained that we sat outside in the hot sun, that was more fuel for the fire.  Kansas State Fair does not hold any fond memories for me!
It was a few days later and dad was once more gone, God only knew where, but we were sure he would come home "plastered"  since that was what he did.  Nickerson had no beer joints so he had to go into Hutchinson which was 11 miles away.  It was one of those hot, sultry days for which  Central Kansas is so famous.  The phone rang and Queen Josephine answered.  Very quickly she ended the conversation and turned to us.  "Mother is on her way home.  A big storm is coming.  Get the tank pumped full fast."  Jake and I ran for the back door and the pump house. The sky did look terrible.  Soon a car pulled into the drive and mother jumped out and ran for the house.  Ed Crissman followed her.  She apparently had started for home and he picked her up.  The wind was picking up and it was a sure thing that no one was going anywhere  until this was over.  Mother called us inside and just as we reached the safety of the house, the pump house collapsed.
We covered the windows with blankets in case the hail broke the windows.  We all huddled in the center of the house while the wind blew, the rain fell, and we prayed that the house did not lift up off the foundation.  I do not know how long the storm took, but it finally subsided.  Like little forest creatures we opened the door and peered outside.  Ed's car was still there, but had lots of hail damage.  The haystack was gone.  All the buildings were gone.  Trees were uprooted.  The fences were gone and the livestock wandered the yard.   Dead chickens were all over the yard.  It looked like a war zone.  Ed Crissman decided to walk home since the creek was now flooded.  And then it was night.
Dad came home sometime in the night.  It was a somber little group of people that stood in the yard the next morning wondering where to begin.  There seemed to be no place to start.  We had caught the livestock and tied them  to a fence post where they stayed the night.  But now what?  The roof of the house was not going to keep out the next rain.  And there was my father.  The pillar of the family.  Hung over, sick, sorry, and all the other things that they sing about in country western songs.  And my mother, a beaten woman.  She had worked all her life to feed a nest full of kids and then  lost the nest.  It was devastating.  She still had the kids.  We still needed to eat and we had to have a roof over our heads.  And she looked at my father, and all she said was "Well, Rueben, I hope you have an idea, because I am done."
I found an article that mother had saved from the paper back then.  They called it a cyclone.  Cyclone is also described as a tornado.  I didn't figure it made a lot of difference what it was called, the results were the same.  Mother could have given up at that point and no one would have faulted her.  But I have found since then that there is really nothing to give up to.  There have been times in my life when I have felt like there just was not enough gumption left in  me to take that next step.  When I looked at my kids and thought this was as far as I could go.  When that happened I thought back to that ragged bunch standing in that yard and heard my mother say, "Well, Rueben...." I had no Rueben, but I did have a mother and my mother had a daughter that learned her lessons of survial from a very strong woman.  A woman who knew how to wring every bit of life out of the worst situations.  A pioneer woman who did not give up and stuck with her husband and knew when to tell him it was his turn and he knew she meant it.
Next time I show up here we are going to be on the move again!!  Get ready world, the Bartholomew family is about to be land owners!

The Stroh place falls by the wayside.

I do not remember the layout of the house, but I do recall the yard.  In the summer time we were brown as little berries and spent very little time in the house.  Why would we stay in the house?  There was nothing there except our beds.  Television had not been invented to our knowledge.  When it rained the yard turned to a lake.  Well a giant mud hole might be a better description!  And just like a heat seeking missle we gravitated to the mud hole.  Since bath night was only on Saturday when we got muddy we could be sure that we were going to be crammed under the pump out in the yard and "rinsed off."    Life was dangerous for little kids.  Donna poked her finger at a turtle and the turtle latched on and did not let go.  The only solution for that was to cut the turtles head off and this caused his vice like grip to loosen in time.  Poor Donna.

I fell victim to the old gander which proceeded to give me a flogging that was one for the record books.  Mother did save me, to her credit.  The goose business and the fact that my brother Jake had whacked me over the head with a turnip when I was very small seemed to be my sole claim to fame in the Bartholomew household.  Dad farmed with a man named John Britain.  Mother drove the truck and hauled the grain to market, except for the year she gave birth to Dorothy.  Back in those days it was an unwritten law that when a woman had a baby she was to stay in bed for 10 days. I remember mother in bed and we were allowed to stand by her bed for 5 minutes every day and gaze at her and the baby.  We hated that baby that had made our mother have to go to bed for 10 days and maybe she would die.  But she didn't.

Life was good there, though.  We had the milk cow and every morning she was "staked out" beside the road so she could eat grass all day.  Then when it came time to milk her, we unstaked her and herded her along the road to home.  Some times she liked to just mosey along and we found that if we grabbed her tail, she would run home.  If we ran her all the way home, she would not give us her milk.  That got us more than one "licking".  A  licking did not entail the use of the tongue, it entailed the use of a leather strap.  I laugh when I remember mother saying on  more than one occasion, "Do you want a licking!"  Oh, yes, mother, you know I do!  I do not recall ever really wanting one, but I do recall getting them.  Today they would call it child abuse, but back then, it was called "keeping them in line and teaching them to be good."  I think we turned out pretty good and I never hated my mother for spanking me.  She never did it for fun, just to enforce what she said.  And I must confess, several times I heard my mothers voice issuing from my mouth, "Do you want a licking?  Do you want me to come in there?"

I recall one of the cows dying and we had to drag it to the pasture, soak it in coal oil,  and burn it.  That must have been when the anthrax epidemic happened.  I remember dad plowing with the horse and plow.  I remember taking him water.  I remember baby bunnies in the field.  I remember wolves howling at night.  I remember being afraid of a dog because he was stumbling around.  He had Rabies.  I remember my childhood and it makes me sad that it all ended, things changed and that era will never be again.  We walked wherever we went.  And when we left the Stroh place we put all our belongings on a hayrack that was hitched to 2 horses and it took the better part of the day to move across town.  We moved to the Ailmore place, which I think was a step up in the world.  It was a two bedroom shack on the other side of Bull Creek.  It was owned by a doctor.  There were trees in the yard and we would have a telephone!  

Probably just lucky that damn hog didn't eat me!

Thinking back to the "good old days" is mostly just a matter of perception.  Today I am remembering Irene who lived next door.  She is the one that slipped on the trailer tire....oh wait.  I may not have told you that little story.  See, back in that time dad had horses and they were used to pull trailers, hay racks, corn wagons and mainly eat everything in sight that was green.  So this one trailer (and I can not for the life of me remember what it was called.) that was just a box and dad could put side boards on it so it held more, or leave one of the side boards off and we would pick dry ears of corn and toss them in the trailer.  The board on the one side was so when we tossed it, the ear of corn would bounce back into the trailer.

So one day the trailer was just setting there and 4 of us girls decided we wanted to "drive the trailer" to town.      The way we accomplished this was one girl got on each tire, hung on to the side, and walked on the tire causing it to roll.  Looking back, I am pretty sure it would have been a lot easier to just walk into town and leave the trailer set, but they do not call them the "good old days"  for nothing.  It was indeed a time of innocence!  Oh, and did I mention that the tail gate and the front tail gate (please do not ask me to explain why the front gate was called a front tail gate.  I am just here to relay the story!)  were held in place by a steel rod which came to end with a very sharp point?   It had to be sharp to go through the hole in the bed that held the tail gate and the front tail gate in place.  There, the scene is set.

So I got on one wheel, Irene on another, Delores (Irene's sister) on one, and I forget who was on the fourth.  Usually it was steered by whoever was driving the horses.  Pull on the left rein and the trailer went left.  Pull on the right and it  went right.  Pull back on both reins and the horses stopped and this stopped the wagon.   We had none of those finery's!   We had only our feet.  We knew if we wanted to go left it would be necessary for the two people on the left side of the wagon to walk backwards so the left wheels would not turn.  We were so busy testing our theory and celebrating our genius that we forgot what we were doing and Irene's foot slipped off the wheel..  The only thing that stopped her from falling off was the steel rod buried in her thigh.  I remember very little of the particulars of that afternoon.  I know there was a lot of screaming.  A lot of cussing and a hurried trip into Hutch in some body's old car.  I do remember seeing her leg and the wound from that rod.  What is uppermost in my mind is the amount of yellow fat that was exposed.  Man that was gross!

We all stood around looking at the offending trailer and you should know we got in more trouble over that then about anything we had done before.  We were lectured for hours about the hazards of playing on the trailer.  But we were determined that there must be a better way to get around than to walk.  Next came a metal 55 gallon barrel (I think that is right).  Hop up on that and start walking and the barrel, of course rolled.
         
Close your eyes and picture that!  The faster you walked the faster the barrel rolled.  Best part was, there was no stopping that damn thing.  The only way to escape the rolling barrel was to jump off of it!  If you could do that and land in the soft dirt of a field or ditch you were very lucky.  Believe me when I say, I was never very lucky.  After you leapt off the barrel  it continued it's journey without you and usually there was someone in it's path that was going to get bowled over.

Another favorite past time was pig pen jumping.  I know that does not sound intriguing to you, but listen!  Mr. Reinke raised pigs.  He had pens in back for each pig.  They all were joined in a row; the pens, not the pigs..  Each pig had it's own house which was kind of an upside down "v" roof and about 8 feet long.  What we liked to do was start at one end of the lot on the first roof and leap to the second roof without falling in the pig pen.  Now I know this does not sound like fun to you, but remember, we did not have television, the only radio was WSM Nashville Grand Ole" Opry on Saturday night,   and the chances of getting a new brother or sister was a lot better than the chances of getting a board game to play!  And we had rules.  Someone was always designated as the one to run for help if somebody slipped and the hog attacked them.  Luckily no one actually fell into the pen, but the old sow was there grunting and hoping!

After dark we played "kick the can, if we had a can.  If we had a can it usually meant we had eaten that day.   To say that we grew up on the wrong side of the tracks would have been an understatement and to say the people on Strong Street were "strange"  would have really been stretching reality.  Strong street and the people who lived there were what made me who I turned in to today.  I never tire of remembering my childhood home.  The last time I went back to Nickerson and Strong Street, it had all changed.  My house was gone and in it's place was a double wide trailer.  Reinke's, Smith's and Hank Windiate's houses were deserted as was Goodrick's and Ayres.  I am sure by now they are either gone or replaced.  But that does not concern  me.  They are still in my mind.  They will always be in my mind.

Sometimes I think I may have selective memory.  Maybe we weren't poor, but I am thinking that 7 of us living in a 2 bedroom house could have been a clue.  But we all grew up and did not starve.  When we left Nickerson, Mother left the 3 legged kettle we heated wash water in for so many years.  She vowed that our new home would have a hot  and cold running water and one of those indoor bathrooms.  Know what?  She was right!

Today fur shall fly!

Hey, I got me a helper coming this morning.  I am so excited.  I got 2 bookcases full of books up into my bedroom.  Got the little desk Sherman gave me up there, also.  One corner empty, one old lady worn out.  Took the day off yesterday and just chilled.  Well, took the kids to lunch, met a fellow at the library to help him with his computer, came home and emptied, or nearly emptied, the top of the china cabinet.  Then I took a bunch of pictures for eBay and then wove about 8 inches on my towels.  They are going to be absolutely beautiful.
Last night the phone rang and who do you think was on the other end?  Grandson Mikey!  Mom said grandma needed some help and he was just hanging out so he could sure come and give me a hand if I wanted him to!  So I got to get out of the pj's a little early today.  Oh, yeah, and the guy is coming for my furnace inspection so today is going to be pretty busy. 
I picked a color to paint and I think it is going to be alright.  Bedroom is purple, bathroom is pink, office is aqua, and the main level will be something called desert straw, unless I go with the chenille.  Either way, all the stuff has to come off the walls.  Seems like a never ending job here.  Really makes me long for the good old days back in Nickerson, when mother was in charge!
I do want to tell you about my Christmas's there.  Seems like the first one in that house was when Jake broke it to me that there was no such animal as "you know who" (in case some one is reading this to a little kid!).  Seems that was the first year that mom and dad let him have the job of bringing in the stuff and putting it on top of the pieces of paper with our names on them.  We needed our socks, man!  Could not be hanging those up for some fat guy to shove stuff in and stretching them out of shape.  Many years later I did have a stocking, but it was no big deal by that time.
I heard him sneaking back to his little bed in the middle of the night and asked where he had been.  So he told me.  And it seemed that he had proof.  I was getting a tin doll house that held tiny people and tiny furniture.  That was hard to believe because that seemed like something a rich kid would have gotten  I learned later why.  Seemed my dear Aunt Helen Lang had taken pity on us that year and wanted to make our Christmas special.  She sure did!  Aunt Helen would pop in from time to time in our lives and when she went away there was always wonderful stuff left behind.  Once she enrolled me in Brownie, which is the really beginning of Girl Scouts.  Even bought me a Brownie uniform.  I was so cool!  I had a little brown beanie for my head.  Do they still have Brownie's?  I need to research that. 
The next Christmas that I remember I did not fare nearly as well.  Seems there was a book of children's poems, a red rubber ball and an orange, oh, and that godawful candy that was dry powdered sugar and something and then dipped in chocolate or something that was meant to be chocolate.  The candy I liked was the ribbon candy that tasted like licorice.  It seemed that we always made the trip to Grandma Haas's in Plevna every Christmas.  It was a very long ways.  I think 23 miles.  And it seemed the car always over heated.
Any way we always had a Christmas tree.  The reason we had one was because at school every room had a Christmas tree and when school was over for the year, the tree went home with some one poor who needed it and with at least 4 kids in school there, one of us was bound to luck out.  And here we would go down the road with our poor little tree with a few strands of tinsel clinging to the branches as if we were the proudest people in the town. 
I would like to interject here, that I do not regret growing up in poverty.  At that time we were not the only poor people at the school.  Everyone was poor.  It was right after the depression and the war had just ended.  We did what we could and we all hung together.  That is how things were done in those days.  The best we could hope for was that the rich girls would get new clothes so we could have their old ones.  Jake fared the worst because boys wore their clothes until they fell to pieces so he never got any new "old" clothes.
I have yet to have a Christmas when I do not remember back to Nickerson.  Seems we always go back to our roots and no matter how far away I roam,  I am still "from Nickerson." There is probably no one living in Nickerson today that remembers those Bartholomew kids. I probably would not know them, because I am still remembering the people who were there when I was.
My poor little jumbled mind is ready for bed, so "Goodnight, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!"

Landowners at last.

We arrived at the "new" house in grand style.  Our first act as new tenants was to check out the place.  It consisted of 4 rooms and a kitchen area across the back.  Enter the front door of 709 Strong Street in Nickerson, Kansas.  Nothing was to be brought in until the room was "repapered".  This was always the first thing that happened when you took possession back then.  Wall paper has always fascinated me.  You first measure the room and figure out how many square feet of paper you need.  This leads to another conundrum.
You figure how many square feet of paper it will take to cover all four walls of the room.  It matters whether or not it needs to "match" but only when you go to buy it. For the record it usually does need matched, so there you are.  Ceilings were about 10 or 12 feet up there in those days.  This is something I never understood.  No one ever grew to 6 feet in those days, so why the ceiling needed to be so high was more than I could fathom.  These rooms were about 12 x 12.  So 12 x 12 x 4= 576 square feet.  Wall paper is sold by the single roll, but is packaged in one big roll that is called a double roll.  So say a single roll contains 36 square feet then a double roll would contain 72 square feet.  So this job would need 16 single rolls, or 8 double rolls.  Now you have to add a roll or two extra for "in case ofs", and there are a lot of those. 
See this is what happens, you lay a bunch of newspaper, or old towels or sheets or something on the floor.  You then measure you very first strip of wall paper.  It will need to be cut a few inches longer than the wall height, in case you measure wrong.  Then you take the roll and the next strip will be "matched" to the first strip, and make it just a little longer in case you are off a little.  You will do this for the first wall.  So there they lay face up.  One person on each end and flip the whole pile so it is now backside up.  Now the fun begins!  And I really to love to hang wallpaper.  Well, I used to. Little old for that crap now.
The step ladder is brought in and placed in the first corner.  The paste is mixed and the paste brush laid out.  The decision is made that Father will climb the ladder because he is the only one that can be trusted that high up in the air.  The paste is applied to the back of the first strip being sure to "get the edges good."  This is a job for Mother.  The strip is then folded and readied for transport up the ladder.  The top of the strip is folded to the middle paste sides together and then folded back up so the very top edge is free.  The bottom is folded accordion style with the paste sides together leaving a strip that is now about 7 feet long.  Father slides his left arm under the middle of the strip and catches the top free edge and up the ladder he goes.  The first piece is hung in the corner, and then they realize that the room is not "plumb" so an adjustment is made while a string is hung from the ceiling.  The first strip is crucial because if it is not straight, the whole room is "off".
Father pats the first strip overlapping the top where it meets the ceiling.  This is folded down straight and cut so it butts nicely against the ceiling.  While he is doing that Mother is "matching" and us kids are patting and smoothing.  The brush is then brought into play and the strip is smoothed and all bubbles worked out and then Mother cuts the bottom straight with the mop board.  We admire our "new wallpaper" and then in a frenzy we attack the job of "finishing what we started."  With all of us working it is done in just a few hours.  Many hands make light work!
The moving and the papering took most of the day, so we did not completely unload the belongings that night.  We did bring in the beds.  Two for the front bedroom and one for the middle bedroom.  One bed in front for Father and Jake and one for Josephine, Donna, Mary and me.  Mother had the other bedroom with Dorothy.  Sometimes Mary slept in there also since she was "almost" a baby.  Sometimes Mary slept with Father.  And mostly Jake slept on the floor behind the stove.  Sleeping was just something that had to be done in a prone position.  Nothing special about that chore. 
Now I am sure sometimes Mother and Father were at least more than casual acquaintance's, but I was never privy to that!  (Just want to clear that up.)
So ended the first day at the Bartholomew residence on Strong Street.  We would live there many years and make many memories, but tonight we were tired and the front room was papered and we were in our own beds.    So as I lay in my bed I began to worry about what we would have for breakfast since there was no stove to cook on and no pans were inside the house.  While far away in another place kids were dreaming of sugar plums and stuff like that I was dreaming about survival.

When you are over the hill, you pick up speed!

Well, this is one of my more recent snap shots.  I mean this is a more recent snap shot that some one else took of me.  I even look blurry.  Age is not wearing well on me.  And it is happening so fast that I am about ready to jump out of the way of this speeding train.  By the way, my shirt says "Jesus is coming!!!  Quick   Look busy!"  Well actually my shirt just hangs there and does not say anything.  I embroidered that on there as a message to those who have the idle hands in the day to day life we are forced to live.

At one point in time I was into decorating the "Necessary Room"  with wise sayings.  The first to hit the wall was one that had a sheep and said, "Ewe's not fat!  Ewe's Fluffy!"  That was followed closely by "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most!"  I soon tired of that one and replaced it with "Either lead, follow, or get the hell out of the way!"  These little jewels were all made in counted cross stitch that I toiled long and hard over.

Well, now it is many years later and the old eyesight is matching the picture there and the counted cross stitch is a thing of the past.  I used to crochet with the smallest hook and use thread that was like a spider web and make beautiful doilies to put all over the house.  The thread I use is now rug yarn and the doilies have been replaced by a store bought kitchen towel draped through one of the handles of the stove.  I always tilled my own garden, but now I am thinking of having some one come over and do that for me.  Actually I am looking to sell the tiller and do the container gardening thing where I do not actually have to bend over.

When we moved here in 1983 it took me about 35 minutes to mow and trim the yard.  Thank God we had a hot, dry summer last year and the grass refused to grow!  The chore is now up to over an hour and that is not counting the 3 breaks I need to take to rehydrate and dry the sweat that now runs off my head in rivulets!  I thought about hiring this out to my grandson, but when I told him I would pay $20 for the work and he looked at me with disdain, I just wanted to rip his head off his body!  Proving that not only does either one of us know the value of a dollar, but also that my sense of humor is definitely down the crapper.

For the first 55 years of my life I did not need an air conditioner in the summer and a wood stove was fine in the winter.  Shoveling snow was just something I did when it fell on my side walk.  At some point in time I must have blown my thermostat, because now an air conditioner is a must and I ain't chopping that damn wood, no way.  Right before Christmas we had to really big snows and I managed to make it in or out, but this past week when I looked out in the morning and saw that crap I picked up the phone and called the step daughter.  "Was Michael on his way over or shall I go ahead and shovel this stuff myself?'  Dead silence.  We both knew the answer to that one!  And my thoughts on this were almost profound!

Why is youth always wasted on the young?  When we were kids growing up at home and it snowed, we never shoveled.  No one shoveled.  The tallest one went out first and "broke a path"  to wherever we needed to go.  Usually the first path was to the out house.  And luckily that path led past the wood pile so eliminated the need for the second path!  (My momma didn't raise no fools!)  Hopefully someone had chopped and stacked some wood on the back porch before the "storm hit" so there would be dry wood for the necessary parts of life like cooking.  We did have a propane cook stove, but we only used that on Sunday and not always then. 

Winters were hard back then.  The stove would inevitably burn out in the night so we had to rely on the pile of quilts on our beds for survival.  That and shared body heat.  Us kids slept in a pile on two beds.  Now each little angel needs their own room.  And a furnace to keep them the same temperature all night and day.  Course we did not know any better.  That was how the world turned back then.  So let me get to the point and I am sure there must be one.

I do not remember ever doing any manual labor growing up at home.  We must have because I am pretty sure there were dishes to be washed, meals to be cooked, floors to be swept and mopped, laundry to be done, chickens to be fed.  It is just that I do not remember ever doing any of that stuff back when I was young and strong and could have done it very easily.  Back when I could have made a difference in my mother's life I do not remember doing anything.  Youth is wasted on the young, like I just said.

I am drifting from my original goal because thinking back to my younger days always makes me nostalgic, so I am going to wind this up, but I will be back very soon and I am going into the years in Nickerson, Kansas in much greater detail.  For now I just want to tell you to seize the day, which in French is "Carpe diem!"  or something like that.  I now refer back to my final piece of needlework.

When you are over the hill, you pick up speed.

(And the nearer you get to the bottom, it becomes a very slippery slope!)

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And here is my sainted Mother when she was a Senior in high school.

I look at this picture and I can see a lot of myself in it.  Our teeth were identical; the same smile lines.  We both have the blue/gray eyes that change from one color to the other depending on what we are wearing and our mood.  My cheek bones are higher than hers.  We both had auburn hair.  In later years her's was completely silver.  Mine is still salt and pepper.

Mother worked hard all of her life.  I never knew a time when her hands were not busy.  I guess the first recollections I have of mom and dad were when we lived on the Alemore place in Nickerson.  It must have been located about a mile Southeast of town.  I had not started school yet.  We lived in a 2 bedroom shack with a kitchen and front room.  I call it a shack because it was not painted, not insulated, no electric, the water was in a pump out the back door.  Sister Josephine was in charge of us little kids while mom worked in town cleaning houses for the rich ladies. 

Now I am sorry to tell you this, because I know her kids read this sometimes, but my sister Joanne, as we called her, was very mean.  I recall once when my brother Jake and I walked up to Bull Creek and caught the biggest bull frog you ever seen.  I put it in my dress tail and ran home to show her so she would give me a box to put it in.  Well when I opened my dress tail that damn frog leaped out right in the front room.  She went ballistic and started beating me with the broom.  "You catch that damn thing and get it out of here!  Hurry up!  Hurry up before it pees on my clean floor!"

Well, I do not work well under pressure and crawling around under beds trying to catch that jumping frog was definitely not something I was good at.  But she solved the problem by whacking it with the broom and then beating it to death there in the middle of the bedroom.  And guess who had the honor of cleaning up that mess?  Thirty minutes later my beloved frog was in the field out back and the floor was once more spotless.  She did not know that Jake and I buried the frog and I cried.  Seems like I spent most of my childhood in tears over one silly thing or another.  Jake was always my friend.

Up the road from us was the Rumble's house.  They were an old couple who always waved at me when I went by and sometimes I stopped.  He taught me the words to Buttons and Bows  and when I sang it alone the first time he gave me a shiny dime!  Back in those days a dime was a lot of money.  I lost it and that was that.  Across the road lived the Barthold sisters who were school teachers.  They had a forest behind their house and Jake and I used to crawl through the underbrush when they were in the back yard having tea and spy on them.  Damn!  That was exciting!

Back in those days we had phones and we were all on party lines.  The way you used the phone was pick up the earpiece and then crank the handle on the side for what ever the person you were calling's ring was.  That is if they were on your party line.  Other wise you cranked a long ring and got the operator, Mrs. Humphrey.  We were fond of picking up the ear piece and cranking in someone's ear who was talking on the phone.  Got a lot of lickings over that little trick.

My dad liked to drink in his younger days.  One year he was going to the fair in Hutch and mom made him take all of us.  Well, as soon as we hit the fairgrounds he found the beer tent.  He lined the three of us up on a bench ( little kids had to stay home) and told us to stay there for a little bit.  Hours later he bought us each an ice cream cone before he went back in to have "just one more and then we will go home."  As I recall that ice cream it seems like it was probably pineapple sherbert.  It was not good.  I was hot and tired and kept falling asleep, but we were all three scared to move cause where could we go?  Let me tell you, see that sweet little woman up there?  She damned near ripped that man's head off his body when we arrived home and she found out we had spent the whole day on a bench while he drank.  I actually think that was the end of his drinking days!

Our stay at the Ailmore house ended when a tornado (but they called it a cyclone for some reason) hit and blew everything away except the house and the big cottonwood tree at the end of the drive.  But what does any of this have to do with my mother?  I will tell you.  That period of our lives was spent in abject poverty.  That was the period of time when I learned, although I would not realize it for many years, what a real woman must do to survive with her children.  My mother had a will of iron and a spine of steel.  She went without so us kids could eat.  She worked all day and mended our clothes at night.  She foraged and canned food for the winter.  She could wring the neck on a chicken and have it plucked and in the pot with out ever losing the ethereal quality that shone from her eyes. 

There is a passage in the Bible that tells about my mother.  It is the one that says "Her husband shall call her blessed and her children shall adore her.  She shall rise up early in the morning."  That was my mother.  If I could be a fraction of the woman she and my grandmother were I would die a happy woman. 

I recall the very last time I saw my mother.  I had gone for my usual 5 day visit and when I left she was having some problems.  I remember looking into her eyes and seeing the my soul reflected back at me.  I recall thinking "I will never see my mother alive again."  And I was right.  I talked to her every Sunday at noon.  I always called her at that time so she would not be confused about whether I had called or not.  We would talk for about an hour about everything under the sun.  I rarely told her my problems, and she was always fine. 

As I begin to face my mortality it is the memory of those blue/grey eyes that makes death almost a welcome relief.  It is her down to earth common sense that has helped me over the hills and through the valleys of life.  I could fill a book with things my mother taught me, and never cover all the lessons.  So, I say this to you....If you have a mother cherish her.  If you don't then learn to cherish life, because some where some one gave life to you.  God did not put us on this earth to just take what it gives, he put us here to prepare it for those who follow behind us.  I hope I am doing that in some small way.  As I transition from Louella Bartholomew to Lou Mercer and back to Louella Bartholomew, I have remembered all you taught me.

And so,  Good night, dear Momma, you did a wonderful job and I will be there one of these days, so watch for me!

Rueben Floyd Bartholomew

This is my father. Well it is actually a picture of my father. It hangs on my sister Mary's wall and I just happened to see it when I last visited there. The last time I seen my father was in 1964. He was born February 3, 1893. He passed to another level on February 17, 1965. He married my mother, Christine Josephine Haas on January 19, 1935.  It was a second marriage for both. 

Mother had a daughter from her previous marriage who was barely a year old. My brother Jake was born on October 5, 1937.  He was killed in a car crash on October 31, 1965.  I was born on October 1, 1941  and I am not allowed to say when the other three sisters were born.  They are vain little things.  However, as matriarch of the family I am proud to be my age.  (Oh, do the math for crying out loud!  I am 70 this year.)  I never knew my dad as a young man since he was 23 years older then my mother.  I do know that when we lived in Nickerson, Kansas he farmed.  He always had horses and always a matched team. 

He share cropped with a man named John Britain.  His wifes name was Salina and they had a daughter and as I recall her name was Mary Ella.  I thought that was nice as it kind of matched with sister Mary and my Louella.  John Britain had been a carpenter and back in those days he held his nails in his mouth as opposed to an apron.  As  a result he had cancer of the jaw and had part of his face removed.  Guess it is kind of funny what sticks in a young kids mind, huh?

I also remember that John Britain would pick dad up and sometimes I could go.  John had a shack on his land which was located South(?) of the Arkansas River in Nickerson, Kansas.  I also remember he had a stove to heat water and he would put cocoa and sugar in a cup and then fill it about half with boiling water.  The rest he filled with canned milk.  That was hot cocoa.  The elixir of the Gods!!  Best stuff in the whole world to this barefooted ragamuffin.  Now I must tell you that since those days I have tried many times to make the same hot cocoa and failed miserably!  Why that stuff would "gag a maggot off a gut wagon!"  (Kenny used to say that, so blame him for that.)

I have since decided that I grew up in the post depression and World War II years and things were sure different then.  When I talk about the "good old days"  I am talking about abject poverty and a time when the wolf at the door was a very real thing.  When meat on the table was the exception rather than the rule.  When Carp and fried apples was standard fare and an egg was best saved for the hen to set on and hatch.  When a wonderful, beautiful Christmas was finding a coloring book and a red ball and an orange all for me under the tree my big brother had drug home from the school room the day before.  Back when a feast was prepared because many people brought a dish and we all shared.  Or Momma got tired of that old Rooster being mean and lopped off his head and he was soup de jour!

After the busy season is over here in my little corner of the world, I am going to drag out the pictures of days gone by and scan them and let you meet my brother, sisters and the old cemetary where most of them are.  Until then, I have my memories and a driving need to make Lotion, Body Butter and print out the Inventory List for the Weaving Sale.  But at night I can walk the furrowed fields of my mind and make notes on how to best present the days gone by.

Today is the first day of the rest of your life!  Better days ahead.

You can easily judge the character of a man....

I
 I found this on face book and it struck me as one of the truest things I have ever read.  To often in this dog eat dog I find even myself cow towing to the one who can give me the favors that I want.  But always it seems when I get caught up in the day to day existence and become embroiled in the fight for the almighty dollar, something will jar me back to reality.  Like this little rabbit!  Have you ever seen anything more helpless in your life?
 Having grown up in the country, not on a farm actually, but kind of was, we raised rabbits.  Or I should say Mother raised rabbits. That was back in the good old days when there were not all the nitrates and nitrites in the grain supply and it was a simple matter of letting the rabbits breed and then the doe would give birth and raise the babies.  Course we would eat them, but that is what you do on a farm.  But the period between when the babies were born and the landed on the dinner plate, we could play with them.  At first they did not have their eyes open and were completely helpless.
 Now, I must interject a little story here and this will no doubt make my sister Donna mad, but facts are facts.  We knew we were not supposed to  hold the little bunnies until their eyes were open and then we must be very gentle with them.  Well, Sister Donna really loved those bunnies and she held one a little tighter than she should have.  When she saw it was not moving she thought it might be sick so she took it and put it in a dresser drawer and covered it up with a handkerchief to keep it warm.  And of course when Momma came home, she knew one was missing and me being the good daughter showed her where it was.  I thought Donna should have been beat unmercifully, but mother used it as a learning experience.  Good mother's do that, you know.
 Oh, the little rabbit brings back so many memories.  We had chickens and they lived in a coop out back, but they were allowed to run loose.  One day there was a button with a string and the chicken pecked the button and the string stayed outside.  Course I was inconsolable.  Little note here; we were little ragamuffin kids running around with no shoes on and we tended to worry about some of the damnedest  things.  Much of my life was spent worrying about one thing or another, and I was the biggest tattletale you ever saw.  I used to get up on the chicken coop and jump off and try to fly.  I never could figure out why that did not work.  I had a dish towel tied around my neck and everything!  We ran up the road to Vincent's sand pit.  Since none of us could swim, we got in trouble over that one. 
 It was always great when school started cause the ladies at the church would make sure we all had dresses to wear.  And we all got a new pair of shoes.  That was rather a mixed blessing cause I did not like shoes.  Still don't.  But it was one of those necessary evils.  And we had to wear them until the weather got nice in the spring.  By that time we had usually grown out of them, but everyone passed theirs down to a younger kid.  Rather sucked that my older sibling was my brother.  So I did not wear shoes for the last couple months of school.  My God!  If we tried that now the teachers would be aghast.
 There were 6 of us little urchins and we all left our childhood behind with a different perception of the reality of the experience.  I never tire of revisiting my childhood.  As I recall, we lived in pretty much abject poverty.  We did not have indoor plumbing until we moved to Hutchinson when I was 16.  We heated with wood and pumped water in the kitchen.  We took a bath in a galvanized tub on Saturday night.  Seems like we had kerosene lanterns, but I recall electric also.  That confuses me.  We usually had meat on Sunday and Carp and fried apples was regular fare.  Oh, dear, let's don't go there!
 I have this little rabbit as my background on my computer so I can remember that I am not king of the hill and that there are people out there who really need me to be strong for them.  But you know, sometimes I just wish I were one who could let some one else fight the battle, sometimes.  I am getting better at it.