Yesterday is gone, tomorrow is far away.

 That just leaves today to get through.  Today is all we actually have, isn't it?  Yesterday was a hard one, but tomorrow will surely be better.  I had a nightmare that woke me up from a sound sleep and is not leaving me.  I was in a cemetary.  Someone or something was chasing me.  I hid behind a tombstone and then climbed a tree.  Still it pursued me.  By this time I was awake and very afraid so I just got up.  The cat was happy about that, because she is now ensconced on my lap.  She spent most of the night drapped across my head.

Even now, I can feel the terror that the dream brought to me.  I remember the palpable terror that gripped me in my dream.  It is not going to go away easily, but I shall write and bit which always seems to exorcise my demons.  It was on this day in 2002 that Kenneth began his journey to the other side of the bar.  January 30, 2003 he made it.  It was on November 21, 2021 that Anthony crossed over.  Both of these men held a place in my heart that will never be filled.

I know in the recesses of my mind where logic dwells, that death is a vital part of life.  I also believe that there is a higher power that waits for us all to take us to a place where there is no more sorrow and no more pain.  And I know as well as I am setting here feeling the computer keys under my fingers that I will see both of these men, along with Sherman, in a much better place.

But for today, I think I will just remember them as they were.  All of them.   Momma and Jake, Dorothy, Josephine, Mary, Dad and Grandma and Great Grandma.  The aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews.  All of them.  Ex husbands.  School mates.  Teachers.  Casual friends.  Lovers.  Pets.

So once again the terror of the night has subsided.  The sun has not yet begun it's daily chore of peeking at me from the horizon, but I trust that it will soon.  So I shall get another cup of coffee and prepare to  push the demons back down and do something constructive.  After all, Thanksgiving is only 2 days away and I have company coming.  Between Covid and deaths, I have not celebrated a holiday in the past two years.  I guess it is time to do that!

Peace!

Way back when

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace!       

Oh, the things you do not say!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace!

Kids' say the darnedest things!

Back when the television set was still black and white, before color came along, there was a man named Art Linkletter.  He was a "host" and one of the shows he hosted was "Kids say the darnedest things."  This was a show in which he interviewed children in ages probably from age 3 up to maybe 6 or so.  You know, the ones who are not old enough to have a filter yet and living in the age of innocence.  He would ask simple questions and sometimes get complex answers.  His books can still be bought and I am sure they still sell very well.  I doubt that Art Linkletter is still on the upside of the sod, (and that having been said, I will go check it out and probably lose my train of thought!)

{In early 2008, Linkletter suffered a mild stroke. He died on May 26, 2010 at age 97 at his home in Bel Air, Los Angeles, California.} Well, that clears that up.

I used to buy his books, but I have since given them all away.  I suggest you check online and either buy one, or check one out at your local library.  You will be in stitches.  But back to the intent of this blog.

A brief history of my life for anyone not knowing me well.  I have 5 kids , 4 of which were born over the span of 5 years, one being born 3 years later.  When I was 50, my husband and I adopted one of the grandsons.  He is now grown and I have a grandson who is almost 4 years old.  In a perfect world he would be my great grandson, but it is what it is.  He spends one night a week with me and goes to preschool at my church's day care and preschool.  He has learned a lot and that night and 2 days that he is with me has taught me why God gives us kids when we are young.

The point of this is that by raising my kids and working I missed a lot of the cute little things they said and did.  Now that I am old, my powers of observation have developed to the point that I can actually interact with a little kid and appreciate their minds.  Jiraiya is no exception.  Potty training was something I had forgotten.  Seemed like I just took my kids out of diapers and into little bitty underwear, but it must have been more than that.  When the process with him became full blown he would suddenly call out "  I gotta' go poop!  Want to watch?"  And proud grandma would.

The phone was something he was never fond of talking on, until now.  No more conversations with daddy without conversation with him.  He tells me what the dogs are doing.  What the rabbits are doing.  And he always says "I love you gramma."  He actually looks forward to our time together.

The point I am getting to is that he now has reasoning powers.  He now wants the dog to ride in the back seat with him.  OK.  Yesterday we went to Walmart and I bought him 5 finger puppets.  He watched youtube on the kids channel and when he saw them he sang the whole song for me and everyone in Walmart, "Daddy finger, daddy finger! Where are you?  Here I am , here I am! How do you do? "  All the way through , mommy finger, brother finger, sister finger, baby finger.

We had some time to kill so I thought I would visit the ARC, so I pulled in and parked.  When I went to get him out of the car seat he very matter of fractally said
" I will just wait here."
"No, you have to go with me.  I want to buy a dress."
"I will be fine, gramma"

He was so grown up that I gave up on the ARC visit since I really did not want to kill time (or buy a dress) and got in and started the car.

"Gramma!  I want you to get your dress."  The point of this is first that he thinks he is old enough to be left alone in a car in a parking lot.  And secondly, he remembered that I said I wanted to buy a dress.  The whole conversation was very mature and well thought out.

I am sure my kids and I had conversations that were burned in my mind, and they do pop out from time to time.  I do remember some of them, but there is nothing that will give you a wake up call like carrying on a two sided conversation with a kid 75 years younger than you!  They are so innocent in the ways of the world.

So, anyway, Happy Thanksgiving!  And remember to give the good Lord thanks for the bounty and thank the Indigenous People for giving up the land so we could have what we wanted!

Happy Thanksgiving or the pilgrims progress.

Thanksgiving is once more upon us.  Time to bake the old turkey and laden the table with food.  Time to be grateful for all the bounty we possess.  Thank God for our big warm house and the car in the drive and the money in the bank.  Yep.  Got lots to be thankful for as we count all these blessings.  Well, unless of course you are an Indian!

Oh, wait, I can not call them that anymore.  They are now known as Indigenous People.  Indigenous is defined in Webster's dictionary as "originating in and characteristic of a particular  region or country."  It is interesting to note that the next entry is indigent, which is defined as "lacking the necessities of life because of poverty."  See how that works out?

Back in the day when I went to school in Nickerson, Kansas, we were taught about Thanksgiving.  The first Thanksgiving was in 1621.  Seems the land was at that time populated by Indians.  They roamed free.  They rode horses and hunted the buffalo.  They made all their own tomahawks, lances, saddles, blankets, moccasins, cooking utensils, clothes, and on and on.  Everything they needed and used was made from the land.  The Pilgrims wanted to celebrate their first harvest in this new land and for some reason beyond the grasp of my small mind, the Indians wanted to help.  I think they felt sorry for this "ragtag" lot who were struggling for survival and brought food to them.  Lordy, it went down hill from there.

I do not remember dates and times, but it was not too long before they began to expand westward and the Indian lands were no longer Indian lands.  Treaties were made and treaties were broken.  White people killed Indians and Indians killed white people.  A railroad was pushed across the plains and buffaloes were in the way so they were slaughtered taking away the mainstay of food, shelter, and tools.  Indians were pushed to reservations, and then moved.  Study your history.  If you can look at it objectively, you may note that we came here and virtually shoved the Indians into corners.  I wonder if I went today to Jamestown or the Dakotas and set a table out with all the amenities of Thanksgiving, if any of the Indigenous  would come.  As a member of the white race, with German, Irish, French, and English blood running through my veins, I rather doubt it.

I do know one thing and that is even today we are still screwing the Indigenous people.  We want a pipeline across their sacred tribal lands and our leaders ram it through.  The deer and the antelope are gone.  The buffalo are cornered.  No doubt there is a Walmart in the heart of the reservation.  I remember 55 years ago when I worked as a barmaid, it was illegal to sell beer to the Indians that worked on the railroad.  They might go crazy and scalp us!

I have granddaughters who have Southern Ute blood in their veins.  They sometimes go to the reservation and take part in the heritage celebrations of the Southern Ute.  They are beautiful examples of humanity.  I would love to go with them some day, but I may be too old to make it over that pass again.  Who knows.

So when you carve your turkey and thicken your gravy, before you cut your pumpkin pie, pause for just one moment and think about how you got into your big house on the hill and thank your God, that the first Thanksgiving was not the last.  Go outside at night and try to imagine, as you look up at the star filled sky, what our world would have been like had the first natives of this land not taken pity on a bunch of pathetic, starving pilgrims  on the banks of the new world.

Then tuck your babies in their beds and go put your good dishes back in the cupboard and lay down on your featherbed, secure in your white heritage.

Over the river and through the woods.

Nickerson was always cold in the winter and snow was always very deep.  I do not know when winter started exactly.  It was some time after school started and before Thanksgiving.  We lived in a house out at 709 Strong Street.  I would like to say it was a "clap board" house, but I am not sure that was accurate.  I think it was called a "clap board" because somebody took boards and "clapped" together and then hammered in a nail for good riddance.  5 rooms and not a bathroom in any of them.  The front room had a pot belly stove that we built wood fires in for warmth.  The kitchen had a giant wood cook stove.

The front of our house faced east toward town and the back faced west toward the cemetery.  The front of the house was the "front room" and Dad's bedroom was on the south with 2 beds.  One was for him and the other was for all of us kids except the 2 little ones and mother.  The next 2 rooms were the dining room and on the right was Mom's bedroom.  The dining room had a built in cupboard and yellow glass dishes were there.  We had a whole set.  They may have come from the oatmeal and corn meal we bought.  I wish I had a set of those dishes today.  I would sell them and retire on a tropical island some where. 

The kitchen ran the whole length of the house on the back.  Well, that is not quite true.  The back door of the kitchen led to a back porch.  One side of the porch was for stacking wood and on the other side was a door that lay at about a 30 degree angle and covered the steps down to the dreaded cellar.  I am sorry, there is no pretty way to put this, but that cellar was the scariest place in the whole world and we lived about a quarter of a mile from the cemetery.  Mother stored sweet potatoes, apples, white potatoes and canned fruits and vegetables down there.  There were spiders down in that hell hole bigger than I was and deadly as shit.  Black widows loved that place.  One of the first lessons I learned was how to take a stick and poke a spider web.  Usually it just broke loose and floated off, but if it were the web of the deadly black widow, it was shiny and crackled when you pulled.  When that happened we were to get the hell out of wherever we were at.  Being a good daughter, I did just that.  It was called a black widow because after breeding and to provide nourishment  for the babies, mother black widow killed and ate her husband. Praying Mantis's do the same thing.  I guess the kid's dad was lucky, huh?

The kitchen was one step down and could be accessed either through the dining room or mom's bedroom.  The floor was concrete, which was one step above a dirt floor.  The wood cook stove took up the whole corner.  Of course we had a wood box, and an ash bucket there by the stove.  Very little cooking took place through the week.  Mostly we ate cereal, raw potatoes, apples, sweet potatoes or a bread sandwich.  Sundays we cooked.  We had either fried chicken or roast beef.  Supper was stuff like scrapple if mother was lucky enough to score a hogshead.  Fried carp was regular fare and apples in about any method were an everyday occurrence.  I ate raw apples, fried apples, baked apple, boiled apples, sliced apples, dehydrated apples and rehydrated apples.  I made up my mind that when I grew up I would never eat another damn cooked apple and I have managed to keep that vow.  Marriage vows were easily broken, but the vow to never eat a cooked apple has been respected and never broken.  For the record, I do not eat Carp either, but that is just because I never ran across one since mother used to seine for them in Nickerson.

I started this to tell you about how hard the winters were back home.  Our walls had cracks where the boards came together and some times when the wind blew snow came in.  Not very often because mother did paper the walls, but sometimes the paper cracked.  I can remember once when we drove to Hutchinson to have Thanksgiving with my half brother, Earl and his wife and kids.  It took us most of the day to go and come back.  The roads were very snowy, but the cars back in those days were very heavy and pretty much mashed the snow.  If we slid off the road, sooner or later someone would come along and help us out of our dilemma.  We were in turn supposed to do the same for anyone we found in a predicament like that.  That was the good thing about the good old day.  We helped each other.  The "haves and the have nots" were not so far apart as they are today.

The thing about going to Earl's was that he had a house with a furnace.  It was an actual furnace and blew hot air through a grate in the floor.  We were amazed at how hot the grate was and Gertie showed us one of the boys leg where he had been burned by it before he learned.  He had a series of little squares on his leg and we "oohed and aahed" at how lucky he was to be alive.  We then ate whatever we ate and after a little small talk dad "allowed as how we ought to get on the road for the long drive back."  ( I made the drive in later years and it took about 20 minutes and that was driving slow and gawking at everything."  Of course that was not in the old Studebaker now was it?)

Thanksgiving had been great that year.  I do need to tell you that back in those days at the family dinners the order of plates being filled was different than it is today.  First the men filled their plates.  Then the older kids.  Then the mothers fixed plates for the young kids.  At that time it was time for the women to get their food.  When the meal was over, the women folk washed the dishes, dried them and put them away.  Floors were swept and the kitchen "redded up" for the next meal.

I wonder if the kids today know how Thanksgiving came to be a national holiday?  It is this time of year that I pause to think about how the people who were living here in America and surviving for so many years welcomed the newcomers and brought them food.  Guess they kind of thought these people needed help to survive.  I am betting that if they had known then what they know now, there sure as hell would not be any Thanksgiving dinner on the horizon.  But here we are in 2017 in the land of the free because of the brave with racial bias and hate swirling like snowflakes looking for something to be thankful for and coming way short of the goal.

Damn, I wish I could go back to that little shack on Strong Street and get my tongue stuck to the flagpole just one more time.