Still water is not always running deep!

When I started datiing I drug home some of the damnedest things you ever saw.  Back in those days "cool" boys wore jeans with no belt and the waist band rode about 5" below the waist.  The legs were hemmed so they did not drag the ground.  Of course, back then kids had mothers that sewed and knew how to hem pants.  A sewing machine was a staple in any home.  Steve Dorrel was the first in our class to comb his hair into a "duck tail" and it was held in place with "greasy kid stuff."  He always wore a white shirt and the collar was turned up.  Every boy in school was measured by the Steve code and they all were found wanting.  Luckily, we had no idea what sex even was back in the 8th grade or everyone of us girls would have been in big trouble.

But grade school passed and high school was a new game.  No more Steve.  High school was pretty much a blur the first 3 years in Nickerson.  I was friends with a girl whose dad made home brew and that was fun.  My senior year I started in Hutchinson High School, ran away from home, came back and got a job in a "Toot and Tellum" which did not work out well at all.  It was at this juncture that mother suggested I might want to catch a man and get married, because I did not have a very bright future in store.

Now mother had always dispensed her wisdom on every subject known to man and people seemed to be her specialty.  "Still waters run deep."  This meant if a man was quiet, he was thinking, and if he was thinking that meant he was a good man.  Well, momma missed the  mark on that one!  I met my first husband because my brother brought him home to me.  He was quiet.  He opened doors for me.  So he had a beer now and then, but dad kept corn whiskey in the refrigerator so that meant nothing.  So in a matter of a few weeks I became Mrs. Tall Dark and Handsome.  He was actually a blue eyed blonde, and he wanted to get married and have babies and there I was!  Sadly, my first baby did not arrive for almost 2 years.  Mr. Still Waters became a regular little babbling brook and it was all aimed at my inability to conceive.  Hell, I was doing all I could and it seemed maybe he was at fault.  Yep.  Got scars on that one!  When my fertility kicked in, it was not to kick out for 7 years and 5 kids later.

But back to this still water running deep crappola mother was so fond of telling me.  My baby daddy was just the first water I encountered and let me assure you, I have learned a lot over the years, but it has taken me 75 years to get that one out of my head.  So let me fill you in.

(Now I am using the masculine noun here, because I am giving you my perspective as a woman.  Nothing personal)

If a man is not talking, it may be because he actually has nothing to say!  

Or he has something to say and he knows he is going to get an ass  eating if he says it.
Or he may be thinking about the hot little number he has lined up to see as soon as he gets rid of me.
Or he is waiting for me to excuse myself so he can pull his bottle out of his boot.
Or he may have actually forgotten I am there.

So there is a lot to be said on the subject of still waters.  Sometimes the still water is over the cesspool.  As I struggle through this life I meet a lot of people.  Most of them are just people and to be taken at face value.  But ever so often I latch on to one and hang on for dear life.  It never turns out well.  I have been a widow for 15 years and I have dated 2 men in that time.  I never really knew either one of them. 

I had a real connection with the first one, but he passed away.  He loved me and had we met at another time it would have been different, or so I think.  I even wrote a story about he and I.

The second one was a lot like a feather in the wind.  I never knew him at all, although I invested 5 years in what should have been a relationship, but was pretty much a superficial  sort of  a one sided friendship.  The boy was a lot like a bubble riding down a babbling brook.  Not all of us have to deal with reality.

I do not regret the time I invested in them, but I am pretty sure I am done with that dating business.  I tend my own flock, mow my own weeds, wash my own dishes and drive myself where ever I choose to go. I am starting to get out and do things that I did not have confidence in myself to do.  I went to Lakin last week and got my hair cut.  In April I am going to crawl on an airplane and fly to Dallas.  

Lord only knows what heights I can achieve if I just soar on my own wings for once in my life.  Bottoms up, momma, your little girl may be a woman yet! 

I am contemplating a trip.

I am thinking of going to Dallas for a few days.  Well, I am going to Dallas for a few days it is just a matter of how to get there.  So I called my precious son (and I drip with sarcasm when I say that) who lives in Dallas to consult with him.  I have managed to live on this blue ball 76 years and never had to crawl my ass on a plane, but he has faith in me.  The idea of flying terrifies me.  I would rather have a hysterectomy through my ear.  I would rather have my finger nails pulled off with pliers, but sometimes he makes me feel so silly with my phobias.

If I fly from the Springs I have to leave my car in the parking lot for 8 days and that will cost me over $80 which I am in no way in hell going to pay.  So I asked him if I could fly out of Pueblo and he explained that I would be on a tiny plane with no room and would wind up with my knees around my ears, but then he decided since I am short that would really not be a problem and then I had to put up with his maniacal laughter.  That plane would take me to Denver and then I would fly to Dallas.  I do not want to go North to get South.

A bus ride would take 14 hours, but who cares.  Course I could always drive, but my little car has a lot of miles on it and may not be the most dependable one on the road, but then again it might be kind of fun and I could stop and see Cindy!  Or I could rent a car.

So that is where I am tonight.  Thinking about doing this trip some time in April so I have a few days to plot and plan.  Hell, I might hitchhike.  I did that once you know.  I think I would be afraid to do it now with all the killers on the loose.

Well, time for Jeopardy!  so I got to go park myself in front of the television and sleep through that before I can go to bed.

I miss the good old days in the news room!

I can remember way back to when I first watched the news.  The camera would open on a man setting at the news desk and he would be reading the news of the day from a pile of papers in front of him.  We listened very carefully as he read to us.  Later there would be pictures sometimes.  Women were not newcasters at that time.  They were not even called newscasters, they were called newsmen.  Men gave the news and men gave the weather.  Women cleaned the newsdesk.

Time took care of that and I remember the first woman that was allowed to read a little of the news.  Of course I do not remember her name, because I mostly try to forget anything in the past.  The past is gone.  No need to remember that, unless of course it was something that was a learning experience and in that case it fell under the mother lesson of "Those who forget the past tend to repeat thier mistakes."  Newscasters' names did not tend to affect my future so I did not need to remember them.  Anyway, she sat quietly until something very boring like the social at the church came up and she was allowed to read that.  Sort of the token straw man or in this case woman.

A man always gave the weather.  You see, women have never been real bright when it came to important stuff, or so we were taught.  Kind of glad to see some of the changes that have come along, but back to the news desk.  The piles of paper were replaced by the teleprompter and the news feed and even the weather desk began to change.  A man used to tell us what last nights temperature was, and what we could expect tomorrow.  Some guy would usually show us either a sun or a cloud, or maybe even a snow flake!

Well, welcome to today's news and weather!  I am sorry, when I turn on a channel and there stands some man and woman in the center of the stage with thier hands folded and they are giving me the news, I rebel!  Sit down!  Sit down behind the desk and at least look like you are giving me the latest update.  I see your videos.  I realize you are just parroting what is going on in your ear from the tiny microphone hid there, but at least sit down behind your desk.  Look like you are a news person and not a fashion plate.  Standing there telling me the news is second only to the chipper your fashion plate that shows up in front of a weather map in her tight fitting dress with no sleeves and I know it is freezing cold outside.  She is telling me to bundle up and she should be bundling herself!  But the best part is when she hurries across the stage so I can get a better look at the weather back there on the board and then begins to tell me about the "out the door" clothes I need to wear.  And tuck in the old umbrella because it may or may not rain.  This little lady has no idea what time I am leaving the house, so she does not know what time I will be home.

Of course all the news is mostly teasers and some one tells me I will hear more on the news at 5:30 or 6:00 or later on in the evening.  Now, sorry about this, but I do have other things to do.  I want all my news in the first 10 minutes and all my weather in the next 3.  Show me a map of the jet stream and I can draw my own conclusions.  I do not have time for your opinions and your speculations and as for the weather a simple "windy tomorrow","gonna rain" or "I have no idea" will do nicely.  Spare me the cutesy little asides.

Hey! just found a channel where the woman is actually dressed for the weather.  Have not seen the newsman yet, but sure he is there somewhere.  There are actually 3 women and 1 man.  They are dressed for the weather and the man has on a suit.  Whoohoo!  I may actually set down and watch a little bit!

Disclaimer:  All opinions expressed in my writing are completely my own and should not reflect on any woman or man who appears on my television.  If you are tempted to call me names and throw eggs at me, that is your right.  I live solely by the motto of "Live and let live!"  And the last newswoman I actually knew the name of was Sandra Mann.

You can please some of the people....

Mother was adamant about this one!  I used to try to make every body like me, but it never happened.  As soon as I got a friend, I pissed some one else off.  So Mother was clear about it.  " You can please all of the people, some of the time.  You can please some of the people all of the time.  But you can not please all of the people, all of the time. "  She was right, you know.  She was always right!  Not right some of the time, but all of the time and the wisdom that came from that woman's lips never ceased to amaze me.  She just had a way of looking at life that made so damn much sense.

When I married my first husband she said "You made your bed, now you can sleep in it."  Later it was "If you lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas."  "Live and learn."  "A new broom sweeps clean."  And of course the clincher, "Never bite off more than you can chew."

"Can't make a silk purse out of a sows ear."  "Sow the wind and reap the whirlwind."  That woman just never ran out of things to make me think and regret that decision.  "Too little too late."  "Can't put that toothpaste back in the tube."

So now when I think of mother I think of a poem that ricochets around in my brain.  It goes like this:

The wise old owl sat on the oak.
The more he heard, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke, the more he heard.
We should be like that wise old bird!

Or something like that.

Some things will always be the same.

I lay in bed awhile this morning thinking of something from long ago.  The road in front of the Strong Street house was dirt.  Actually all the roads in Nickerson except Highway 96 and 56th Street (the back road to Hutchinson) were all dirt.  Well, the county road to Sterling and 3 blocks that made up Main Street were paved.  I think they were originally brick, but who knows.  Back to Strong Street.

It was the silty stuff and I can still feel it on my bare feet.  In the summer it was very warm, but the sidewalk was hot, so the sandy dirt was much preferred.  I should explain that the sidewalk of which I speak was a block away over beside the highway.  It was a 2 block long sidewalk that ran from the Fein house, along an empty field and then the block in front of Mr. Kings house, a rental house and then in front of the house where some crazy lady lived that we never saw and she may or may not have actually lived there.  The side walk on that block was pretty cracked and had chunks missing.  So if we were lucky enough to snag a pair of skates we could only skate on the first block.

Three things come to  my mind from the above paragraph.  First, Mr. King (and that may or may not be his actual name, but it works for me this morning.) is the one who slept face down in his garden one day all day long until a black hearse took him away.  Second is the matter of snagging skates.  My friend Barbara had skates and sometimes she would let me borrow a pair to skate home from her house which was in town and where I visited sometimes.  There was always the stipulation that I not skate in the dirt and I not lose the "key".

For those of you who do not know about old time skates, I will update you.  They were made of 2 steel platforms with two steel wheels in front and two wheels in back.  The body was held together with a nut which required a "key" to tighten and loosen.  Loosen the nut and slide the platforms either apart to make them bigger or together to make them smaller.  The front had clamps which were loosened and then adjusted for the tight fit needed to hold the front of the skate on your shoe.  The back had a strap for you ankle.  If everything was not tightly fitted your skate could come off and down you went with your tender flesh skidding along the rough side walk.  Ah, but when everything was perfect the feel of the wind on your face and arms as you sped along at 3 MPH was worth all the risks!  The best way to stop was to steer off into the dirt and that worked every time.

click here to see a pair

The last thing that comes to my mind from that paragraph is that the corner of the sidewalk that was by the Fein house had several steps that brought you up from the highway to the sidewalk.  It was on those steps that my brother brought the news to me that Hank Williams had died in the back seat of his limousine on his way to do a show in Nashville.  He was so young and we could not believe it.  People did not die for no reason, but there it was.  How very sad we were that day.  WSM had announced it.  WSM was the Grand Old Opry station.  I wonder if it still is?  I may turn the radio on some Saturday night and see.  That is if I can find the radio and if I know which button it is.

But what I really started out to tell you this morning, is how clearly I can feel the sandy dirt on my feet from all those years ago.  I used to like to wiggle my toes into a pile of it where it had blown up along side the road.  It felt silky and warm and made me happy.  But when it would rain and there would be puddles, that was fun too.  If the puddles stayed several days there would be little things in the water that looked like tiny dots with a tail.  I soon learned that those were pollywogs, which would turn into toads or frogs in just a couple days if the mud puddle did not try up and we did not step on them.  They were pretty damn fast, so stepping on them was really not an option.

Ah, but the best part was when the puddle dried up if we did not disturb it, there would be a whole new thrill.  If left alone the sun would dry the mud and the top layer would curl up.  When that happened I could step barefooted on the dry mud and feel it crackle under my feet.  That was a whole new feeling and if Jake got to the puddle first he did it and that used to piss me off so bad!  Sometimes he would save it for me and that made my whole childhood worth while.  I do not know the last time I actually stepped on dry mud.

Funny the things we think about in the middle of the night when the world is asleep and we are all alone.  Guess that is why God gave us a memory.  It keeps me grounded.

Just a hairy mass of molecules.

My late husband had his own way of describing the various pets we had over the years.  He called them a "hairy mass of molecules"  and that seemed to describe about any one we had.

When I married him I had a dog named Sysnyck.  She was a poodle/Chihuahua mix.  Very black and with the hair that required a groomer.  She was named after a television show that was about a drill instructor that opened a gym in the heart of gang territory in New York City. I just name my animals whatever comes to mind.  No thought for gender or looks or size.   Sysnyck lived to be 12 years old and died of kidney failure, a weakness in both of the breeds at the time.  She is buried in the front yard.

Then Kenny's sister gave us a red dingo cattle dog.  We got her the same day I peeled 3 bushels of chile, so we named her Chile.  I guess she was actually a heeler.  She was nuts about tennis balls and loved to play catch.  She played catch as long as someone would throw the ball.  Key here was it was between you and her.  You throw and she fetched.  One time we had company come and they had a couple boys about 11 or 12.  We sent them out to play fetch with Chile and they decided to toss the ball to each other.  The came in crying and terrified because Chile sent them up the tree because that was HER ball.  End of that game. 

She would play with one ball at a time.  When she was tired of the ball she would shred it and pick another.  We picked up 12 tennis balls at the flea market once and brought them home to her.  We dumped them all out on the ground.  She sorted through and got the one she wanted and the rest were put away because if we threw one of those she would not chase it.  She only wanted HER ball and when she tore it up she was ready for another.  She is in the front yard.

While Chile was still with us we got a little blond poodle since that was Kenny's choice of a dog.  Chile helped house train Tammy by standing in the flap of the doggie door so Tammy could go out and in to potty.  Damn smart dog.  Chile died before Tammy.

Next dog was another heeler named Polly.  She was white with one black eye.  She became very possessive of me and finally attacked Tammy for getting too close to me.  That was sad as we had to have Tammy put down from  her injuries.  We thought about having Polly done also, but decided to be a one dog house instead and that was what we did until the neighbor lady came dragging home a little white dog with 2 black eyes.  By this time Polly was ready for company and we pretty much lived happily until Polly passed and Elvira needed rescued.  I never knew how old she was.

Also interspersed through the years were several cats.  I only like calico cats and I only like distinctly marked Calico.  First was Charmin who lived 18 or 19 years.  Boots was Kenny's cat because he was a boy and he was gray.  He was around 15 years.  I finally got my last Calico 7 years ago.  I had a friend who named her.  Calicos are always female for some reason.  He named her Icarus.  When I explained that Icarus was a boy, he informed me that no one but me was smart enough to know who Icarus was.  So Icarus she is and is on my lap constantly.

My menagerie that is shrinking.  But memories live forever, don't they?

Rest in Peace

RIP

My Little Elvira

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