My medical portal lacks a door!

I spent most of yesterday afternoon trying to get a message from the eye center.  The message popped up on my email, "You have a very important message from @#%^&*(*& Eye Center!"  Now I had already been through this with my doctors office and their little portal means of communication, so I cringed inwardly.  Since I have surgery scheduled for tomorrow, I thought I better try to retrieve it.  I am so friggin' naïve it amazes me most of the time.  The episode with the doctors portal, had taken me 3 days to complete and it was after they sent me the correct link that I was able to retrieve my message there.

So when I received this one, I had my usual sinking feeling when I know I am on a dead end trail and a cliff awaits me at the end.  But it had 2 pages very detailed telling me how to reach the portal door and all the secret codes I needed to step through.  HA!  But nonetheless, I persevered.  User name.  User password.  Incorrect user name or password.  Try again.  Ok.  Put on my glasses and make sure I am doing it right.  Check every letter and number.  Incorrect user name or password.  Try again. Ok.  Once more with feeling!  Incorrect user name or password.  Your computer is now locked for your safety.  It will automatically unlock in 20 minutes. Try again then.

20 minutes later I tried again.  Once more I was wrong 3 times was locked out.  So I called the office.  Of course by this time I was in tears.  The automatic man that answered told me all circuits were busy and to stay on the line.  After several more minutes I heard a human voice.!  Name.  Birthday.  I know this.  Oh, ok, she will transfer me to the surgery center nurse.  This is going good!
Oh, she is not in, but will return my call in just few minutes.  It is now the next day!

Here is my question, why do I have to fight this system to get a message from the medical profession?  She is going to ask me if I started my eye drops.  It would have been much simpler to pick up the phone and dial my number and ask me.  30 second job at the most.  As it is, she had to look up my info for the portal, type in the question, hit the send button,  hit the button to send me a notice that I have a message (that I am not going to get), back out of my file and go to the next one.  All that is going to take way more than 30 seconds.

So, by the time I went to bed last night, I was wound up tight enough to rip the throat out of a charging Rhino.  If I have one more place making my life easier, I am going to go completely nuts!
I have 2 telephones.  One hangs on the wall and has a home number.  The other rides in my purse wherever I go, so I am always within easy reach of every telemarketer in India and beyond, but not able to be reached by the medical community who in in charge of my health and well being.  I do not have a smart phone, because the word "smart" denotes to me that it is smarter than me.

I can remember the time when I had a doctor and he had a nurse.  They both knew my name.  If I went in for a problem, one of them would call me the next day to ask how I was feeling.  A human voice!  Not a damn portal that I can not open.  I am going to remove my email address from all my medical records.  I may even close my email, so no one knows I have a computer.  I got this thing for my convenience, but I am beginning to hate the damn thing because other people do not respect the fact that I do not want them in my world.  This goes for all the yahoos who try to send me Viagra because my name is Lou.  I do not want to go on a cruise.  I do not need vitamins or wrinkle remover and I sure as hell do not want to lose 22 pounds overnight.  If I needed that stuff, I would google it.  I know how to do that.

I know my medical providers will not read this and if they did they would think I was nuts.  I may very well be, but I am happy  to inform them, that my contact information is about to change and they can either pick up the phone, or not.  Their choice.  As for me, I know how to dial!

A cow named Bossy.

I am not sure her name was Bossy, but I think it was and that is what counts.  She was brown, but back in those days most of the milk cows were.  I want to say she was a Guernsey, but you are not going to catch me lying at this stage of the game.  She was brown.  A soft brown.  We had several cows when we left the Ailmore place, along with the horses dad used for plowing. We also had Star, the Shetland from hell that no one could ride.  You would have thought he was a sweetheart if you just looked at him, but try to get on his back and that was not happening.  He is the one that left the scar on my brothers face.  But back to the cow.

 The reason I am telling you about Bossy is because that cow knew how to give milk.  But the best part of the milk was the cream.  We had a separator which separated the milk from the cream (hence the name separator).  We would toast a piece of bread and then put cream on it and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar and put it under the broiler for just a few seconds.  That was heaven!  The cream was so thick it stayed standing on the toast.  I go to the store now and buy "heavy whipping cream" and it pours out of the carton.  I have not even seen cream like we used to eat.

The same cream was churned into butter.  The butter was bright yellow when it was rinsed and put in the refrigerator.  It was also very delicious.  After Bossy died in cowbirth, (the baby also died) we were without a cow and thus without butter.  The neighbor girls lived with their father right next door.  Their mother had passed many years before and he raised the girls  alone.  They also had a cow and made butter.  With no cow we had to resort to eating margarine.  Now in those days margarine was white.  I think it was actually lard, but it came with a little yellow dye button that you could work into the white mass so it looked like butter.  We used to trade margarine for butter because the neighbor girls did not like butter. 

Another thing was they made doughnuts every Saturday morning.  Their father was diabetic, but he sure liked those doughnuts and he thought if he only ate them once a week he would be alright.  Another daughter came from Plevna to visit them every Sunday so they managed to eat all the doughnuts.  None for me!

One time mother had fried up a bunch of small carp that she had seined and Dorothy got a bone caught in her throat.  Mother had picked the meat off, but apparently missed a small bone.  As she was choking one of us ran next door and told Mr. Reinke.  He had experience at such things, you know.  He grabbed a piece of bread from the cupboard (in case we didn't have any and of course we didn't).  He made Dorothy eat the bread, which dislodged the bone and sent it into her stomach where the acids would dissolve it.  He was a hero!

Mostly Mr. Reinke just did handy man work around town and then did his chores when he came home.  We could here him singing songs in German while he did his chores.  Since he sang in German, my dad was sure he was a Nazi, but we never knew that for sure.  I just thought he was a very nice man to save my sisters life. 

I was always envious of their "outhouse" because it had a concrete floor and a lid on the potty part.  Ours had a floor that was pretty well shot and a bench with 2 holes.  I never understood that part, because we never went in there with anyone.  I just could not picture that!  Thiers also had a door and a latch from the inside for privacy.  Ours had a door at one time, but not by the time we inherited it.

The point of this entry when I started it was about cream.  The point I wanted to make was, back in those days we ate thick cream.  We used real butter.  We ate potatoes, and bacon, and gravy and we were all skinny.  When I married my first husband I stood 5'1" and weighed 92 pounds.  I am convinced that all the additives in our food are still in our bodies.  I have given up trying to read the ingredient list on anything I pull off the shelf or out of the freezer.

And I am sure I will never live long enough to ever be able to toast a piece of bread and pile cream on it with cinnamon and sugar.  Sure would like to see old Bossy again, but those days are long gone.  I would not eat a Carp now if I was starving.  I am beginning to look forward to the day when I can once more run barefooted down Strong Street see all my family and friends.  Seems like that list gets
shorter every day.

(After thought) I do need to tell you, that when the separator quit working at one point and mother strained the milk it was not the same.  She would leave it set and the cream would raise to the top.  I could not stand the bits of cream that were floating in the milk  to touch my lips.  I would try to pick them all out with my finger, but it was an exercise in futility.  I could eat straight cream, but not swallow a fleck.  I was so happy when we had to buy milk from town because it was homogenized.

Inside my head is a scary place.

Some times I wake up in the middle of the night and just wonder what is going on anyway.  You should know that in the middle of the night I come up with some brilliant ideas.  I even amaze myself at the simple solutions I find to the world problems.  I have written several best seller books in the wee wee hours and blog ideas are so easy at 2:30 in the morning.  My mind is clear and alert and my fingers itch to start typing, but I control myself.  I know if I start my day at 2:30 AM I am going to be dozing off at 1:30 PM and I will be headed for bed about 6 which is not acceptable to the real world.

And isn't it then amazing that when I do click on the writing page, my mind is just as blank as that sheet of paper.  What happened to all the things I came up with when I should have been sleeping?  Now I know that I am supposed to jot down notes when I wake up like that, but I have tried that.  The next morning I read something I have written and wonder what in the hell I was smoking.  "Rodeo, mules, ostrich, breakfast."  I am sure in my sleep induced stupor that made good sense, but in the clear light of morning, it is sheer jibberish.  I even tried the voice activated tape recorder, but by the time I had a brilliant thought, the batteries were dead.  So I have come to this conclusion:  My batteries may be dead.

If I could be the witty, animated person that I am in the middle of the night in the cold hard light of day, I would be a millionaire and everything I wrote would fly off the shelves.  I have come to one conclusion;  there is someone else living in my head along with me.  I know this because I can be talking to someone and looking them right in the eye and listen as they reply, but my mind has gone off to what I need to get at the store, or something that needs done across town.  This scares me.  Today I was reading the Bible reading at church and at the same time I was trimming the tree by the goose house.  Planned every cut, ended the reading, went and set down and baked banana bread in my head.

Before you laugh, I want to tell you that it is scary being me.  I just wonder if any one else has this problem.  You can tell me, because I won't remember it when I blink my eyes.  

A place for every plant and every plant in its place.

Living with Grandma Haas and Great Grandma Hatfield was definitely challenging.  They had a place for everything and everything was in it's place, especially in the summer.  All year long the little house plants set in there place in the house where ever it was they belonged.  The Oleandars lived in the basement and were not watered from fall until they were brought out in the spring.  Always surprised me that they survived.  One was white and one was pink.  They had the sweetest aroma rather like vanilla only sweeter.  Maybe with a tinge of almond.  What ever.  It was hard to believe that they were deadly poison.  But I digress.

When Spring arrived which was usually late April in Kansas, the basement door was opened and the Oleandars were drug up the steps by what ever hapless  cousin was around.  It was usually cousin Carl.  He was the farmer boy and lived just outside of Plevna so he was handy.  And Aunt Lola usually came and picked up the laundry to take it home and wash and return.  We did not go through the clothes back then like we do now.  Now I wear something a day and throw it in the hamper.  Back then the same outfit was good for a week.  Back to the house plants.

The Oleandars were placed on either side of the steps in the front of the house.  We never used that door.  It was the front door and that was its job.  We used the side door which opened into the dining room for most of our comings and goings.  The only exception was when one of us needed to make a trip to the "outhouse" or the trash needed carried to the burning barrel.  Then we used the back door.  The trash was kept in a wooden hamper by the back door and there was a damn good chance that there was a mouse in it when I dumped it so I would carry it very carefully, slowly to the barrel.  I would gently place the edge on top of the barrel and then quickly push it over and wait for the mouse and the trash to empty and then grab it and run for the house.

After the Oleandars were in place the other house plants were carried out one by one and the first was placed by the front sidewalk and then each next one got a little closer to the house until all of them were setting outside and then I could begin watering.  And I watered them every day because the Kansas sun is very hot and dry.  This ritual continued until Grandma Hatfield saw signs  of  an  early frost.  Then the whole process was reversed.  I often wondered what happened to the Oleandars when Grandma Haas passed and Great Grandma moved to Coldwater.  Sadly there is no one to ask.

I have a few houseplants but they are all big.  I do move them out to the patio in the Spring, but sometimes I have to carry them all back in, because Colorado weather can not be trusted.  Oh, and spiders build homes in the stems so that sucks.  But mostly I got to have green stuff around me for one reason or another.  I have a pink Oleandar if anyone wants to come by for tea.

It is just a matter of time until it is our school.

Another school shooting.  Another record set.  Oh, but that is Florida this time.  It is not our problem.  Not my circus, not my monkeys.  Of course we are sending thoughts and prayers.  That is what we do.  I want to speak to you people out there who actually need an AR-15.  You need it for.......?

There was a time when our forefathers needed a gun to put food on the table.  Those were the ingenious men and women from whom we are descended.  They had traps.  They had knives.  Some of them even had musket loaders and they kept food on the table.  They took care of their possessions so they were ready when needed.  They fought a war and freed the slaves with the same weapons they used for hunting.  If you are not smart enough or adroit enough to kill a deer with something smaller than an AK-15 then you are not smart enough to have a weapon that fires an ungodly amount of bullets in one minute.

And don't hand me that bull shit about a well regulated militia.  We have that under the government control.  And if you think you are going to over throw the government you are more full of shit than even I give you credit for.  (Now I will interject here that if Trump thinks he is going to have a parade at the cost of 30 million dollars because he wants one, then I might go a little ballistic myself.)  There is only one way to describe you people that refuse to let any gun laws pass and that is narcassistic morons.  Who dies from your gun rights that you so vehemently protect?  Innocent people.  Young people.  Children barely old enough to know what in the hell your gun is.

Send my prayers to Florida!  Send my prayers to Las Vegas.  Sandy Hook.  Columbine.  And on and on it goes.  The NRA gets richer.  Congress pads thier pockets.  Everyone's rights is protected except the innocent people who die from the bullets because the background check is a joke.  Everyone has a right to keep and bear arms.  And we bury our dead!  Everyone prays for the victims.  They try to figure out what the killer was thinking.  But no one does a damned thing!  We pass not one law to change anything.  NOT   ONE!!!!  Think about that.  Think about that every time you send your kid to school.  Think about it when you go to a concert.  Think about it when you tuck you baby in bed at night.

The NRA is a powerful agency.  They are in the business of selling guns.  They are not in the business of protecting any one.  They donate more money into the political system then our feeble minds are able to comprehend.  They have more Senators and Representatives in their pocket then we can even name.  So think about this.  There is no way of knowing who the next shooter will be because we can not know inside a person's head.  And we can not know where it will happen.  We only know that with our gun laws as they now exist, it will happen and it will happen with an AK-15 which is legal to buy and legal to sell.

Pueblo, Colorado is a spot on the map.   So is Las Vegas.  So was Columbine.  So was Sandy Hook.  And on and on.  It is always too soon to talk.  No!  It is not too soon...it is too late!  People are burying their children.  They should be celebrating the little accomplishments, but that hope is gone.  Nothing is taken for granted any more.  This has got to stop and it has to start with you!  One small voice crying in the darkness.  One will soon become 2.  Two will grow and a movement against the laws of this land will begin.  It has too.  It will not start in Washington, because those bastards are bought and paid for.  It has to start here in our town.  In our county.

If you want to pray about something, pray that we can gain control of our country and make it a safe place for our kids to live.  The things they face on a daily basis like bullying, hunger, discrimination, homework and peer pressure are bad enough without having to worry about being shot dead because someone just wanted to make a statement.

And if you want to pray about something that hasn't happened yet, pray your baby comes home tonight.

Learning to let go is not going to be that easy.

I have been active all my life so letting go is not going to be easy.  I live in a 2400 square foot house, and trust me, every inch of it is in use.  Most of it is used for "stuff" setting around full of more "stuff" or with stuff on top of it.  I am contemplating moving into a smaller place, but that means I have to leave some of the "stuff" behind, or give it away, or burn it, or sell it.  Now some of my "stuff" is good stuff.

So some one told me I should hold an item in my hands for 20 seconds and if it does not make me happy, throw it out.  I guess I will try that.  First I am going to pick up those 2 little toys on the computer desk and then go put them in the Jiraiya toy box because I know he is happy having them there.  My biggest problem seems to be in just deciding where to begin.  I could start on this desk, but that is not going to work because this is all important stuff.  Most important is that damned cat laying in the middle of everything.  But you must understand, she loves me and wants to be a part of everything I do.  She also likes to go way up high and bat stuff off onto the floor.

I could go start at the front door.  First we have a bag of clothes for Sister Nancy.  Then a small table that holds 6 egg cartons for Penny, mail I will probably never read and a bag of crochet that I carry when I go sit with someone.  Next is 4 milk crates of books that belong to PFLAG which will go to thier new home soon.  Very soon.  I have a card table, and a drafting table and 2 sewing machines in the corner.......

The point is, it is not just a matter of holding it for 20 seconds.  It is a matter of which part of my life is that item going to be used as a vital part later on today.  I should go down stairs and start digging there.  I have a box of basket weaving stuff that I absolutely had to have and then never touched after I bought it.  I want to give that to Erica, but first I have to find it.  I have giant gourds that I have had for most of my adult life that I am going to do something with any minute.  And if I can just find that box containing every Workbasket magazine ever published, I can put it on ebay and retire on the profits.  

I am sorry.  The 20 second second  rule is just not going to work for me.  I have a second plan that will no doubt be more condusive to my way of life.  I am going to get old and die.  The kids can come in here and do the 20 second thing and I am sure they are not connected to this shit like I am.  But then again, there is the possibility that they may actually see a use for all this stuff and they can take it home.  Course I am not sure any of them have room for 2 floor looms, 4 sergers, 5 sewing machines, a 6 needle embroidery machine, 7,000 bolts of fabric and 11, 426 spools of thread.  But I could be wrong.  

So here is the plan.  I am going to publish this blog and if I have anything you are interested in, give me a call.  Otherwise, I will be setting right in the middle of the whole mess wondering just where my things took possession of me rather than me possessing them.  

So having once more foiled myself in my desire to empty out this house and move into an efficiency  apartment in town, I will go have a Happy Valentine's Day coffee at Starbucks with my friend Nancy and buy 3 bags of goose food for the 8 geese out back that would never fit in the kitchen in town.  Oh, and the dog and cat seem to be at home here.  

But maybe some day.  Just not going to happen today.

So now what?

I am very naïve.  I have insurance on my car.  Full coverage to be exact.  I never use it.  I just have it.  My son bought an older car second car for 2 reasons.  First they needed an automatic because they needed a car for Amanda to drive since she does not drive a stick.  And his car gets like 13 miles to the gallon.  They live in Florence and he works in Pueblo and goes to the PCC here.

This was all working well and life was looking good until he was leaving work and some yoyo ran a stop sign, broadsided him and spun him head on into a third car.  Bret's car was totaled.  Of course Mr. Yoyo got a ticket.  His insurance called Bret that night and told him they would get him a rental car until they could replace his car.  Medical bills would be taken car of.  Well, here we are on the third week.  No, they do not pay medical.  No rental car has been forth coming and no one seems to want to talk to Bret.

So some one out there should be able to tell us what the next step is.  We called our lawyer, but he is not interested unless there is a big medical bill.  Since the kid HAS to work, and he HAS to go to school he really does not have time to be doctoring.  Life does go on.  And he needs another car that is dependable and gets good gas mileage like the one he had before someone totally ruined it.  I guess I am looking for a voice of experience to tell us what course to take rather then just set here and wish we knew what to do.

Any ideas?

Now I remember!

When I started out the other day, I had what I wanted to say in my little pea brain, but then I wandered off on a tangent and never made it back.  See,  think we are all descended down from a very long line.  Some where in our genes is every ancestor back through the beginning combined to make us who we are.  I also think that all of those genes are still living.

Like have you ever met someone and had an immediate connection with that person?  It is like you have always known them on some level even if you have no idea who they are or anything about them.  Have you ever walked into some place and knew on some level that you had been there before, but you knew you had not and you had never been in that area before, yet there it was and you knew when you went in the next room what you would find.

Much like a food, that although you have never eaten it, you know you do not like it.  And if you pick up a pen to write and have no idea what you are going to write, but soon the words begin to flow and the page is full.  By instinct you know that a rattlesnake is bad news.  You may have never seen one, but immediately you know what it is and you move away.  Same with a black widow spider.  They look harmless, but they strike terror in your heart.  Maybe some where deep in the recesses of your mind you have dealt with this stuff.

Most of us know that babies are helpless, but very soon they are reaching for stuff, moving toward things and then crawling and running.  We do not have to tell them to do this.  It comes from there inner voice.

I have an aversion to water.  Big bodies of water terrify me.  Why?  Who knows what went on back in my lineage.  I know my ancestors came over on a boat from Germany.  I know uncle Goll fell into a ditch in Dittengren, Germany when he was a tiny bay in his stroller.  Could that be what gives me my fear?

Just some thoughts before I go to bed.  Let me know what you think about my theory.  Sleep tight!

I have a theory about memories.

Many years back I read a series called "Clan of the Cave Bear" by Jean Auel.  The gist of the story, for those who did not read it, was that there existed a tribe of people who were apparently Neanderthals and they had found a young girl who was more advanced  (cro magnum) than they were. ( I may have those 2 backwards, but so be it.)   Apparently her tribe was wiped out in an earthquake and she was the only survivor.  She was found and taken in by the head medicine woman of the Cave Bear Clan.  To make a long story short (since there were 4 or 5 books written ) Ayla, became the protégé of the medicine woman.  I forget her name, but she was capable of calling into memory all her ancestors before her and when a question needed an answer she would seclude herself and with the help of some "herbs" go back in time and find the answer.  Lots of other stuff  happened, but this memory thing is the one I am addressing today.

As most of you know, I have a total of 6 kids.  I never really taught them to cook and yet they are all very good cooks and cook in much the same way I do. ( Little aside here.  The youngest may or may not know the fine art of cooking, but he is certainly an experienced eater, so I guess that qualifies him.)  When I lived with grandma Haas the only time we really ate a big meal was on Sunday.  Sunday mom and dad always came from Nickerson and Aunt Lola and Uncle Alvin would come in after church.  At precisely 1:00 dinner would be put on the table.  Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and cream gravy, green beans, fresh rolls, pickled beets, sweet pickles,  relish, butter, jelly.   And it seems Aunt Lola always brought some sort of chiffon cake, or bread pudding, or something like that.  When dinner was over and the table cleared and the dishes all back in the cupboard, it was time to doze.  A nap was always in order before the long drive (20 miles) back to Nickerson.  Us kids were allowed to run out in the yard as long as we stayed out of the street, which was also the highway, which was actually a county road.  We would walk up to the main business area which was one block away and consisted of Hinshaw's General Store, the bank and a filling station with one gas pump.  Oh, and the school.   Grade school was down stairs and high school was upstairs.

Sometimes if it was really hot, Aunt Lena would run water in her horse tank and we could jump in it and splash around.  (Aunt Lena was the old maid Aunt that is in every family, or was back then.)  We wore our clothes and let them dry in place when we got out.  Right beside Grandma's house and across the street on the way to town, was Great Grandma Hatfields old house.  She had lived right next door to grandma and had planned on marrying some guy and moving him in there when, sadly he dropped dead.  Since she was 75 or 80 years old at that time. she just closed up the house and moved across the street since by that time grandma Haas had her stroke and needed taken care of .  As her mother Great Grandma felt it her duty.  So there they lived until Grandma passed and Aunt Mable moved Great Grandma Hatfield (who was 99 years old at the time) to Coldwater where she lived until her death at age 104.

Grandma Haas is on the left and Great Grandma Hatfield is in the back.  If you notice Great Grandma has sandals on and Grandma has more sturdy shoes.  Great Grandma was a fashion plate right up until the day she died.  The plant in the pot is an Oleandar.  It is deadly poison.  Grandma had 2 of them .  One was white and one was pink.  They smell much like a sweet almond.  I have one that someone gave me 20 years ago.  This picture was taken outside Grandma's house about the time of her first stroke.  She was using a walker, but they wanted to look independent. The window is in front of the setting room.  That was where I slept.   Bless their souls.  I would give an arm and a leg to see them today.  They taught me to crochet.  We read the Bible every night.  Every night.   We never missed a night and we read it out loud.  We did not discuss it.  It was not up for discussion.  We read it and we memorized the important parts and I still know them today.

So where was I before I wandered off?  Oh, yeah.  Memories and the clan of the cave bear.  So there are times when I start to do something and it is like I did this before.  Never even thought of it before, but now I know how to do it because I have done it before.  Baking bread and rolling noodles comes as natural to me as walking, but no one ever showed me how to do it.  I can pluck a chicken and not miss a feather faster than anyone I know. (Of course I really do not know anyone else who cleans a chicken from the point of beheading it, to letting it bleed out, to scalding it and separating the feathers from the chicken and then gutting it.)  Actually, that sounds pretty barbaric, but there you go.  When we lived in Glasco, Kansas, I could buy 2 old hens at the feed store for 50 cents.  That fed us for a week.

Well, Good Lord!  I have no idea what I had in mind when I started this, but I need to wind it up somehow.  I guess you will just have to take my word for it that when I got up at 4:30 this morning I had my head full of wisdom that is far beyond my years and I wanted to share it with you.  I guess it is your loss!  That is what you get for thinking I actually know something! I guess I wish I could remember the things I am doing today as well as the things I never did that I remember so well.  Does that make sense to you?  Oh, shit!  If it does, we may both be in trouble!

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

Unknown-1/18/2018

So now the shock has worn off and reality sets in on us.

It has been almost a year since Donald Trump took office and not a day has gone by without a new upheaval and new ways to shock us.  His approval rating hovers right around the sewer pipe  as we express our disgust at his latest hate filled statements.  We are shocked.  We are offended.  We shake our heads and go back to whatever we were doing.  Is my assessment of the situation correct?  Sure it is.

Well, after a year of down hill maybe we need to rethink this little fiasco we are involved in.  In order to not sound confrontational I will say "We elected a mad man to the white house and we need to do something about that."  I want to go on record as saying I did NOT vote for that man, but by saying that I would appear condescending and that is not the point I want to make.  But we have to think about this logically.  He was voted into office.  I was not worried because I know we have a system of checks and balances and the Senate and the House of Representatives should keep him in check.  We elected those people on promises they made to us, so we should be safe, right?  Uh oh.  It ain't happening is it?

His cabinet is a joke.  He has hired and fired more helpers than Walmart and all the retailers combined and still has people operating from positions of power that are incapable of tying their own shoes.  Betsy DeVos is a prime example of what not to do to advance education.  Schools are operating with ice cycles hanging in bathrooms and kids wearing coats in the class rooms, but thank God the private schools get their tax breaks.  And speaking of tax breaks, I am so happy that they got that tax bill passed.  How long did it take for Walmart to declare they were giving a $1000 bonus to employees while slamming the door shut on 63 Sam's clubs to idle how many employees?  And they are raising the pay to $11.  Holy Mother of God!  That is just a few dollars more than I make on Social Security which does not stretch to cover my bills and there is only one of me.

What is it going to take to wake you people up anyway?  Now here is the deal, Trump is in bed with the Republican controlled congress.  Or they are in bed with him.  Six of one and half a dozen of the other.  Same thing.  For some reason the word Republican seems to loose a legion of demons and we Democrats do not stand a chance.  You want to know why?  Because we are honest, we have feelings for the under dog, and we live in a polly anna world where right will always triumph.  Sorry guys.  The other side plays dirty.  So here is what we have to do. We have to vote and get our friends to vote.  And we have to vote Democrat.  See we are so sure that good will triumph that we are setting here on the back of the wagon singing our song and the bandwagon is headed for one helluva cliff.

See the dipwad at the helm is spewing his filth and signing his executive orders and congress does nothing to stop him.  Republican Congress.  Luckily most of the shit he pulls can be undone by the court system, but it should not even be happening that way.  The man is not fit to pull latrine duty let alone hold the highest office of the land, so if Congress won't stop him, we have to replace Congress.  For now, stay on top of the news.  Call your Senator and Representatives and tell them what you want.  Vote in you local elections.  If it says Republican after the name, that is not the one you want.  Democrat. Bleeding heart Liberal Democrat.

Vote early and vote often!

Rubber Hoses are replaced by time outs!

I have my biggest inspirations at 3:30 AM and if I don't go with them, they are just lost.  So this morning I woke up with a boy named Dwight Kite on my mind.  He was an 8th grader at Nickerson Grade School and I must have been in 4th or 5th grade.

* I must put a disclaimer here to say that while the names are pretty close to accurate from my childhood days, the memories that accompany them are solely my perceptions recalled 65 years later and may or may not be completely accurate.  But the events usually have some merit for some reason.  That having been said, I will continue.

As I recall Dwight was a big boy.  He was referred to around town as "now quite right in the head."  There were several of those in my growing up days and were times different they would have been referred to as "special ed" and later "special needs" and today I think they are just kids.  We have certainly come a long way in how we treat our children, but remember the time frame I am talking here.  Dwight was big.  Dwight was slow.  Dwight was easily led astray.

The incident that is in my mind today was one of those times.  There were also big boys who thought it fun to "rile Dwight up."  I have no idea what had gone on and it is entirely irrelevant.  I do know Dwight was "called into the office."

Mr. Houston was our principal.  As I recall he was tall and skinny, but when you are 3 feet tall everyone looks tall.  He wore suits and his shoes were always polished.  His hair was parted on the side and combed in the manner hair was combed in those days.  Several times a day he would walk slowly down the hall and peer into the class rooms to make sure we were studying.  He could stop a heart with a look so we always kept our heads down.

Dwight was in the office with amazing regularity and we heard things were going to "come to a head" soon.  Now you need to know, that back then a teacher could administer "discipline" in the classroom.  Miss Howe in 4th grade was fond of coming up behind the dawdler with a wooden ruler and cracking it down with the straight edge on top of your head.  Oh, trust me!  You do not know what pain is until suddenly that ruler hits your bony head and the stars fly.  Dawdling days were over then!

But if the teacher could not control someone, they were sent to the Principal for a "talking to" and usually that was all it took.  I never got a "talking to" and I was very sure I did not want one.  Dwight on the other hand received several of them.  Mr. Houston kept a rubber hose in his office and we always thought it was just to scare us straight, but Dwight learned different.  We all watched as he came out of the office with tears streaming down his face and red marks on his arms.  Mr. Houston had won.  We all were sad and of course went home at night to report the action to our parents.

Well, that is called "corporal punishment" and Dwight had been bad and no one seemed to know just what he had done that was so bad, but it must have been bad or Mr. Houston would not have whipped him with the hose.  Dwight was never quite the same after that.  He came to school and was just a big, hulking boy who didn't have much to say.  And then he was gone.  He still lived in the house across the street with his mother and father, but he was rarely seen.  I never saw him, but the other kids said they did.  I don't know.

That was a long time ago, but it still sticks in my mind.  I marvel at how our world has changed, but no matter how much it changes, it still stays the same.  Oh, the days of the rubber hose are gone, pretty much and replaced by more modern methods like "time out" or Lord only knows what.  But there is still the standard there that kids have to measure up  or be labeled different. 

I wonder what Dwight Kite's home was like.  I wonder if our society been back then what it is today what Dwight would have become.  I do not know when they quit beating kids into submission, but I am thinking maybe some of them could still benefit from a little of that.  Just not from the principal of the place you go to learn.

It was a different world back then.  It is sad that all these years later, I still think of Dwight Kite.  Our family went to church with Mr. Houston and his wife and son, and I was as afraid of him in church as I was in school.  Later Miss Barkiss, the music teacher, married the son, David.  That is all I know.  That may be all I want to know.

Another year down the shitter.

Made it through the New Years Eve thing stone sober and sound asleep.  Not the first time that has happened.  Oh, I had a nostalgic moment before I went to bed.  I thought about the past year and asked the good Lord to forgive some of the vindictive thoughts I had.  Also asked him to bless all those who are less fortunate then I am.  All in all the last year was not a bad one.  I managed to spend a lot of the kids inheritance.  I made a few enemies and got rid of a couple toxic friendships (for want of a better word.)  And I thought about making a bunch of New Years Resolutions on a sheet of paper and putting it on the refrigerator so I could look at it every day, but I had a second thought that beat hell out of that first thought!  But since I did all this thinking in the middle of the night, I just rolled over and went back to sleep!

Let's just face it!  I am who I am and I shall remain that way.  I should quit cussing, but that just ain't happening.  I should start being a softer person, but hell with that.  I already go to church every Sunday, so that is a given.  I try to be kind to people, but some people are just such total assholes that they make it impossible.  Most of the time I grit my teeth and just put one foot in front of the other and it works for me.  But of course there is always that one person that is insistent on having my honest opinion on our politics and they ding at me until I give them my opinion and then they will talk louder and faster to convince me that I am wrong.  Well, it is down hill from there.  When I get in a screaming match I tend to spit when I talk and there is nothing more degrading then an old woman foaming at the mouth  over something she has no control over.  I am getting pretty good at just walking away from those situations, but it has taken me 76 years to learn that art.

I gotta tell you I am not happy with our political climate today.  I spent many years working on gay rights, migrant rights, women's rights, racial equality, animal rights, Black Hills Energy rate hikes, health care, food labeling and that damn GMO crap that we are forced to eat or starve.  I want a quiet peaceful world where we all are equal and it just isn't happening.  I thought we had made strides and then some lunatic becomes our leader and with a stroke of his pen changes it all.  Or he thinks he does.  Most of his edicts can be overturned because they are illegal and won't happen just because he wants them to, but we are in limbo as they creep through the judicial system to be declared unconstitutional.

And that damn wall!  Did we not learn anything from the Berlin Wall?  I knew a lady once who moved to Mexico and lived there until she died.  Why?  Because she could afford to live on her Social Security down there and she had a cleaning lady and ate very well.  The climate suited her and her little condo was very nice.  I survive on Social Security because my home is paid for and so is my car.  Sadly, if I want anything extra I am dipping into the kids inheritance or taking in some sort of work that pays cash under the table.  And while we are on the subject of the border wall, is that for us to keep the Mexicans out, or for keeping our own people in?   Our little world is collapsing around our heads and we are not smart enough to see it.  But that is alright, because they just voted us a tremendous tax cut!  As long as they keep telling us how well off we are, we can keep thinking some one cares for us.

We can not pass a gun law because the NRA owns us.  I hear the argument that "guns don't kill people, people kill people and they can do it with a knife, or a car, or anything."  We live in an atmosphere of hate.  Pure and simple.  We are controlled by who we send to Congress.  It is that simple.  We have morons in Congress who have been there forever and we keep sending them back because when re-election time comes they tell us things will be different.  Well now you see what different is!  Talk about raping and pillaging that goes on way back in history and then take a look at what we have in Washington today!  And enjoy yourself, its later than you think!

I hope I live long enough to see Americans pull their heads out of their asses.  

Now they call it harassment. I thought it was a way of life.

I had a long talk with my son today.  Not the young one, the older one who will no doubt put me  in Shady Pines someday.  The subject of the "Me To" movement came up and I was explaining to him that when I was newly divorced and in the work force needing to make a living it was what it was.  Back then women were supposed to stay home and if a divorce was your lot you should quickly find another husband.  When I mentioned that I was paid less then the men in the work place for the same exact work or sometimes more work because the men had families to support, he could not believe it.

When I left my husband, I immediately went to work because I needed a place to live and food for the table.  I applied for welfare, but was turned down because I worked.  I could not get a medical card because I worked.  There were no programs to help me because I was eligible for child support.  Of course there was no child support forthcoming, but since I was eligible I was out of luck.  No stipend for child care either because I had a husband who did not pay child support.  I am happy to say that has changed.  Well, not for me, because my kids are all grown and gone, but for other women.

Back in the early 1970's I went to work at the Holidome which was owned by Holiday Inn.  Fancy place with an indoor pool and poolside rooms.  Top notch back in the day.  There were 2 cooks.  I do not remember the other cooks name, but it seems like it was George.  Our duties were the same.  We cooked orders for the clientele.  George had a helper so mostly he just smoked (and you could have a cigarette dangling out of your mouth and a spatula in your other hand and that was alright back then) and told his helper what to do.  Imagine my surprise when I learned that they were both paid more per hour than I was.  I say surprised, but not really.  Back then it was expected.  Men were superior to women and they had families to support.  I had 5 kids at home, but that was irrelevant.  What really frosted my cookie was when I found out that the boy who made salads earned more than I did.  He was hired after me and called in sick at least once a week.  That meant I had my work and his work to do for $2.00 an hour less than he made.

I talked to many people about starting some sort of union so pay was more equitable and sick days could actually be earned, but all that ever got me was laughed at.  It was a lot easier to get a  husband then to get a day or 2 paid vacation.  When I first started the restaurant jobs we got free meals, but then the owners decided we were eating them out of house and home so we could buy our meals at a reduced rate, but if we sat down to eat them we had to clock out.  Having a pizza delivered was out of the question as was bringing a sack lunch.  We either paid or starved until we got home where food was free.  Although free in not to say it was free.  Just cheaper then eating at work.

I bartended a while and was also a waitress in a bar.  Now if you think my ass was not grabbed on a regular basis you are nuttier than bat shit!  It went with the territory.  If a woman worked in a bar it was because she wanted a husband or a sugar daddy or at the very least a one night stand.  Being friendly brought tips and I needed tips, but not that badly.  A drunk in a bar is not what I wanted out of life.  When the bell tolled midnight I just wanted to jump in my car and race home to my bed...alone.  I did not last very long in the bar setting.

The point I am trying to make here is that sexual harassment has been around as long as I can remember.  The "glass ceiling"  has always existed and it was not until I left the work place that there were improvements made.  I am happy for the women who have made strides, but let me clue you and them in on something, it is still alive and well in suburbia.  After my husband passed I was left to handle all the household repairs and maintenance.  First order of business was to have the septic tank pumped.  Being new to this I got out my yellow pages and called the first one listed.  And here he came.

Short, greasy and with a definite attitude.  He jerked the lid off and informed me that it was dirty and nasty.  (Concrete lid covered with dirt on top of a riser where there were spider webs.)  Where was my husband and why was he not there?  Let's see, after he died he quit caring about the septic tank!  The $100 fee I was quoted immediately jumped to $150.  He informed me that it needed pumped every 6 months.  I paid him and never called them again.  I have a nice guy now who comes every 2 or 3 years.  Just one of the ways he discriminated.

Want my car worked on?  I get several estimates and if they ask about my husband, I don't call back.  There are shops out there who will discount because I am a widow.  And they repair what I want repaired and don't pad the bill.

It is no fun being a widow in this world of men, but more women are making it better for me.  I appreciate that.  But do not kid yourself into believing that we are on equal footing with the male population because they want us to be.  It is dog eat dog world out there and you can bet your sweet ass on one thing and that is I am no longer going to cow tow to the mean spirited little men I deal with on a regular basis.  If I pay they are going to treat me fair.

Life goes on.

Santa used to be on radar!

Life was not all bad back in the long ago days of raising children.  The one part I took advantage of was when they finally got Santa on radar.  The kids were always excited on Christmas Eve because they knew all they had to do was go to sleep and Santa would pop in and leave them presents.  Now I kind of resented the fact that I had busted my ass to buy presents and some fat fart was getting all the credit.  So I devised a way to actually turn the table so I could get a little credit for myself.

When the weather man would come on and show the tiny Santa and his tinier reindeer, they were inevitably clear up in Montana or somewhere just as distant.  I would carefully explain to the kids that they should go ahead and go to bed and I would keep watch and if they happened to notice I was gone it was probably because I had made arrangements to meet him in Nebraska or some where because no way in hell was I going to not let them have Christmas and there would be presents under the tree from that rascal or by God I would know the reason why.  So they went to bed and slept the sleep of children who could always depend on mother.

Now in all likely hood, had they awoken and gone to check under the tree and found me missing, I was probably at the bar just down the street for a quick beer or at the liquor store at the other corner replenishing my "will to live."  But either way, there was always a pile under the tree for each of them and I had the satisfaction of knowing there were 5 little kids who loved me and were grateful that I had stayed up all night to make sure Santa came through for them!  I was a damn good liar back in those days, but now I am not so good at it.

But then I really don't need to do it any more!  I may stay up tomorrow night just to see where Santa is and relive the days when a hairy old man in a red suit was something I really wanted to see.  I have my brother Jake to thank for ripping my belief in Santa to shreds.  I in turn twisted the knife in my sister Donna, she in Mary, and when the veil fell from the eyes of Dorothy our childhood was over and we transitioned into a family who celebrated Christmas for the birth of the Christ Child.

Everyone except my father, who was an atheist.

Merry Christmas from Liberal, Kansas!

I do not remember the year, but it must have been about 1966.  Sam was barely walking and he was born in 1965.  We had been living in Garden City, but Duane (I some times refer to him as Earl, but he was always Duane to me.  Earl Duane if I was pissed.) and his brother decided they were expanding the tree trimming business so we were in Liberal.  Duane had found a farm house outside of town that was abandoned.  He made a deal with the owner to fix it up and make it livable and we would not need to pay rent until it was done.  We would buy all the cleaning supplies, wall paper and paint.

I have always been handy with soap, water, wall paper and paint, so that became my job, along with raising the kids, so the deal was struck.  I am sure none of you are going to know what I am talking about when I tell you how we got water to the house.  Ever see a windmill?  That is a pump with a shaft that goes up a tower to a giant blade.  When you want water, you loosen the brake and the blades begin to turn causing the apparatus that goes down into the well to go up and down, thus pumping water up the pipe and into the big holding tank above (and for the life of me I can not remember what that tank is called.).  There was no top on this tank so I am sure it was good clean water.  Water then flows from the tank into the pipes in the house by the gravity concept.  It was important that the tank stay full so there was water pressure.  All that is irrelevant to anything except that is the way we got water.

At that time we had the 4 oldest kids, Debbie 4, Patty 3, Dona  2 and Sam 1. The first item of business was to move into the house and set up sleeping quarters in the front room for the kids.  The furnace was also gravity operating on the concept that heat always rises.  The furnace was located in the basement and I do not recall ever going down there.  I think it was propane.  The vent was in the middle of the front room and the kids all learned very young to not walk on the furnace vent and if you look at the bottom of their feet you will probably find little squares where each one learned their lesson the hard way.

I vaguely recall that we moved in during the summer so by the time Christmas was upon us we were fairly settled into our new home.  I had finished our bedroom, the kids room, the front room and was starting the kitchen when Christmas time came.  Duane went to the "shelter belt" and cut down an evergreen tree, which ticked off the farmer, but oh well.  Decorations consisted of popcorn on a string, some red and green colored papers cut and glued and linked together and tinsel.  I do not know what Santa brought that year, but I do know he brought Sam a blue elephant on wheels and it was designed for him to set on it and move with his feet.  Would have been nice had it worked that way, but he was scared shitless of it.  Every time he seen it he went into screaming and crying fits like it was going to eat him.  We mostly kept it hidden and the only time it came out was when the girls wanted to torment him, which was often.

As I recall, winter was mild in Liberal since it was down in the southwest corner of Kansas.  I do not recall where they came from, but we had chickens which stayed in one of the out buildings.  I also recall we had a little black dog who brought me one of the chickens and laid it at the back door.  I do not recall ever seeing that dog again.

By the time spring arrived the house was in pretty good shape.  Every room had been gone through and cleaned, the wood work painted, walls newly wall papered  and the floors sealed.  I only had the bathroom left and was finishing pasting the trim around the top of the kitchen sealing when the landlord paid a call to see how the work was coming.  He was very impressed!  He walked slowly through each room noting the clean windows, the wall paper, the paint and praised my work.  The next day we got out eviction notice.  Seems his son was taking a wife and this would be the perfect place for them to live.  Talk about luck!

Back in those days we traveled light.  It was easier and cheaper to just leave the furniture and scrounge up new, then it was to load it and spend the gas money moving back and forth.  By the end of the next week we were living on the edge of town in a 3 room house with a huge back lot where I could grow a garden and a garage where I could keep my chickens.  For some reason the owner had painted every room black.  That was weird so the first order of the day was to drag out the paint brushes and spruce up the place.  The first swipe across the door post proved to be a rude awakening.  The place was almost devoured by termites!  It soon became apparent that what we saw was what we got in that house.  But I was always an optimist so I settled in.

I bought 100 straight run chickens and kept them in the garage.  In 2 months they were butchering size and I rented a locker in town.  75 fryers went in the locker.  The garden produced and I finished filling the locker with corn on the cob cut off the cob.  I was ready for winter!  The locker burned down and the man had no insurance.  All that work was wasted.  Then there was a windstorm and anything else we had was gone.  At some point the chickens that were in the garage  all ended up dead.  I called the sheriff and low and behold two boys in the neighborhood were found to have killed the chickens just for fun !

Debbie had started kindergarten some where along that time.  We decided we had enough of Liberal and we moved on.  Not sure where to, but if I think about it, I am sure I will remember.  That may have been when we moved back to Garden City. Or maybe that was when I moved to Hutchinson.  I need to think about this.

For now, I think I will get another cup of coffee and maybe run through the shower.  I am sure of one thing, the sun is up and the geese want out of their house.  Tomorrow is my anniversary.  I think I will bake me a cake.

But what about the rest of us?

I see people dashing about in the stores with thier carts loaded with gifts.  Christmas music is blaring over the intercom and seems to spur them into a fever of shopping.  I continue to the fabric section because I need 2 yards of blue gingham for an order.  Nothing else.  The lady at the measuring table folds the 2 yards and lays the ticket on top of it.  As she pushes it towards me she smiles brightly and says "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays " or some such nonsense.  "Thanks", I mutter, ;not bothering to return the greeting.  I am glad she is in the holiday spirit.  I almost wished I could be.  But I am not and there is very little chance I will get into it.

Don't get me wrong on the Christmas thing.  I love Christmas.  I love the baby Jesus and the wise men and all that.  What I don't love is the commercialism that has taken it from a religious  holiday to a shopping frenzy and Santa Claus trying to out do each other.  I like to feed the hungry and clothe the naked and put a roof over everyone's head.  But I am not going shopping.  I am not buying presents.  Just not buying into the whole thing.

Several years back I gave away all my Christmas decorations.  All the outside lights went also.  And along with the trinkets and baubles went any  appearance of adhereing to the Christmas season frivolities.  Now don't get me wrong.  I celebrate Christmas, but I do it at church and it is for the birth of Jesus and all the symbolism asscoiated with that.  I do not buy presents and I do not want presents bought for me.  For most of my adult life I bought for a Christmas list that was 45 people long and I enjoyed doing it.  Then one year I looked around and I did not know who had given me what, nor did I remember what I gave anyone else.  Consquently it was the same year my husband died.  I made the turkey and the ham just like years before, but it was not the same.

I may have just lived long enough and seen enough to become jaded, but it is what it is.  I can not judge those who continue to fight the crowds nor do I want to.  By the same token, I do not want you to judge me.    I like to be alone, not that I am anti social, I just  like solitude.  Christmas seems to bring all my sad thoughts to the front and every year it gets harder and harder to cope with the holiday season.  Do I remember a time when I really enjoyed Christmas?  Not really.  I suppose when the kids were little and I could surprise them with Santa Claus things, I was happy.  But even then I remember how hard I had to work to do that.  I guess life has just never came easy for me in that aspect.

So Christmas will come in 4 days.  But before Christmas comes, I have an anniversary.  Kenny and I would have celebrated  34 years together on December 23.  So there you go.  Another thing I can do alone.