A day late, but relative nonetheless.

I was about 20 years late getting into the fight for Gay Rights, but when I got on board I gave it my all.  Stonewall was nothing to me in 1969.  I did not know any gay people because there were not any in my world of western Kansas at that time.  Little did I know that my 4 year old son would open my eyes and make me see the injustice of discrimination.  Little did I know that less than 20 years later I would be not only waving the flag, but it would be one I stitched with care.  I knew nothing about PFLAG in 1969, but by 1973 I was a whole lot wiser.  By then I was single and working at the Red Rooster Restaurant with a little guy named Gibby.  Gib was a very good friend of my mother, so of course he was a friend of mine.  Gib was gay.

I had never to my knowledge ever even seen a gay person, but now I was friends with one.  And it was nice to have a male friend that I could go dancing with, or hang out with and not have to worry about a romantic involvement.  Then I started my journey  that has led me to where I am today.  I moved to Colorado in 1977 leaving Gib and my mother and siblings behind.  Soon after the "gay disease" reared it's ugly head.  In June of 1981 the CDC  published a paper about a strange disease that was affecting gay men.  And thus began the AIDS epidemic.  I am not here to give you a history lesson, only to tell you why I am where and who I am today.

Gibby was one of the first to die.  He is buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in central Kansas.  He is only one of many that received the same treatment.  Fear held us in it's paralyzing grip.  There was talk at one point of isolating the "victims".  The CDC scrambled to set up guidelines and finally succeeded in calming the fears, approving new meds and I am happy to say that now it is not even

mentioned as AIDS, but is HIV and it is a manageable condition.  I speak of HIV only because it led me to the gay rights movement.  

In 1983 I married Kenneth and for the next 8 years I lived a fairly mundane existence.  This all ended when the religious right groups headquartered in Colorado Springs put forth Amendment #2 for the Colorado Constitution that basically stated that gays and homosexuals were to be denied civil rights protection.  This was on the ballot for the November 3, 1992 election. It was known as the "Hate State Amendment 2". 

It was worded in such a way that it was confusing to say the least and it passed.  Barely, but it did pass and the gay community was devastated.  At that time there was a catering business on Elizabeth and for some reason we congregated there.  We were all so disappointed because what this bill did was basically declare open season on gays.  The place was filled to overflowing and that night "Pueblo After 2"  was born.  We knew that as gay and straight we had to band together.  As a straight person I could advocate for my gay friends.  Warren, David, Joe, Carolyn, and the list goes on.  Along with  Nancy and Jalia, PFLAG was born in Pueblo.  Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.  It was the local chapter of a national group.  

Events and times become confused in my little mind and I think I should have kept a journal.  But I did not.  I did what needed done with the help of my colleagues. Westboro never stood a chance with us.  Pueblo After 2 morphed in Southern Colorado Equality Alliance.  Southern Colorado AIDS Project was borne of the need to take care of our afflicted children.  

At some point in time I conceived the Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt which is hung at the Rawlings Library the end of  November through most of December.  World AIDS day is observed on the 4th floor every December 1 and I am guest of honor.  

We have come a long way, but there is still work to do.  I was given a lot of awards over the years, but none as prestigious as the mother who thanked me recently for giving her son the strength to acknowledge who he is! That is called "coming out" in case you wondered.

Kinda' makes it all worth it.

Let them eat toast

Back in the late 60's and the very early 70's I worked at the Red Carpet in Hutchinson, Kansas.  I think I was there a total of 6 or 7 years.  My mind does not retain dates well at all.  The point was that I was not married to Duane any more and needed to work to feed 5 kids.  I was cook, kitchen manager and baker.  I decorated cakes as a side job for extra money.  I also worked in the Bakery down on South Main.  I did that at night.

Any way, if you know anything about restaurant work, you know that it all revolves around the cook.  If the cook does not like you, the orders are slow coming out of the kitchen and might not look quite as neat as other orders, so it is a good idea to stay on the good side of the cook.  My waitresses loved me.  Any excuse for a holiday was reason to shower gifts on Lou.  One birthday I was sent to Wichita to the Charlie Pride concert because I loved that man!  Also that entailed a plethora of 8 track tapes being bought and delivered to my hand by my workers.  I miss the 8 track players.

This morning I lay in my bed remembering those days.  And I remembered that one birthday they gave me a 4 slice toaster because I had mentioned that my toaster no longer worked.  It was a very nice toaster, all shiny and clean.  As luck would have it I kept my empty freezer full of bread because that was more efficient than running an empty freezer.  And bread was cheap.  I think it was 5 loaves for $1.00.

I also had a live in babysitter.  Her name was Janice and she was married to the boss's son who was in Viet Nam at the time.  That is a whole 'nuther story.  She was not the most ambitious person I had encountered, but she did keep the kids off the streets at night.

My regular shift was 5:00 AM-2:00 PM.  Then I came home and had a nap and went to work at the bakery at 10:00PM-till the bread was all sliced and sacked.  On Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday I came back to the restaurant and was back up cook, dish washer, salad girl, or whatever needed to be done.  This one particular night, after I received the toaster, I worked backup.  So I was there from 5-10 and then at the bakery until 11:30.

When I drug myself home, it was almost midnight.  The house was dark and everyone asleep.  I let myself in the back door  and flipped on the light over the kitchen sink.  My eyes fell on a plate full of toast on the counter.  And then another!  The whole counter on both sides of the sink was filled with plates full of toast.  So was the kitchen table!  And the stove!  And the wash machine!

I was still staring at the piles of toast when Sammy came out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.  He came over and hugged me.  Then the mystery was solved when he said,

"I made you supper!  I ran out of butter, but I thought you could get some more tomorrow."

It is 50 some odd years later and I still remember the look on his face.  He had made supper for him momma.  He was so proud.  I am not sure just how much toast he thought I could hold, but this was a bonding moment.  He and I were alone in the half lit kitchen while his sisters slept and we ate dry toast in the middle of the night.  Probably the best mid night snack I have ever had.

I do not remember what became of all that toast, but I am sure some where there were birds that enjoyed a feast.  (At that time we did not know that commercial bread was not good for ducks, and crows and other feathered things.)

I kind of miss the good old days with the kids, but I rather imagine they are glad those days are behind them.  But just for old time sake I think I will go make a piece of toast for my breakfast.  I actually have butter!

Should I or shouldn't I?

I woke up in a new world this morning!  For some reason I woke up thinking about dating!  Now you must realize that I have had my share of husbands, but they do not really count.  I can not remember ever really dating.  You know the thing where some guy calls you up and says "Would you like to go out to dinner and then catch a movie?"   No, that never happened.  Usually, I meet some guy and the next thing I know I am Mrs. So and So.

I do recall back in Hutch when I met a guy who played lead guitar in a band and he invited me to come and watch him play and then we would grab a bite to eat.  Sounded good, but in the meantime I bought a restaurant and got involved in the cleaning process  and buying groceries so I could open Monday morning and completely spaced that date out and he must have been ticked because he never called again.  And then I married Charlie and we moved to Colorado.  After a divorce or 2 I met Kenny and that is now history.  9 years after he passed, I met a guy named Sherman.  He occupied 2 years of my life off and on until he died in 2012.  I then "hung out" and hiked with a guy named Dan until I decided that was a lost cause.  We went out to eat one night, and of course it was my turn to pay.  When we parted it was with his words, "Next time it will be my turn."  Now that was 4 years ago and I have not seen him since.

So back to the business at hand.  I think I would like to go on a date.  Now, I am not going to run out and willy nilly date some guy.  I think I would like to date a blue eyed man.  I really like the brown eyed men, but I have not had very good luck with them.  3 of my husbands were brown eyed and while I can get lost in their eyes, I find them to be kind of sneaky and not very forthright.  "Eyes of blue; a love that's true.  Eyes of brown will let you down."

Forthrightness is something I value in a man.  Men that have lasted any length of time in my life were blue eyed men.  Duane was around for 10 years.  Kenny lasted 20 years before he died on me.  And dear little Sherman and I were engaged to be married when he drew his last breathe.  The last guy I entertained the idea of dating was brown eyed and I think he stepped off the face of the earth, because I have not seen nor heard from him in a very long time.  Such is the perils of caring for one of the creatures.

So, back to this dating business.  I think I would like to date, but then I remember all that entails.  I may not be up to it.  I do not want to go out at night, because I can not see to drive, so he would have to pick me up at my house and I do not want anyone to know where I live.  I could meet him at the end of the drive, but I am afraid of the dark.  So it would have to be in the afternoon, but then I sleep through Jeopardy! from 3:00-3:30.  So if I could meet him at 4:00 and we could have a 2 hour date that would be good.  See Jeopardy! comes on again at 6:30.  And on the eye color, if he could have one blue eye and one brown eye, that would be perfect.  Oh, and he needs to be over 5'7" and under 6'3".  Any shorter and he can not protect me and any taller gives me a crick in my neck.  He has to have a sense of humor.  He has to believe in God and I prefer a Protestant as opposed to a Catholic.  That is not a deal breaker, just a preference.  One of my husbands was a Catholic.  So was Sherman.  He has to like kids and liver and onions.

Well, I just reread what I had written and I am thinking, I may be better off if I just go to the pound and get a dog.  A dog will have brown eyes.  A dog will love me unconditionally, as long as I don't beat it.  A dog is warm.  Sadly, a dog will shed, but I have looked at my hair brush and I am doing a pretty good job of that myself.

So, I guess, what I am looking for is someone that will take me out to eat.  Entertain me with intelligent inane chatter, pay the bill and then disappear into a puff of smoke.  I am not real sure such a man exists.  If you see one, throw a net over his head and call me.  I just might be interested!  Or not.

This would be my oldest brother, Richard Nichols.  He was my father's oldest son, by his first wife.

 This is William E. Bartholomew who was my fathers second son by his first wife.  Both of them were in World War II and both of them were shell shocked, Richard more so than Gene.  This picture is from an obituary that Sam found on Ancestry.com.  He apparently lived in Seattle, Washington when he died in1973.

I never really knew my step brothers because they were grown and gone when I was old enough to know I had them.  Since Gene was the only one that was not adopted from the orphanage, he tended to check in with dad occasionally.  I do know he had lived for a while with a family named Banks.  It seemed that they were either from Nebraska or close to that area.    An obituary that my son found on Ancestry shows he died in 1973.  So there was a span of about 20 years that he had a life in Washington.  If anyone has any knowledge of him during that time, I would sure like to know.  I hope he had a family that loved him.  Life is strange.

So I guess I will put that brother to bed since I at least know he has been dead for 46 years.  Rest in peace, Gene.

And now I am off to bed.

It has taken me 77 years, but finally I get it.  My greatest failure in life has been the one that I thought was a virtue.  I have failed in 6 marriages and God only knows how many relationships and never had a glimmer that any of those failures were really my fault, but they were.  Today I am closing the door on all of those and adopting a new outlook on life.  I have watched other women walk all over their husbands and lovers and brow beat them into submission.  I have watched jealousy rear it's ugly head in those instances and watched as those same couples celebrated year after year.  And here I set alone.

Today I am closing that door on another relationship that I thought was a friendship that would endure, but that is not happening.  Why?  Because I once more put my heart and soul into something that was not to be.  I thought I was needed, but I wasn't.  I was used.  That is what I do best....I get used.  I ask for nothing, hence I get nothing.  Along with that relationship I am bidding farewell to a family member that no longer needs me.

You see, I am a trusting person.  If you tell me something, I believe it.  My word is my bond, hence, your word I took as your bond.  I help you up and you return the favor.  That works until I need a hand up, or an ear to listen, or a kind word.  I realize I do have friends that are just that, but I keep remembering something mother told me.  "You will have friends in your life, but if you can reach the end of your life and count all your friends on one hand, you are blessed."  Right now, I am not feeling very blessed.  I am feeling used.

The sad part is that the two people who have brought me to this point (realization) in my life will never know what a sad part they played in my decision unless some one draws them a picture.  They do not read this blog.  They do not know that I even have a vulnerable side, nor will they know it.  I guess I was happiest when I volunteered at hospice.  I was eleventh hour and I knew where my clients were in their journey.  I was blessed to take many to  the edge and over.  I became a part of the family and for the most part I could walk back into their homes and I would be welcomed with open arms.  I liked feeling like I had helped, but I do not do that anymore.  My last client was my last and I will not do that again.

It hurts when I pour myself into something and get nothing in return, so I am not taking that chance again.  I am sure I will go on helping people, but what I will not do is let my little heart become attached to any one or anything.  Life is too short for that.  So to my friends out there who have not handed me the short shaft, we are good.  Not to worry, but the two that left me with this hole in my heart, just know that I am done.  No more.  If I see you on the street I will smile, but do not look into my eyes, because all you will see is an empty heart.

Alive and well and wishing otherwise.

I remember back when I was young and starting my life as an adult.  I was filled with hope and joy at the future ahead of me.  I had a wonderful husband who loved me and our life would be complete if we had a child.  Of course it must be a son.  Nothing else would work.  So after a year or so, I finally got pregnant.  And then I had the baby.  It was a girl, heaven forbid so we had to try again right away.  My husband was adamant that the next one be a son.  Whoops!  foiled again.  The third one was also a girl and by this time my loving husband was fed up with me and my failure to give him an heir.  After much begging and pleading, he gave me one last chance.  I was filled with gratitude at this magnanimous man and the kindness he showed me after 3 complete failures.  This time I did it right!  I gave him his son.

Of course that marriage went South like a fart in a whirlwind!  Not even the birth of his son could save it.  But then there was the divorce and then the brief reconciliation.  And then the second divorce which was delayed a bit because I was busy giving birth to my 4th daughter.   All of this is history and is not relevant to much of anything, except facts.  And you do know that the facts as I remember them and how he remembers them are not necessarily the same.  I was 3 years younger than him when we married, but he was 3 years younger then me in his latter years.  Mother always said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and the same goes with truth.  One man's truth is another man's fantasy,  much like one man's pleasure is another man's pain.  But I digress.

One thing I have always held dear was life!  I was invincible in my younger years and my zest for life was what kept my head above water when I was sinking in emotional pain.  And I survived.  And here I am today wondering just what in the hell all of that was about.  My kids are grown and gone away and have kids and grandkids of their own.  Mother, father, sisters, brother, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends be damned.  They are all gone.  I try to look up the family tree and see someone above me and it just ain't happening.   And it isn't just the people, every thing is different.  I go to Nickerson and the house is gone.  All the houses on Strong Street have been replaced.  It is still pretty much a ghetto, but it was my ghetto.  I go to Hutchinson, where I spent most of the time with the kids and that house is gone also along with the house next door.

And now I am in Pueblo, Colorado for the last 40 years.  My in-laws are all gone except for one brother in law that I never see.  My husband is gone and has been for almost 20 years.  Where does this all end?  All the pictures on my desk are pictures of the past.  Two old grandma's, a mother and father on their wedding day, a brother as he was frozen in time in the 7th grade.  What do people do when they get too old to be useful any more?  Do they just wither away?  I did the volunteering thing. Now what?  Make cookies?  Water the plants?  How long does that take?

So I lay in my bed at night and go over what I have done and it looks like a pretty pathetic showing in the grand scheme of things.  I remember a dark haired girl and the dreams she had of being a missionary. And I escape to that world.   But then I wake up and I look down at my sleeve and I see, coming out of the sleeve, my mothers hand. 

Lost and lonely little dog update

As it turns out, I in my usual rush to judgement, got it wrong.   As it turns out the little lost dog that I assumed had been dumped, is indeed a very loved little dog and was being looked for by his family.  He lives near the intersection and had some how gotten himself lost.  His family missed him very much and were advertising and searching for him.

Whether my article had any part in him being reunited with his family or not, I do not know, but I do know he is home.  I know he is a he.  And I am very happy.  Last information I had was that he was home.  He was limping.  And he was sleeping with his boy.

All is well here in my corner of the world!  And there is indeed a God that takes care of our furry friends.

Lost and lonely little dog.

A day or so ago I was returning home down 27th Lane and saw a little dog setting in the field on the corner of 27th and County Farm.  I thought that strange.  Today I saw him again in the same place so I pulled around the corner and stopped.  It looked at me hopefully and then turned and ran back up the field.  It was not hard to figure out that someone had dumped it.  I walked a ways into the field and tried to coax it to me.  No way.  I was not the human it wanted.  So I got back in my car and did the only thing I knew to do, I came home.  I loaded up some cat food and water and went back down to the field.  The little dog was back in its regular waiting place, but once more ran away.  I put the food down and poured the water in the container.  The little dog watched me.  I took a step towards it and it ran away.  So I got in my car and left.

I will not sleep tonight.  I will be thinking about that little dog.  I wish I could meet the person who left the poor little animal.  I would ask them if when they tossed it out on that corner, if it tried to chase the car and catch up with them.  Did you even look back?  What did that poor little doggie do to deserve being left in a field?  There are coyotes and foxes out here that will make a meal of that helpless little creature.  Oh, do you think it is going to catch something and eat it to survive?  Or some fool like me will come along and it will jump in my car and I will take it home and it will live happily ever after?  I would, you know, but it is waiting for you.  I will say this, you do not deserve loyalty like that.  God has a special place for people like you.

I do not have a dog.  My little dog died.  It was one just like yours.   I still cry myself to sleep missing my little animals and assholes like you throw them away.  The world is full of stray dogs and cats that were cute little puppies or kitties, but then they grew up and may have actually peed on the floor.  Whose fault was that?  Whose job was it to teach them that was wrong?  Or they might have shed on your couch.  Heaven forbid.  What ever the circumstances that left that little dog out in that field all alone, it is not right.  I am going to pray very hard tonight that God will touch your heart wherever you are and whomever you are and you will get in your car and drive back out to 27th Lane and County Farm and pick your little dog back up.  You do not have to keep it.  You can bring it to my house.  Or call me and I will come pick it up.  I am just too old to chase it through a field when it wants you.  But if you hand it to me, I will take it and give it a very good home.

Just in case...my number is 546-1555.  and my name is Lou.

Beauty is skin deep.

I was never what you call pretty growing up.  Even as a teenager, I was on the scrawny side.  My hair was brown and my front teeth were over sized and stayed that way my whole life through.  I was very sickly and spent lots of time with an ear ache and a pain in my side that was attributed to appendicitis.  However, when I was 12 years old I was rushed in for an emergency tonsillectomy.  Strange as it may seem, I never had a sick day after that.  I did remain skinny, weighing in at 92 pounds when I married my first husband at the age of 19.

I have managed to go my entire life without an inoculation of any kind.  I was always so jealous of the kids who had the small pox vaccination scar on their arm.  Now I do not know how I managed to survive and not get vaccinated for anything, but I did.  Well, about 25 years ago I was trying to fly a kite in the field next door and stepped on a nail.  Kenneth took me to the emergency room and the doctor wanted to "update" my tetanus vaccine.  I told him I had never been vaccinated against anything in my life.  He gave me the tetanus shot and I let him because Kenneth was between me and the door.   I left with instructions to make an appointment in his office for my immunizations.  Never kept that date and the matter was dropped.  So I will say this, I am very healthy and rarely ever get sick.  (There was that time I was laid low by a bad batch of hummus from Sam's, but that was man made misery in a tub.)

So back to the subject.  My sister's were all pretty and actually had a shape.  I remained a stick figure on the horizon and when I would complain, mother would just tell me.  "Beauty is skin deep."  To be honest, that did not help much.  Of course as life goes on, things become more important than beauty.  And something that I learned early was that an abusive husband will prey on your weakness.  I had 3 of them, followed by one that was just a user and then I met Kenneth.  Kenneth never told me I was beautiful. He told me I was smart.  He told me I was a worker.  He told me I was dependable.  He told me I was trustworthy.  He told me he was comfortable with me.  He told me he loved me.  He loved my mind. He loved my compassion.  He loved my zest for life.  He loved my cooking.  He loved everything about me and I began to feel beautiful.

And of course Mother came for regular visits.  One time we were discussing life before Kenny and she was telling him how I had raised the kids alone and many times gone without food so they could eat.  Kenny chimed in at that point with, "Well, you could never tell by looking at her that she ever missed a meal!"   He had a way of putting life in a perspective that made it work.

One time I made the remark that  I had never felt pretty.  And beautiful was a word that was never  used in the same sentence with my name.  He looked at me kind of strangely when I said that.  His answer was all I needed.  He said, "Yes, beauty is skin deep, but ugly goes clear to the bone."  And then I understood, that this simple man thought I was beautiful and I have held to that thought through all these years.

I had a man once in my life that saw through my exterior and into my soul.  That only comes around once in a lifetime but it lasts forever.  

It is what it is.

Every morning I wake up to face another day.  Usually it is about 5 AM.  I lay there for a little while thinking about yesterday and wondering about today.  I know there is nothing I can do to change yesterday, but today there is hope.  I think hope is the one thing that keeps me going, but things do not always work out like I had planned.  Sadly, I do not have the ability to control other people.  I know what would make their life work better and bring them happiness, but they have their own ideas.  So I accept that.

I once told a friend of mine "I do not understand why John Doe did what he did.  I thought I knew him better than that."  My friend told me, "You never know a person.  You only know what they let you see."  Of course he was right.  I do not see John Doe any more, but I do see my friend.  Some people become our friends for life, it seems and some are just ships passing in the night.  That makes me sad.

Mother was wise in the ways of the world.  I miss her more than words can convey.  If I was sad, she would tell me "Tomorrow is another day."  It seems my poor little tender heart has been broken so many times that it would  never heal, but losing her was like losing a part of myself.  I have her picture on the top of my desk.  It is a black and white picture.  I have an 8 x 10 that is the last thing I see when I leave the house. It is a colored photograph and I see her gray eyes.  Her and I had the same color eyes.  I assume my father had eyes, but I forget what color they were.  It has been over 50 years since I saw his eyes.

Mother always told me "If you can reach the end of your life and you have 5 true friends that you can count on one hand, you are blessed."  And for many years I did.  But now I am beginning to wonder.  Some of them have gone to a better place (which means they died), some have moved away.  Some have remarried and built new lives.  And some of them just found other interests.  Sad. My 2 best friends are men.  One has been in my life since I came to Colorado in 1973 (?).  The other I met when I married Kenny.  I do not see them often, but we keep in touch.  I guess maybe I do have 5 friends left.  I am hoping they outlive me!

So where was I?  I guess I am just facing my mortality and learning to accept all the death and sorrow that life has to  offer.  The old body may very well be wearing out, but my mind is still sharp and I can still feed myself, so I guess life is good.  One thing is for sure....

It is what it is. 

The demise of the last Apricot Tree.

Many years ago, probably back in about 1994, Kenny and I had a trucking business.  At that time he was working for Clarence Garcia in a small town named Paonia.  To get to Paonia one needs to drive through the Black Canyon, which is near Gunnison.  It was not any place I would want to drive through in the winter, that is for sure.  The job was hauling gravel up to the BLM just out of Paonia.  We owned a park model camper which Kenny stayed in during the week while he worked.  I went a couple days every week because he got lonely.

The town of Paonia is a hippie heaven and there were quilt shops and lots of things for me to entertain myself with while he worked.  He did tell me that cattle roamed free on the BLM and that there were lots of fruit trees that were loaded and fruit was free for the taking.  Choke Cherry.  Peaches. Apricot.  I had no idea what a Choke Cherry was at the time and I did not like Apricots, so that was not a big draw for me.  However, he did like Apricots and proceeded to bring me home a big bag of them and requested that I make Apricot jam.  So when I came home that weekend, I gathered jars, sugar and all the fixings and make him Apricot jam.  The pits I tossed in the dirt over the septic tank.

Imagine my surprise when two weeks later, a million Apricot pits turned into tiny little trees.  Since winter was coming, I heeled them in and covered them with straw.  They survived the cold winter in fine shape and the next Spring I gave everyone I knew all the Apricots they could plant.  I planted 6 for myself which was exactly 6 more than I needed.  Over the years 5 of them died and the one behind the house survived and flourished.  It stood over the house as a memorial to our days in Paonia.   I had to keep the branches cut because it would damage the roof.   And then it got bores. It was time.

I called several tree service places, but no one returned my call.  Then my friend, Kay told me about her tree man.  Aaron Leal.  She would have him call me.  And he did.  And 3 days later this was the scene in my back yard.  2 guys.  One chain saw and no ladder.  Craig and Tony made short work of that big Apricot tree

And then they were done.  

And it was all thanks to this little card!

It was kind of sad to see the tree go and memories of how I got the seeds in the first place, kind of put a damper on my day, but that is what life is all about, isn't it?  I kept a tiny seed that made a big tree that shaded the back of my house from the hot evening sun.  Kenny is gone.  The tree is gone.  I am still here.  I guess there is something to be said for the circle of life.  It does go on, you know.  Whether I like it or not, the sun will come up tomorrow.  The tree will still be gone.  The birds will find somewhere else to nest, and I still do not like Apricots.

Dennis

I remember my very first up close and personal death.  It was not a human, but it was nonetheless very traumatic.  I do not remember how old I was, but I am thinking maybe in the 4th or 5th grade.  We had a milk cow, because back in those days, if you had kids they needed milk and that was how you got it.  I am thinking this milk cow was white with black spots and unless you were there and remember it differently, we will go with that.  At that tender age, I had no idea about how the birthing process worked.  I had watched a chicken lay an egg once, so I knew where eggs came from, but beyond that was a mystery.

I do not remember the cow's name, but I am assuming it was "Bossy" since that was what most of the cows were named.  I came home from school one day and dad and Rudolph Reinke were standing over Bossy.  I was mortified because Bossy should be upright, because that was what cows did.  They stood upright.  A tiny black calf was laying on the ground not far from Bossy.  No one seemed to notice it.  I finally got the 2 men's attention and they moved the little calf into an empty granary.  It bleated at me and I fell in love with the big black eyes.  I was told not to touch it, but I could watch it.

Returning to the yard I overheard conversation between the 2 men that entailed "milk fever", "going to die", "nothing can be done".  While I did not want to hear or watch what was happening, I was far too curious to just walk away.  And finally, Rudolph came up with something that might work.

"I recall this one time and the only thing to do is split her tail, fill it with black pepper and tape it shut."  My God!  Even at my tender age that sounded horrifying, but these were 2 grown men and surely they knew what they were doing.  No one paid any attention to me as I crouched in the dirt several yards away.

They began the chore of splitting her tail as she wailed and bellowed.  Pepper was dumped into the opening and then the tail was taped and the old milk cow lay there with her eyes rolling.  Very soon she was dead.  I had no idea what to do.  No one seemed to know or care that I was prostate with grief.  I needed my mother, but she was in town cleaning someone's house.  So I went to the only warm body I could find and that was the little black calf in the granary.  I told him his mother was dead, but he did not seem to understand.  I made up my mind in that moment that I would be his mother.

When mother got home she found me there with the little calf and tried to tell me about life and what happens after life.  I named the little calf Dennis and he lived almost a whole day before he died and mother then had to explain to me that Dennis was in heaven with his mother.  I do not know what happened to the bodies of Dennis or his mother.  Back in those days there was a business called "the dead animal wagon, " which I assume came and picked them up and took them God only knows where.

It has been over 65 years and I still think about that little calf.  Not so much his mother, but him with his shiny black coat and the darkest brown eyes.  I guess we are pretty much shaped by our younger days, because I still love little calves.  In the field up the road from my house is a pasture.  There cows are brought to spend a few months and give birth to their calves.  The cows are black and the babies are black.  When the calves are born it is a sight to behold, but they only stay with their mother's for a week or less and then they are loaded into a truck and they go away.  I can hear the mother's calling for the babies and it breaks my heart.  I understand that the calves are taken to a place where they are fed milk and fattened up with no exercise.  That is where "milk fed veal" comes from, which is a delicacy in fancy restaurants.

Man's inhumanity  never ceases to amaze me.  The circle of life never ceases to amaze me.  I accept it, but it does not mean I like it.

Today is the first day....

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.  And so it begins.  The Mother's Day High Tea is over and the Yappy Dog Run passed my driveway as I left for church yesterday.  The cups are wrapped and stored in the basement of the church.  This morning I will wrap the tea pots and put them away.  It was a very successful event and I look forward to next year.  The tea is the one time of the year that I get to see a lot of my friends.  This year I had 2 daughters, 2 son-in-laws, 2 granddaughters, 3 great grand sons, my niece Lisa Shea Porter with her husband and daughter and a partridge in a Pear Tree.  The kids got acquainted and a good time was had by all.  But now it is Monday and life moves forward.

When I think about this being the first day of the rest of my life, it seems a  little daunting, but I am pretty sure I can handle it.  All I can say is I had a bumper sticker once that summed it all up for me. It said "If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself."  When I was a teenager, I knew I would not live to see 30.  When 30 rolled around and I had 5 kids I was pretty sure 40 was my limit.  40 came and I fell in love and decided I would probably live forever.  Now that I am beginning to fossilize,  I am wondering if age is not just a number?  I have lost a lot of friends and most of my close family.  I am sure there are no uncles or aunts left out there.  The most I could hope for would be a cousin, but I am thinking that is a futile thought.  I have lived in Colorado over half of my life and lost touch of what ever family I had back there.  Do not think I am complaining, because I am not.  I never kept track of them, and by the same token, they never kept track of me.  So there you go!

Now, to the rest of my life.  Many of my friends want to know what I am going to do.  So, let me just weigh out my options.  My 2400 square foot house on one acre of land is pretty much free and clear.  If I sell it, I have to move.  Now where would I move, you ask.  Since I have spent over half my life in Pueblo, Colorado, leaving does not make much sense.  Living in this big house all alone does not make sense either.  I have a cat and 8 geese.  The geese have never lived any where except here, so if I sold the house, the geese would have to stay with the property.  Icarus could move with me, but she has never been a litter box user, preferring rather to use the doggie door and go outside. If I moved into town she would no doubt be ran over the first time the door was opened.

Or, I could get a room mate.  Now, I am sorry, but I can not think of a single soul in my repertoire of friends that I would want to live with and share space with.  I do not want to live with a female who would hog the bathroom and leave things laying here and there.  She would no doubt want to be friends and share secrets, but I am not a secret sharing person.  I thought about maybe a little gay guy, but what if he wanted to throw a party?  I do not want parties and loud music.  I think I am best if I just live alone.  My ideal scenario is just to wake up dead some morning, or better yet, doze off while Jeopardy! is on and just not wake up.  That way, the mortician could just pick me up, the auction house could just sell all my treasures and then...….who knows.

I do not look on death as a bad thing.  Number one, it is inevitable and we are all going to do it sooner or later.  So, rest assured that when that day comes there is going to be one happy woman here!  Before you get excited thinking maybe I have a premonition, think again.  No visions.  No premonitions.  Just the ramblings of an old woman who has been there, done that, and moved on.

Have a good day and remember,

You can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself! 

This one came out of left field!

I spent today making Cream of Carrot Soup for the High Tea.  I also whipped up a big jug of Lemon Curd for the scones.  Well, for the Cheese Scones.  I am making Clotted Cream for the Apple ones.  Since I was cooking all day, it came as a complete surprise to me when I set down to watch the news and wound up thinking about Nickerson, Kansas and remembering my father telling my mother about a cross burning incident that had happened the night before.  I am pretty sure he had not been involved in the burning, but he sure seemed to know all about it and the names of the men who were involved.

 Now you must understand that this conversation was not held at the dining room table, but rather in whispered tones on the front porch.  Our bedroom window was on the front of the house so since I was awake it was hard not to hear.  And the fact that it is now 70 years later kind of dims the memory.  All the people who were alive at that time are long since gone on to their reward, whatever it might be.  To the best of my knowledge, I never knew anyone who lived in Nickerson, Kansas at the time I was there to be anything but white.  Oh, wait.  There was one family who lived in the boxcar down by the tracks that was maybe another race.  I never was sure what race they were.  Seems like they might have been Indian, but I wasn't sure of  what  race that was.

Our family was mostly German due to the Haas family on my mothers side.  Dad was mostly Irish or English or something like that.  I think maybe Great Britain came in to play some where in his genes.  Now if you think for one minute that I know where I am headed with this you are sadly mistaken.  Last thing I remember was I was working on some lemon bars and the next thing I remember is I was up here clicking away at the keys.  I think it all has something to do with the latest school shooting.  How sad that is that kids have to go through training to learn what to do if their school is attacked by a gunman.  Seems in the back of my mind I hear a song playing about the days of sand and shovels.  A day of innocence.  I wonder what our world has come to that this is normal and is accepted as normal.  And then I think to that conversation on the front porch and it makes me sad, that I can remember burning crosses from my childhood much as the kids today will remember the boy with purple and pink hair that shot children in a school.  What is our world coming to that violence is a way of life and that it is accepted as normal?

Even sadder, the boys doing the shooting are someone's son.  Some mother held the new baby in her arms and never dreamed that someday he would grow up to kill anyone.  Probably the worst she could imagine was that he/she would need braces.  Or maybe they would steal a candy bar just for kicks.  The world has changed.  Back when I was a kid, we saluted the flag.  We said "one nation under God." I think we even had a little prayer before school.  I vaguely remember one of my school mates being killed in a car wreck.  I do not remember his name, only that he had gone with his older brother to a National Guard meeting.  That was about the saddest thing that happened in our school.  Mostly life was mundane.  Mother went to work.  Dad went to the pool hall.  Josephine eloped and Jake joined the Army.  And the gypsys were camped outside of town, just waiting to steal a kid, but the never did.

Luther

Some one asked me what my husband called me.  Louella, Lou......Well, it was Luther.  From the first date until the day he lost the ability to speak, I was Luther.  Funny how that worked and thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes, because I know the no one will ever call me that again.  He never called me honey, or sweetie and sure as hell never darling.  Luther.  Now I am Lou.  Just plain Lou.  Few people even know my full name even more do not even care.

My first husband called me Peanut, or Bitch, depending on his mood.  I became Lou when I entered the work force at the Red Carpet Restaurant.  Bob Bailey deemed that I should be Lou Seeger.  And from that day forward I was Lou.  The last name changed with amazing regularity , but I remained Lou.

Funny how we pick up our little nicknames isn't it?  When I was in third grade my nickname was Mudpie.  That only lasted through my friendship with Barbara Hawk.  After her brother got into the upper grades that name faded.

All these years later it kind of makes me kind of sad to know that my nickname days are over; to know that I will never be somebody's darling, or sweetie, or Luther.  But that is why we call it "life" isn't it?

Mother's Day approaches and the oven is hot!

Ah, this is the sixth annual Mother's Day Tea that I have hosted.  Every year I swear this is the last one and every year it gets bigger.  These are the tea cups from 2015.  You may not believe this, but they are hand washed and dried and not a single one has been broken!  The first thing you do when you come in (Well, after you pay, of course or check in at the door.) is to choose your cup and take it to wherever you choose to set.  I will be busy in the kitchen.  You will receive a teapot full of tea and that will be kept full.  Then you will find clotted cream and lemon curd delivered to go along with your first course of cheese scones and apple scones.  It is downhill from there!

Your next course will be Cream of Carrot Soup and Vegetable Quiche!  Then move right along to Cucumber sandwiches with the crust trimmed off.  Smoked Salmon Rounds,  Chicken Salad Pofiterols, Ham Salad on crackers.  More tea.

Here are a few of former guests, two of which are no longer with us.  They will be missed.

Then we come to dessert.  Not sure what we are having just yet, but pretty sure Lemon Bars will show up along with Chocolate Beet cupcakes, fruit and lots of other little morsels to pop into your mouth.  And more tea.

If you are missing my tea this year, there will be another on the day before Mothers Day next year.  You might want to get your reservation in early because, trust me, it fills up fast.  I think I have 2 spots left this year.  Course if you are not there we will miss you!

Mr. Jerome Drupiewski will be playing the violin to set the mood.  I think Marilyn,  another violinist, will accompany him this year!

Wish you were here!

I have a license if I passed the test!

So, just like I told you I would do, I applied for my license to make food at home and sell to the public.  Deric Stowell and I went to class yesterday.  Now you know Deric!  He is all over the natural gardening and he is an actual Master Gardener.  Has all his little certificates and runs the seed bank at the library.  He is active in politics and is an all around citizen of the year!

So last Christmas when it was time for me to cater the holiday dinner that I cater every year, I enlisted Deric to help me make tamales.  Oh, and Michael McGuire also.  Trust me, I work better alone, but sometimes I have helpers just so I do not have to talk to myself.  Last year it was Deric and Michael.  So we got to talking about making and selling tamales as a means of trying to make ends meet in this dog eat dog world.  We see ads in the paper all the time for "Homemade tamales! $25 a dozen!"  Now that looked like some easy money.  In the course of 4 hours, 3 of which was cooking time, we had made 5 dozen tamales.  Probably spent $25 on product so this seemed like the way to go.  $125.00 tax free dollars!

Now Deric also spends a lot of time at the County Extension Office, so when the opportunity to attend and receive a license came up, we were all over that!  So yesterday we met at the Black Swan, the Chinese restaurant that is on 7th.  I had egg fu young or however you spell that.  He had fried rice.  In my anal retentive state we were very early and so had lots of time to kill.  Then off to the meeting with 19 of my closest friends. The lady who gave the class was very nice and very knowledgeable.  Three hours later we were done.

No, I can not sell tamales or anything with meat in it..
No, I can not make salsa and can it.
No, I can not make Jalapeno~ jelly with real Jalapeno~.
I can make and sell homemade egg noodles, but they must be dried in a dehydrator.
There are stringent rules on the gluten free stuff.
And there are 3 different disclaimers that need to be put on everything I make and sell.
And I must wash my hands every 3.5 minutes and dry them on a clean paper towel.
And the cat can not walk across the counter while I am mixing and packaging.
Oh, and it would be wise to carry an insurance policy just in case someone chokes on a ring I dropped in the batter.

But it was fun and I learned how to wash my hands properly.  Well, sort of.  Deric made me walk all the way down the stairs when we left.  Little shit head!  So, now it is back to the real world.  I got one goose egg yesterday and I brought it in the house and washed it very good and put it in a special place.  So with pleasant memories of yesterday, I went in the kitchen and looked at the gluten free starches, flours, and additives.  I am going to need to get a big plastic tub and scrub it out good, dry it until it is bone dry, find a lid that fits.  That will free up the one cupboard I had kept the stuff in which is right next to the wheat flour with the dreaded Gluten in it!  (Sigh!)

Perhaps it would be best if I just mowed the grass and finished dragging that Apricot limb to the tin shed.  I am going to get my little hatchet and chop chips out for my smoker.  Bret made it look so easy when he started dragging that limb that I told him I would move it later.  I think he may have nailed it to the ground because the damn thing is stuck right there by the clothes line!  Anyway, it is Saturday and I need to go to Lowe's and get covers for my basement windows.  Or not.

Just got off the phone with a friend and she said something to the effect of "If God had meant for today to be perfect, he would not have invented tomorrow."  Made sense to me.  Think I will just go with  that

I had a second thought....

Have you ever had a thought and decided that it was sheer brilliance?  And then you actually thought that one through to an illogical conclusion?  Then you had a second thought that beat hell out of that first thought!  Well, I am here to tell you that my world is full of those thoughts.  Most of my day is spent thinking second thoughts until nightfall comes and I wonder just what in the hell I was thinking.  Maybe it is best that I not think at all!  Like now.

I spent yesterday with Michael Wenzel, a realtor with Keller Williams Realty.  He is a delightful man and honest to the core.  I am not real sure I am quite ready to sell, but when I do, he is my man!  He told me apartments are few and far between, nursing homes are full and houses are selling about as fast as they are put on the market.  This tells me, I might want to hold on to what I have until I fall and break the proverbial hip!  I have to live somewhere and this one is paid for so that holds a certain charm.

Now Michael is a very well spoken man and anyone who knows me, knows that I have the first thing I ever touched in life and when I spend 30 years collecting, something is going to get full!  When he talked about showing the house, he said "You might want to open it up a bit.  That makes it look bigger. " He could have said , "You need to get a dumpster in here!"  I will consult with my kids over the next couple weeks and come to some sort of conclusion about where I will go if I sell this place.  There is a lot to be said for just "sheltering in place"  like they say when a storm is coming.

But, back to the title of this post.  I shudder to think how many times I have had an absolutely brilliant idea and then thought it through to the conclusion that I should probably be locked up for my own safety!  I can think of several husbands that were fleeting instances of my lapses in good judgment!  Coulda', woulda', shoulda', are words that do not appear in a dictionary, but probably oughta'.

I planted an Apricot tree out behind the house 25 years ago.  Monday I started removing limbs with my bow saw.  I am going to need to call a tree man.  Another instance of not thinking things through to a logical conclusion.  That little Mulberry tree that came up in the middle of the old fashioned rose bush is another instance.  I could have taken a pair of nippers to it, but now it is chain saw material.  Those sprayers that come on automatically in the garden are going to need removed because I was burning weeds and got to close to one.  Oh, yeah, and that blackberry bush with the 11 inch razor pointed thorns is going to need removed also.

 My mother once told me "You are your own worst enemy!" I did not understand what she meant all those years ago, but I am beginning to see a pattern developing here!  I am thinking that someone ought to just come and throw a net over me and drag me off to the loony bin, wherever that might be.  I assume someone would feed me and give me a place to sleep at night!  And there is that word "assume".  Kenneth explained that one to me once.  "Assume" makes an "ass" out of "u" and "me".

And there you go.  More ramblings of a mad woman!  Have a good day!

We all have our baggage.

And my Father was no different.  When he married my mother he already had a shattered family behind him.  He had been married and had 5 kids.  One son and one daughter had died at a very young age.  His wife was deceased and he had been left with 3 sons.  The boys had all ended up in an orphanage.  Earl had been adopted as had Richard.  Sadly, Gene had not found a forever family.  Earl seemed to be the most normal as he married and sired 2 boys and 1 girl.  We were in contact with them although it never was a close relationship.  Richard had a lot of mental health issues stemming from his years in the Army.  Ah, but dear Gene was a study unto itself!

I did not see Richard or Earl until my teenage years, but Gene turned up early.  We were living on the Stroh place.  I must have been 5 or 6 years old, possibly 7.  I recall him turning up in the middle of the night, or so it seemed.  He came with somebody named Banks and that is about all I recall about that meeting.  When you are little you pick up scraps of conversation and piece together your own reality.  That is what I have done with Gene Bartholomew.  Over the years I learned that he had a wife and son back east some where.  Seems brother Gene had a bad habit and that was writing checks on someone else's bank account.  The state also had a bad habit of arresting him and putting him in prison.

In a box in my closet are letters from Gene that he had written to our father.  Parts of those letters are seared in my mind.  I do not read them anymore.  "Dear Daddy, When are you going to come and get me?  We are going to get a new pair of overalls in a couple weeks.  I miss you, daddy"

Some time in my grade school years I recall carrying on a correspondence with him while he was in Lansing Prison.  I recall that he was an artist at calligraphy.  Mother always said that was his downfall because he was in prison for forgery.  He did have beautiful handwriting.  I do not know what we wrote about, only that we did.  I do recall once when he was released he came by the house and somebody with a car drove him out to the Arkansas River and dropped him off so he could "be alone to clear his mind."  The next day she picked him up at the specified time and he once more disappeared.

He turned up again when I was in high school.  This time he stayed with my sister and her husband, but that only lasted a few weeks and then he was gone again.  The last anyone heard of him, to my knowledge was that he had been arrested in Nebraska and rather then prosecute him for whatever he had done, they took him to the county line and dropped him off.  He was never seen nor heard of again.

I have often thought of his son.  He would have to be about my age.  His name was William (Billy) Bartholomew.  Of course I am too late, I am sure.  But wouldn't that be nice if he had heirs and one of them read this?  I am not holding out any hope at all.  Just a silly old woman waking up in the middle of the night with something on her mind.

The nastiest duck in the yard.

As you will recall I, at one time, had a  flock of 37 ducks and 15 geese here on South Road.  I can only thank God Kenny did not live to see that fiasco.  In that flock there were 4 Muscovy ducks.  All the others were just plain ducks.  By that I mean they were plain little Polander which is a domesticated Mallard that can not fly, or a mix of breeds that were like the United Nations of Duckdom.  I did have one that walked upright.  That one was white.  There was also one that was a cross which walked about half upright.  When Mr. Fox finished visiting, I had 2 ducks left, a Polander and the white upright.  A friend took them to the pond in Pueblo West and to the best of my knowledge they are still living happily ever after.  Below is a picture of the flock about half way through the fox episode.

The point of this entry is to discuss the nastiness of the 4 Muscovy ducks.  To the best of my knowledge, the Muscovy is the  only ones that can fly, and fly they did very well.  Let me go back a little further to the house on Strong Street in Nickerson, Kansas.  You recall it was built in the shotgun design which meant you entered the front and if an intruder was in the back you could  fire a shell in your 10 gauge and the shot would travel through the house and hit the bad man without touching anything else.  On the back wall was the sink and pump with a drain pipe from the sink that went through a hole in the back wall and water from the dish washing process or whatever else could be disposed of that way without having to carry a bucket outside.  It sure made life easier for us lazy little kids.

So now you are probably wondering where the water went after it got outside, aren't you?  Well, the end of the pipe was about 15 feet from the house and that is where the water went.  Also in the back yard was where the ducks lived.  I do not remember how many we had, but I do know they were nasty.  They took their little beaks and dug into the standing water looking for God only knows what to eat.  Of course anything that went in that beak was going to come out the other end.  Needless to say we were not allowed to play in that standing water.  Pretty sure that was one rule that we did abide by!

Now, I have got to explain how a Muscovy duck is different than other ducks.  Domesticated ducks do not fly.  The Muscovy is a whole different story.  The neck on the males is very thick.  The males are also very aggressive.  They did not quack, but rather whispered.  And they flew.  The would leave the pond and fly into my small back yard and roost on my air conditioner.  Now I did not like that.  When I tried to shoo them out back the males would ruffle their feathers and scare hell out of me.  The females were very docile and about half the size of the drakes.  One morning I went to the fowl house and found a dead goose.  It's neck had been broken.  Since the fowl house was attached to a wire enclosure whatever killed the goose had to be inside that place.  I watch my geese fight all through breeding season and never have I seen that kind of violence.  It had to be one of the Muscovy drakes.  So I called the guy over on County Farm Road and he came and was in agreement with my findings.  He then loaded all 4 Muscovy's into his truck and off the to the sale they went.  I never tried Muscovy's again.

Above is what I have left of my flock.  Actually I have all 4 of the African Grays, which are the dark ones. One of them is a hen.   I lost 2 of the white ones, leaving me with 2 male Emidens and 1 male and 1 female Chinese.  The two hens lay in the Spring and I practice birth control via noodle making.  Snakes are rampant in the goose house since they like eggs so as long as I keep the eggs picked up, the snakes are forced to find me some other way.  I am going to get someone out here to go in the neighbors yard and move that pile of tires because I think the snakes live in there. 

Or under my deck!

Well, that is it for today.  Spring is here.  The ducks are all gone and the weeds are coming up in the fence line so I better get on the stick.

Time and tide wait for no man...or woman!

I wish I was smart enough to read it myself.

The television is full of the Mueller report that has just been released!  I have 4 people on channel 11 explaining to me what the report says.  See, I am not smart enough to read something and know what it says, so they have to tell me.  Hmm.  Seems my late husband had a saying that fits the cause here.  "Opinions are just like assholes!  Every body has one and most of them stink."  Just saying that this is the time of morning when Millionaire comes on for my perusal enjoyment.  I love that game along with Jeopardy and any other trivia game that comes on my television set.

I do not know if the American people have yet figured out that when my game shows are interrupted for a basketball game, a special bulletin from Washington, it thrills me almost as much as when the "breaking weather"  preempts what I am watching so I can stare for 3 hours at the weather map and watch a tiny cloud on the horizon that might or might not come to fruition as a snowflake on the road between Colorado Springs and Denver.  The broadcaster must warn motorists of the hazards if this actually happens.  Not once, not twice, but over and over and over again.  These people out there driving are not smart enough to check the weather before they leave one job to go to another.  Now how many of these motorists have an actual television set in the car and are actually watching that little cloud is beyond my comprehension.  While I am comfy in my chair waiting for a Jeopardy! rerun that is not going to happen the world in the television weather room is a bustle of a man in a suit or a lady in a little blue dress walking back and forth across in front of the camera smiling.

Now I have got to go on record here as saying, my life is pretty much boring or this would not bother me.  I have lived many years on this earth and seen about all there is to see.  I can actually remember back  when Winter weather was predicted by the length of the hairs on the caterpillar and rainfall was predicted by how high up the mud dauber built her nest.  Leaves folded inward if the weather was going to be dry.  And President Franklin Roosevelt had little fireside chats with us on the radio so we knew what was going on with our government.  And when the war ended it took him 3 words to tell us, "The War is over."  And we knew the war was over.  Three means of communications were "Telephone, Telegraph and Tell a friend."

Well, the crisis with the Mueller report must be over for the time being because I hear the sounds of "The Price is Right" on the downstairs television.  Brandi from the Travel Agency just called me so I could hang up on her.  Soon someone else will call to send me my new credit card!  And then there is that trip I can go on if I hurry.  But I have other plans for today.

I am going to crawl in my little car here pretty quick and go meet a couple lady friends at the Red Lobster.  Yummers!  Then I am going to come home and see if I can possibly load a couple television sets in the back of my car and take them to the recycle place and pay them $60 to take them.  Maybe I will get something done down stairs in that one bedroom since I have someone coming to stay with me for a while in May.  Or maybe not.

The nice part of being an old woman living alone is I do not actually have to do anything at all.  Oh, watch Jeopardy! at 3:00 and again at 6:30.  And then there is my 8:00 bedtime.  Seems I am sleeping a lot more lately, but that is alright, because I have very nice dreams!

Oh, the things in my mind.

Click here to listen  I woke up this morning with this song on my mind.  Then I went to facebook and some one had posted the same link.  Small world.  However the context the person had posted the link was far different than the link in my mind.

Like most, actually all, people, I had a father.  I knew him.  Or I thought I did.  A very wise woman once told me, "You never really know anyone, you only know of them.  You know what they let you see."  And so it was with my father.  He was a lot older than my mother, but the wedding picture shows a very happy woman.  My mother was very well liked in high school and married soon after she graduated.  Sadly that marriage did not end well and soon she returned to her roots and married my father.  He was a widower (? but some secrets are best left untold).  He had 3 sons that were past their teens.  They had been put into an orphanage when Dad's first wife died.  2 were adopted, one was not.

Jake was the first born to this union followed by me, Donna, Mary and Dorothy.  We were all as different as night and day.  Jake was the only son and he was a screw up according to my father.  Of course I was perfect, but he never did particularly like me much.  He was of the old school that kids were to be raised and leave home.  Now just look at me!  Wasn't I the cutest thing you ever seen?

Donna was smack in the middle so she had middle child syndrome.  Dorothy was the baby, so she carried those tendencies throughout her life.  Ah, but Mary.  Mary was cute and delicate and everyone loved Mary. Now you must understand that this is being written by me and is my feelings.  I am sure if the other sisters were alive they would dispute my findings, but you must realize that we are all a product of our raising and I never at any time ever in my life ever thought my father cared about me in any way shape or form.  It was as if I existed in a vacuum.  If he was there he ignored me.  He refused to attend my first marriage.  I simply did not exist.

Ah, but he had a weakness.  He liked babies. Shortly after the birth of my first daughter he paid my older sister to sew her a pretty red dress and he bought shoes and a hat to match.  Some where I have that picture of him holding Debra when she was about a year old and wearing that outfit.  That is the only one of my children he ever touched.  I don't recall him ever touching me in anger or love.  I never actually had a conversation with the man.  If I fell and skinned my knee that was my problem. 

And then he died.  By this time I had the 3 girls.  I left them with my sister in law and came home for the funeral.  I remember how very sad that was.  I stood at his open coffin and cried my heart out for a man I never knew.  I do not think a child ever understands their parents and I envy the children who played catch with their fathers.  Or took walks.  Or went fishing.  That is why I always tried to keep my kids and their father in close contact.  He and I had a strained relationship, but he and the kids found a way to make it sort of work.  We sort of shared custody, but that is water under the bridge.

I do remember far in the back of my mind, that dad was a share cropper with a man named John Britan.  John had acreage across the river and sometimes (and I will never know why) I would go with dad to the acreage and John Britan would make me hot chocolate using cocoa, sugar, hot water, and Pet milk.  It was the best stuff in the world!  I have tried to make it but it is never the same.  I also remember that there was a little creek that run through the farm and sometimes it had water in it.  Jake made me a little boat out of a flat piece of wood.  He put a stick through a hole and tied a string to it so it would not get away.

So, as sad as my childhood was, I do have some good memories.  I just forget them sometimes. 

Bowls are good for lots of things!

Went to Western Kansas last week to see part of the tribe.  You should know that my middle daughter, Dona M Seeger owns a beauty shop in Lakin,  Kansas.  The first order upon my arrival was to take a nap in the back room since she was busy with customers.  Bill, my son in law from my daughter Patty, came and woke me up.  He has been having some health problems so I was glad to see him up and about.  As soon as Dona finished her last customer we went to Mi Ranchita to eat.  There I seen more grand daughters, grandson, great granddaughters and more great grandsons.  It appears I have been very prolific because this little gathering produced 12 or 13 paying customers and only 2 of my daughters were accounted for in this gathering.

After supper we headed out to Dona's house and bed.  Now, I forgot that I wanted my haircut while we were in her shop and I did not think about it again till the next day.  I was one tired puppy.  I did not think about it the next day, but rather Sunday morning when it was almost time to leave.  Now I do not know if I discussed the bowl business with Dona or not.  Sometimes I have conversations with myself in my head and the bowl business may have happened that way.  What I wanted to tell her and did not, was that I was proud of her and the way she has made a successful business to take care of herself and her sons.  The bowl business aside.

Back before I was even in school mother was a lady of leisure.  Dad did something to make a living , but I do not know what it was.  I know he drank and I think he may have been involved in something not quite legal because we always had money when we lived on the Stroh place and he went to the sale and brought home a Shetland pony and that was the meanest damned horse on earth.  That is the one that kicked my brother in the face and left him with a very ugly scar that he carried all his life.  Jake may or may not have goosed the horse which is what one of his friends said happened.  I just don't know.

The important part of the story is that mother always went "to club" and we had to be clean when she took us.  Did I tell you how she used to put me under her arm and pump cold water over my head when she washed my hair.  Jesus!  That water was cold!  I still cringe when I think of that.  But anyway, back to club.

I do not know what went on at club because us kids had to go into the other room and somebody watched us.  The ladies of the club were very helpful to each other.  All of them were dressed very nice and wore little hats because that was what they did back then.  They shared recipes and gave each other tips on how to raise kids.  One of the ladies was a hair cutter.  That meant she came to the other ladies houses and cut the kids hair.  That was always a day to be excited about.
 
"Mrs. Soandso will be by on Friday to cut the kids hair."

 Now my mother had a special bowl which was for Mrs. Soandso to use as a pattern for the hair cutting job.  First we had to get out the haircutting stool which raised us to the proper height so Mrs. Soandso did not have to bend over.  She had sharp scissors that were used only for haircutting.  The haircutting usually went very smoothly and very quickly.  Course if the recipient moved at all, the bowl would slide a bit and one side might be longer then the other.  At times like that I was a stone statue because I sure did not want my hair to be uneven.  And when she was all done we would line up for inspection. Mother would gush about how beautiful we were and then insist that she take a quarter for herself.

Have you ever looked at the old school pictures?  You can spot the kids whose mothers went to club.  All of our hair ended right below our ears and sometimes our bangs were only about an inch long .  because Mrs. Soandso was tired. Of course we always had to have a "fresh haircut" for pictures.  I often wondered back in those days, if there really was a god!

For some reason, when we left the Stroh place and moved everything we owned on a hay rack to the Ailmore place, mother quit going to club.  Dad quit going to where ever he used to go.  Mother started cleaning houses for the rich ladies in town and life changed without me even knowing it.  I wish I had remembered what changed, but I didn't.  Sometimes way in the back of my memory, I almost remember something, but not quite.  Some where is the memory of a big house with an elevator across the river, and I seem to remember going there once with my dad.  But it was never talked about and Dad never went there after we left the Stroh place.

Isn't life funny that way?