Today is Tuesday, February 18.

It is the day before my oldest daughters birthday.  She will be 58 years old tomorrow and like me, does not care who knows her age because it is just a number.  I was 20 years old when she was born.  Her dad was not at the hospital, because back in those days most men left such jobs to their wives.  He did check in later to see if it was a boy or a girl.  Of course the fact that she was a girl was a big disappointment to him because he wanted a son.  Sadly he would be disappointed 2 more times before I was "woman enough to have a son."  He got drunk to cover his disappointment, but he did let me name them.  Debra Louann, Patricia Lynn, Dona Marie.  No particular thought to their names, just a name that popped into my head.

Back to Debbie.  When I brought her home, I had no idea what I would do with her.  I did have a bassinette for her to sleep in, a pile of cloth diapers, a diaper pail to wash the diapers in when she pooped.  I had bottles and a can of formula.  Also several baby t-shirt, pajamas, and several blankets.  I had a supply of glass baby bottles with rings and caps.  The bottles had to be washed and then sterilized in a special pan along with the wrings and caps.  As I recall, they were filled with formula and then once more run through the cycle to sterilize the formula inside.  She had to be washed with a special soap and God only knows what else.  Being a mother back then was a full time job.  Even the diapers had to be washed separately with special soap.  There was no time to enjoy being a mother, because if a germ touched her she would be dead and it would be my fault!

Of course her father never touched her and he sure as hell never changed a diaper, nor did he watch while I did that because it made him sick.  The door was for walking away and he did that quite often.  But, as I look back, I was the lucky one.  He never felt her soft warm breathe on his cheek.  He never felt her tiny fingers curl around his thumb.  He never experienced her first smile while looking into her eyes.  And her first word was "Momma".  She was a little white haired angel that would grow to be the "leader" as oldest kids often do.  Patricia Lynn was born 19 months later, but more about that when her birthday comes. (I plan on doing a blog for each one.) ((The best laid plans of mice and men oft times go awry.))

Today Debbie lives in Eastern Kansas on a 40 acre farm with her husband, Hammer.  "Hammer" is not  his legal name, but it is what I call him.  Few people call him Carl.  She and Hammer are raising 3 grandchildren.  These kids were born to her son who for whatever reason, does not take care of them, but that is a whole 'nuther story.

I have always thought, looking back, that I did not do a very good job of raising my kids.  We all know that life is 20/20 looking back.  I can now see very clearly what I should have done, but I can not get the toothpaste back in that tube.  Today Debbie put it in language I can understand.   This may not be word for word, but along these lines.

We had been rehashing the unfairness of wages for women working back when we were working.  The men we worked beside made twice as much as we did and while I was raising 5 kids that never came into play.  I worked beside men that made twice what I made because "they have families to take care of".  When I noted that I had a family to take care of also, I was told that I should get married.  That was at the Holiday Inn.  She had worked for her father and was paid half of what the men were paid.  It was just how it was back then.

Debbie has always held the belief that "What does not kill you will make you strong."  Today she told me that I did a good job raising her and that her grit and determination were instilled in her by me.  Not her father, but me.  I taught by example.  I am very proud of her for many reasons.  She champions the underdog.  She feeds the stray cats.  She instills responsibility in her grandkids.  She holds them to a higher standard, because that is who she is.

So, Debbie, Happy Birthday tomorrow.  Keep up the good work.  Always remember that whatever you do, someone is watching and if no one bothers to tell you that you are a wonderful woman, Mother knows.  I love you.

Spring time back home in Kansas.

I wonder if I will ever be old enough that I do not miss Springtime in Kansas.  Oh, I love Spring here where I am at in eastern Colorado, but it is not the same.  When I had Bret back when he was smaller I used to plan trips back home over Spring Break.  Sadly those days are over, but not my missing the Lilacs, Spirea, Iris, and the cool spring rains that brought all that to fruition.  I would leave here as soon as school let out on Friday.  Saturday morning would find us headed East.  A short stop in Lakin and then on to Donna's house.

My sister, Donna, has a big house with a full basement and two bedrooms along with a bathroom and a shower.  So that was home for the week.  In the front yard is a tree that I forget what it is called, but it would be in full bloom preparatory to throwing down some sort of big seed covered with sharp thorns.  Hutchinson is very temperate most of the time and in the springtime it clothes itself in a floral cloak just for me!  Forsythia, Spirea, Lilac, Iris, Tulip trees, Catalpa, Redbud, Hyacinth, Maple.  Hutchinson is very humid and my skin thrives on it.  At least it does most of the time.

Donna and Karen own Skaets Steak Shop.  Skaets is Steaks spelled backwards and has been in our blood since I started working there when I was 17 years old.  I was the dishwasher at the time and when I moved back after having my kids and divorcing my husband, I waited tables.  Skaets sets right on the main entrance to the fairgrounds, so best not to go in the first week of September.

Needless to say, they have very good food.  This is son Tommy choking down a Moon Burger.  It is one of their specialties.  It is a cheeseburger with bacon.  Bacon makes everything taste better.

But we are not here for the food.  We are here for the scenery, the trip down memory lane, and to just leave Colorado behind for a week.  I usually go check out the 2 fishing holes I used to frequent.  Maybe next time I will climb up the levee and visit the Arkansas River where I used to take the kids wading.  We would stop at B & D Carry out and get a box of burgers which was 8 hamburgers and french fries, all for one dollar.  Probably was not the healthiest meal in town but it fed the 6 of us and we liked it.

I have only a few friends left in Hutchinson.  I do have a nephew and 2 nieces.  Oh, and 2 cousins, Darrell and Steven.  I think that is about it.

All this talk of Kansas is just making me homesick.  Rest assured, Colorado is my home now and I have no intentions of moving back there, but I do have fond memories of Hutchinson and Nickerson.  I married my first, second and third husbands in Hutchinson.  Four, five and six, were all Coloradans.  I owned my home in Hutch, but gave it back to my mother when I left.  It has now been torn down and an apartment complex covers the lot.   I have lived in 3 different houses in Pueblo. I have been in this house 37 years and figure I will just do the toes up thing here.  Maybe.  Lord only knows what I may run in to out there in the real world.  Have to be pretty special to make me look twice and poke out that ring finger, but I digress.

Time to get ready for church.  Sunday is the one day that I make no commitments and I think I will keep it that way.  Just sort of drift with the flow and take a long nap while watching the cooking shows.

Peace!

The black cows are back!

I guess Spring must be around the corner.  On my way into town yesterday I spotted the first calf.  Seems like they are a little late this year, but it is probably just that my memory is rather slipping.  I did see one little calf, but it was still laying in the field.  Soon there will be lots of the little fellows.  I would love to be able to delude myself into believing that maybe this year they will be allowed to stay together, but you and I both know better than that.  The best I can hope for is that some nice man will buy the calves and raise them to adulthood, but that is not happening.  Until some one proves me wrong, I will know that these calves are born for veal.

I gave up eating veal many years ago when I learned how it is made.  They take baby calves and put them in a very small space so they can not move.  Then they are fed nothing but milk.  This makes them very tender and it is the end result that matters, not how happy a baby calf's life is.  

This is from wikipedia, in case you think I am dreaming this up.  

Veal - Wikipedia

Jump to Cruelty to calves - Calves are slaughtered as early as 2-3 days old (at most 1 month old) yield meat carcasses weighing from to 9 to 27kg. Formula-fed ("Milk Fed", "Special Fed" or "white") veal. Calves are raised on a fortified milk formula diet plus solid feed. The majority of veal meat produced in the US are from milk-fed calves.

‎Definitions and types · ‎Culinary uses · ‎Production · ‎Animal welfare

I see stuff like this and I wonder why I am not a vegan.  I never thought about this until I researched veal.  My daughter raises cattle in Eastern Kansas and last year one of her cows gave birth and then died of milk fever leaving the calf to be bottle fed by my daughter until it was big enough to butcher.  I could not, personally eat anything that I had grown to love, but her reasoning is it makes her happy raising the little calf and then makes her happy again when the calf feeds her.  I guess this is why I have 8 geese out back that are so old they can hardly walk and I feed them every day.  I spend $32.00 a month on goose food. That is a total of $384 a year.  8 geese dressed out would produce 24 pounds of meat.  This is equal to $16.00 a pound.  I have had then 14 years so that makes one pound of goose meat cost $224.  

Beats hell out of me how I got on this tangent, but I am now a mathmetician!  I do know I just wanted to share with you about the little calves.  Farming is a hard life and I guess it takes a special breed to raise food to be eaten.  I am not cut from that pattern, so I will go scramble an egg for breakfast.  Years ago I did raise a couple pigs out back and that was some of the best pork I ever bit into.  I was hard hearted back then, I think.  Now I am old and I am a softie!  I do kill centipedes if they dare to come in the house.  I do not eat them.

Have a good day!

I might marry a goose!

Pueblo is fairly moderate so the Canadian Geese do not really migrate.  In the morning they fly east and in the evening they fly west.  Geese are very interesting creatures in that when feeding about one of every five geese is a "guard goose", meaning that while the flock feeds on fallen grain, the guard geese are alert to their surroundings.  If a dog were to come close, they would alert the flock and they would fly away.

Another interesting fact is that if one goose is injured in flight, two geese go down with the injured goose to stay with it until it is either dead or healed enough to fly.  At that point the tree geese will either join another flock or find their own flock.

The flock flies in a "V" formation.  The goose on the point of the "V" tires easily.  When it is tired it drops back to the rear of the formation and the goose behind the falling leader moves forward and takes its place.

These are my geese back in the days when they had babies.  My geese can not fly, but they behave much like the wild geese in the sense that the whole flock raises the babies.  If a cat came around when they were in the yard, the adults would surround the babies and hiss at the intruder.  It was always interesting to watch.  Sadly my geese are very old and while they still lay eggs they are not fertile.  I kind of miss the babies in the spring time.

I would like to go on record as saying my geese were very good parents, but they did let me touch and hold the young geese.  The brown geese in the picture are African Grays.  I am sure they are descended from the Canadian Geese.  Domesticated geese such as the African Grays, Chinese and Emidens can not fly.  It is the same with domesticated ducks.  The only domesticated duck that can fly, to my best knowledge is the Muscovy.  Muscovy Ducks are also warblers which means they talk.  Sounds like a bunch of kids twittering.

Well, it is getting late so I better bid you good night and wander off to bed.  My geese are all shut up in the goose house and safe from scary stuff so we can all sleep tonight knowing that the Canadian Geese out in the field are taking care of each other. 

Wish more people were as considerate of each other as the geese are!

Shades of Jim Jones

The following is my opinion and only my opinion.  I think I still have the right to state my opinion.  Maybe not.

How many years ago was it that Jim Jones and his 909 followers drank the Koolaid in Jonestown, Guyana?  I was still living on McClelland so it must have been in about 1978.  I recall that  when I told my kids about it they thought I had made it all up, just to scare them.  I was trying to instill in them the need to think for themselves and not just be  followers.  As I watched the Senate vote against  the impeachment of the Donald Trump, I could not help but remember Jonestown.  The Senate drank the Koolaid.  I refuse to do that.  Donald Trump is the very epitome of evil.  He is a bully.  He is a selfish narcissist. He set about destroying anything Obama did, simply because he is a racist.

My mother was a Republican.  I think my whole family was.  Kansas is Republican country and I think when I registered it was as a Republican.  After coming to Colorado, I registered Independent.  I am now Democrat.  I loved Obama, but I also loved the older George Bush.  I did not vote for Bill Clinton. but I did vote for Hillary because I felt evil coming from Trump.  I was right.

I do not know how any person in their right mind can condone what is going on at our borders with the children taken away for their parents.  Our school system is in shambles.  Medical costs and insurance continue to skyrocket.  I could go on with all the crap that this administration has caused, but I will just cut to the heart of the matter.

Trump has his whole family working in government.  That is nepotism.  He uses Marlargo  to pad his coffers while still not showing a tax return.  You try that!  While I set here in my house trying to keep warm and still pay the gas bill, he revels in his warmth and is surrounded by body guards that are paid with my money to keep him safe.

Life is not fair.  There are the haves and the have nots and we are the have nots.  I see the smirking face of Mitch McConnell and it makes me sick.  He said before the impeachment vote that the Republican Senators would NOT convict no matter what the evidence said.  Doesn't that tell you something?  I am proud of Nancy Pelosi for trying and I am proud of Mitt Romney for voting yes.  I am disappointed that the rest of the Republicans caved to a thug who calls himself our leader.  If this is the mark of a leader we are all in trouble.

So, rest assured, I will still do all I can to survive.  It is sad that he does not have to pay taxes and I set here with my social security in jeopardy.  These are my golden years.  These are the years I should be taking a cruise.  Instead I plan my grocery list with prudence and eat the cheaper foods because that is what I can afford.

In closing, I want to say if you are offended by this blog, hit the block button, or if on facebook, unfriend me.  I will not argue with you about right and wrong on this matter.  Keep it to yourself.  I do not need Trump followers telling me how good I have it.  Screw you!

Never let your right hand know what your left hand is doing,

My mother always said that to me.  I do not know how many times that has popped into my head in my lifetime.  When I was younger and sometimes thought of doing something that I knew was wrong, that would run through my mind.  Try as I might, I could never make it work.  I fell in with a girl who shoplifted.  Sadly, her mother had taught her how.  I thought that was sad, but here was a mother who explained that the stores had lots of money, lots of products and they would never miss just one, or two.  I never asked my mother if this was right or wrong, but I did reason that if my right hand did not know what my left hand was doing that it was alright.  And her mother was an adult and adults knew stuff.

Sadly, her father also made homebrew and stored it in the cellar with the door wide open.  I think I was probably 16 at the time.  It was after I had lived with my grandma so I did not feel as connected to my family as I probably should have.  Grandma had died.  Great Grandma had moved to Southwest Kansas with her daughter and I was just sort of cut adrift.  So I was easy prey for someone who showed me a little attention.  My friends father always went to Hutch to gamble on the weekends, so the cellar was free game for whatever we wanted to do, which was to get drunk.  Get drunk and steal stuff.  I probably spent a year or so in that rut before I decided that it was a dead end party.

Time passed and I married, became a mother, divorced, remarried, and divorced several more times.  Some  where along the years I decided to pull my head out of my ass and become a decent human being.  I also became independent and learned to think for myself.  Stealing was wrong.  Drinking to oblivion was wrong.  Lying was wrong.  Hard work and honesty became a mantra that I was comfortable with and rather enjoyed.  I had always known about God and was baptized when I was 12 years old.  Looking back over my life I decided that I actually needed to wash all the sin away again.  So I did.

Now, the secrets I keep are just between me and God and they are mostly good ones.  I sometimes hand  money to someone just because.  My car is usually full of stuff to take to the migrant center.  When I buy groceries I purchase extra for the food banks around town.  I like to visit with the homeless.  I would bring them home with me, but I am afraid my kids would commit me.  I keep secrets from myself.  I just think that "but for the grace of God, there goes me."

My life is good.  My finances are fairly stable and I am mostly happy.  Sometimes I wonder just where this will all end.  Hopefully I can just not wake up some morning.  I do not want to get old and senile.  I do not want to have my diaper changed by one of my kids, but I guess what ever will be will be.  You know, the "Que sera, sera" thing.

As I set here at my desk, I have a cat on my lap, a dog at my feet and a cup of cold coffee to sip from.  Yep, life is good!  

Spring time will soon be here....again...Thank God!

I have been in this house for 36 years and I have fought the bind weed every step of the way.  Elm trees are my nemesis, especially when they grow in the fence line or sprout up in the middle of the Choke Cherry bushes.  But last year, I noticed that I am now blessed with cacti.  They are the flat leafed ones and I forget what they are called, but they have that fruit on the end of the leaf.  Prickly Pear.  I first encountered this little fellow 50 years ago when I lived out by the airport in Garden City, Kansas.  We had friends named Don and Claire .  She was of Mexican descent and wise in the ways of foraging for delicacies.  She came by one day and told me she found a field of Prickly Pear Cacti and wanted to go harvest some of the new tender leaves for food.

Since Duane was at work, I agreed and we loaded the kids up and away we went.  Oh, and I took a pair of Duane's leather gloves because she told me they were deadly sharp and we would need them.  So we picked a big basket full and then went home.  Since I had no idea what they were I let her take all of them with the promise that she would fix something really good to eat.  I carefully put his leather gloves back where I got them.  Bad mistake.

The first time he put them on he began to cuss.  They were full of something very sharp.  Oh, oh!  I of course confessed and I know they say confession is good for the soul, but trust me, it was not good for the ears or the body.  I had ruined his good gloves for nothing!  He was not going to eat that damn cactus and that woman better not ever show up at our door again and Don was an idiot for ever marrying that piece of what ever.  Any way.

So imagine my surprise when I went out behind the garage  to the area that was home to 500 million goat heads and 300 Sunflowers and lots of bindweed and found the cutest little Prickly Pear Cactus.  I was tempted to just leave it grow, but thought better of that and got the shovel out.  I cut the root and tossed it into the milk crate.  Then I saw another.  And another.  And soon the big double milk crate was full.

The survivalist  in me rebels against killing anything be it a cactus or a big tall Sunflower.  I could eat the cactus if need be for survival and the birds could harvest the sunflowers.  The strangest part is that I see no signs of cactus growing any where and the field out back is planted sometimes to a cash crop, so I doubt it they worked their way in from there.



Another mystery is the Centipede and how it manages to slither in my house when there are no visible signs of cracks, but slither it does nonetheless.  That is second only to how the bull snake manages to get in the goose house and eat the eggs!  I have actually drilled holes in the eggs and blown them out so my daughter could paint them and it is no easy chore!  First it is way bigger than a snake mouth and the shell is very thick..



So I guess, my biggest problems out here on the Mesa are the snakes, cactii and the myriad of cats that now occupy the neighbors garage.  Guess I will just set right here and let it all sort itself out.  If this is the worst that happens to me, I guess I am pretty lucky!

A Front Row Seat!

I missed the Martin Luther King, Jr march yesterday.  Not sure what I was doing, but pretty sure it was important.  So today I will give you a glimpse into that time in my life.

In 1958, while I was 17 years old, I decided to take a "road trip".  Few people know this and even fewer care, but it was one of the most enlightening things I have ever done and probably did more to shape who I am today then a lot of things I have done.  It goes without saying that since I was 17 years old at the time, I was classified as a "juvenile runaway."  To make a long story short and to get to the heart of this blog, I will just say I ended up in jail in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.  Of course mother sent money for a bus ride home and I was damn glad to take that ride.

Have you ever been in jail?  It is no fun.  I was thrown into a room with a bunch of women who were very kind to me.  They were also, all white.  They talked to me about the error of my ways, and I could not help but agree with them.  All I wanted was to go home.   I quickly learned that there was another cell across the hall where the black women were kept.  Same separation for the men.  This was very strange to me.  When they transported me to the bus station, I learned that the rest rooms for the whites was one place and the ones for the blacks another.  They were very clearly marked "Whites Only" and "Negroes only".  Sadly the sigh did not say "Negroes", but a derogatory term.  Until that time, I had never known there was a differentiation for human beings.  I instinctively did not like it!

You must realize that I grew up in Nickerson, Kansas, and there were only white people there.  I can remember back in my far reaches of my mind talk I overheard about a cross burning outside of town.  I think my father may have taken part in that, because there had been a crowd of men and he seemed to know all about how it went down.  The family moved away right after that.  We moved to Hutchinson several years after that.  It was then that I saw what segregation really was.

Hutchinson, Kansas was divided into North and South with Sherman Street being the dividing line.    Blacks and Hispanics lived south of Sherman: Whites lived north of Sherman.  As the upper class, we were allowed to go to the south end, but they were not allowed north of the line. White people who chose to live South of the line were known as "white trash".  After a night of drinking, Jake and I would venture to South Plum and either eat at Betty's Fried Chicken, or a barbecue place, the name of which slips my mind right now.  We could do that because we were white.  White Privilege's were rampant back then.

The first signs of integration in the public work place happened in Hutchinson at the Landmark Hotel and Restaurant.  I do not remember the year but it seems like it was in the early 1960's.  They hired a black waitress and of course the citizenry were up in arms.  Not only was this woman working in a public place for all the world to see, but she dared to venture north of the Sherman Street line!  Sometimes we would park and just watch her working in there and carrying plates of food to the fine white people.  From our vantage point of the street, she did not appear to be "uppity", but in order to  judge her fairly, we would need to go in and actually order food and have her carry it to us.  But that was back in the day when any spare change was designated for the "beer joints" down on south Main!

  An aside here.  The biggest problem the beer joints on South Main seemed to have was the "Indians" who worked for the railroad.  They wanted to have a beer after work, but they were not allowed to do that because any fool knows "if you get them liquored up, they are going to kill us."  Kansas was pretty lily white back in those days.  White anglo saxon protestants were the chosen people.  Lucky for me!

Sadly, at that point in time drinking was far more important than eating, or standing up for the down trodden who had "chosen to be born black."  And mother corrected me on the use of the word " black".
"They are not black!  They are actually a very beautiful shade of brown."  However "Browns" was reserved for the people who had come up from Mexico.  Now be aware, that there were very few of them in my world!  And I am not sure they had come from Mexico, but we called them "Mexicans".

Now, you must realize here that I was growing up during this period of unrest and both Nickerson and Hutchinson,  Kansas were pretty well isolated from the unrest in the big cities.  By the time I figured out that there was a gulf between the rights of Negroes and Whites, it had diminished to a thin line.  After the election of some one's President (not mine) segregation has once more reared it's ugly head.  The same faction that follows this man refers to Obama as "that effen N#**@7."

So on this day after Marin Luther King, Jr's holiday, I reflect on the past.  For the record, I never participated in any hate marches.  I never called my black brothers and sisters by a derogatory name.  People are people in my world,  They are judged by the content of their hearts, not the color of their skin or which side of Sherman Avenue they lived  many years ago.

To this day I thank my God that I was born colorblind and raised by a mother who judged a man by the content of his soul and not the color of his skin.

"These truths we hold to be self evident, that all men are created equal." (Or something to that affect.)

Today is national hug your neighbor day, here at my house!



 

Finding Our Way; Moving Forward After the Death of a Husband.

The restaurant was the Three Thieves many years ago.  It was a favorite place for Kenny and I to have a dinner out at least once a month.  It had a notorious history as being the place where some guy had met with a hired assassin to plot the death of a business partner.  Sadly I do not remember the names, but it is all water under the bridge at this time as it was at that time.  We just loved a good steak and we could always get one there.  The salad was also to die for with the house dressing and Blue Cheese Crumbles.  I always had the baked potato and to me the skin is the best part!  Kenny always said only a glutton ate the skin.  His first wife told him that and he relayed the message to me, but I did not give a big rat's ass and I ate it!  He let me.

Last night I returned to what is now the Park East Restaurant for a dinner with six of my new found friends.  This is a very select group of women, but we all have one thing in common.  We have all lost our husbands and we all collaborated on a book put together by Beth Bricker Davis.  We each wrote our story of losing our husbands and moving forward alone.  We are an elite group only in that we are part of the book.  Each of our stories is unique, but each has the same beginning and ending.  There is no living happily in the real world.  Every day and every memory is ours, but they are all the same and the endings are the same.  We all go home alone to our respective homes with whatever life we live, but we all have our own memories of what was and will never be again.

I sat across from a lady named Marla Carleo.  Beside her was Shirley Higgins, who sometimes plays her Bass at our church. Next was Joyce Turbyfill and then Cathy  Trujillo was on the end.  On my side was me (Lou Mercer) followed by Beth Bricker Davis and then Alicia Bourdon-Goure.  Of the group, Alicia is the only one who has remarried.  I have tripped the light fantastic down the proverbial aisle 6 times, so I guess that is about it for me!

A toast to the success of our venture and then time to reminisce and catch up on each others lives.  Before last night, they were all just pages in the book.  Now we are forever held together by a bond forged by Beth Bricker Davis and a book that seems to be doing fairly well.  I am proud of Beth for coming up with this idea and then having the tenacity to bring out the best in all of us.  You do know that organizing a bunch of old widow women is akin to herding cats!

And we all  have our own copy of the book.  It is available on Amazon at click here.  Or you can buy it locally at Montgomery Steward on the end of Main Street right here in beautiful Pueblo, Colorado.

I do hope to maintain a friendship with these wonderful ladies.  We are now forever held together by a silvery cord that slips the bonds of earth.  I do hope you can pick up a copy of this because each experience is unique and while it can never make the death of a spouse easier, it can show that you are not alone.  

So, off to church I go this morning and I am going to thank that big ole' God up there for leading me out all alone last night, because that is something that I just do not do.  And while I hope you are never in my shoes, odds are you will be.  Just remember that out there in that big old world there are other people who have been there, done that.

May your path be sprinkled with sunshine and your nights filled with moonbeams! 

Buy book here!              (back row) Beth, Alicia, Marla, Shirley, (front row)Lou, Cathy, Joyce

The beautiful Colorado sky!

Every morning without fail, I leave my back door and head out back to the goose house.  When I built it, it was a duck house.  An influx of foxes changed all that.  At the height of my goose/duck raising , I had 37 ducks and 17 geese.  I also had a very big pond which was lined with heavy plastic.  It was about 35 feet long, 30 feet wide and 5 feet deep.  They loved it and swam in it all day long.  I still have pictures of it some where, but that is history and I do not like to live in the past.  Very slowly the foxes began to sneak in and carry off a duck now and then.  When I realized what was going on, it was too late and the houses behind my empty field prevented use of a gun.  One of the neighbors who lived down there, told my step daughter that he had shot over 10 foxes in one week.  But that is history.  I now have 8 geese and no ducks.  None of this is relevant, however.

This morning as I stood in my back acre, I reveled at the beauty of the blue Colorado sky.  Not a cloud in sight.  It was not cold, just a little cool, which is to be expected this time of year.  It was just that the beauty of the Colorado sky struck me as the hand of God at work.   It is so wonderful to live here in the center of the United States of America that I could not help but thank God above for delivering me to this place!  I fully intend to live out my remaining days right here on South Road, but can I?

I watch the news.  I know that south of here, children are locked in cages because their parents are trying to escape the drug lords in South America.  North of here, the Indigenous people who lived on this land since before Columbus or whoever came and they were eventually pushed back to reservations.  The government has penetrated into every aspect of our lives so that we are no longer allowed the security of our own planet.  In lands across the sea, bombs and war are an every day occurrence.  Running water, heated homes, electric lights at our fingertips are not givens over there.  I do have a radio in my bedroom that will bring me messages if the depot ever implodes.  It will also let me know if a tornado is on the horizon.  It was installed in my home over 30 years ago by the government.  They have changed the battery twice.  It is tested every Wednesday at noon.  I also get a calendar every year from the same place that furnishes the radio.  I am sure that it has some purpose, but I really do not know what it is.  Perhaps it is the government spying on me.  If so, somebody is pretty hard up for someone to spy on!  There is very little outside activity in my home and the bedroom is pretty well a "dead zone."

But back to the sky that is such a beautiful blue that it makes my heart ache!  If our government could spend the money on taking care of our weakest citizens that they spend on securing our borders and monitoring the rest of the world, wouldn't it be a beautiful world?  My grandfather came here 120 years ago with nothing but the clothes on his back and a hand held by my great grandfather.  I love my family history, and I love to go back to Plevna, Abbyville, Huntsville and all the places my grandparents lived.  Some of my fondest memories were made around the oak table at the little house in Plevna where I lived with my grandma and great grandma.  The school is gone now.  Last time I was there, only the gymnasium was standing.  The Hinshaw general store had burned.  That left the bank, the phone company and one gas station.  The Smith house was gone and 3 trailer houses were on that lot.  The Congregational Church still stood next door to our house.

The sky in Kansas and the sky in Colorado are different.  Colorado is a deeper blue.  Kansas sky goes on forever. The night sky in Kansas is not polluted by city lights and I can hear the coyotes yipping  across the prairie.  There are more stars then one could ever count.  The sky is total black with only diamonds sparkling against the velvet background. but it is the sky that fills my soul.

At least that is how I remember it.

Front sight is 2020!

It used to be that hind sight was 2020, but now when the clock strikes midnight we will be looking forward to 2020!  Well, some of us a little more than the rest of us.  I have made this leap 77 times and I find it is not luck, or whether I ate Black-eyed Peas or not, but more just a luck of the draw.  Before I found out I had to eat Black-eyed Peas in order to secure my good luck for the coming year, I had pretty good luck.  Then I started eating them and my luck stayed the same.  Could it be an old wives tale?

And speaking of old wives tales, the grandmothers were full of them.  I tend to think of them more as wise tales as opposed to the wives tales.  Here are a few for your consideration.

"Where spider web grows, no beau ever goes."
"Once bit, twice shy."
"Broken mirror brings 7 years of bad luck."
"Step on a crack; break your mothers back."
"Any thing that can go wrong, will go wrong."  (This is called Murphy's Law.)
"Spill salt you have to pick it up and throw it over your shoulder to ward off the bad luck"
"13 is an unlucky number."
"A black cat crossing your path is bad luck."
"Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning."
"Red sky at night, sailor's delight."

This list goes on and on, and I am pretty sure that I violated every one of them!  And yet here I am, alive and well and facing another year.  But, you know what?  Life is good.  Where there is life there is hope.  My momma told me that and I have lived by that my whole life.  My life has had it's ups and downs, but I would not change one single thing about it!

This is my take on life: Every man I married and every man I did not marry, was for a reason.  I learned something from everyone of them.  Some of the lessons were very hard and some still bring tears to my eyes and there are things I would know now that I should have known then that I can not change.  Every person I met along the way to today made an impact on who I am now.  Some of my lessons made me a better person; some of them taught me that life is reality.  But that is yesterday; and yesterday is gone.  I will not pass that way again.  There are no second chances at some things.

So Happy New Year!  We will toast a cup of kindness now to Auld Lang Syne; however you spell it and whatever it means!  Today is a new day and tomorrow will be a new year.  Every New Years Eve, I forgive myself, and every New Years Day, I try to do better.  Maybe someday I will get it right.

One more thing I know is that when I finally do get it right, the big guy upstairs is going to jerk the rug out from under me and holler "Hurry up and get in here while you are good to go!"

Peace to all and remember,

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

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: All I see is a pink ball...

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: All I see is a pink ball...: It is Christmas all over the world, and contrary to popular belief it is Christmas at my house.  I do not have a tree and all the trappings...

All I see is a pink ball...

It is Christmas all over the world, and contrary to popular belief it is Christmas at my house.  I do not have a tree and all the trappings.  There is no Christmas music wafting from the stereo.  And last night I missed the service at church for the first time in many, many years.  But it is still Christmas morning here.

Yesterday I went to a friends house for lunch.  I dined with Ross Barnhart and his brothers and most of their wives.  His cousin was also there.  It was lovely and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  Today I am staying home.  I have some things I want to do today, but right now I am thinking back to Strong Street.

I know we lived there for several years, but I am not sure how long.  My favorite Christmas is the year I received a pink ball for Christmas from Santa Clause.  Santa always left our gifts on our chairs at the table.  That year I received a coloring book, a box of 8 Crayola's, 2 chocolate candies an orange and a pink ball.  It was about the size of the orange and it was the most wonderful ball in the world!  When I dropped the ball it bounced very high.  I threw it against the house and it bounced back.  It was so wonderful, but of course , that did not last.  It was just a matter of time before the wonderful pink ball picked up a sticker and no longer bounced.  The last time I recall seeing it was deflated and living in a mud hole.  Soon the coloring book was all colored, the Crayon's broken and missing from the box.

The last Christmas I recall was the last one I want to remember.  Jake told me Santa was not real and he knew that for a fact because Momma was going to let him play Santa and give out the presents that year.  I did not believe him, so I asked him what I was going to get and he told me.

"It is a tin doll house with a mother, father, brother, sister and a dog. A black dog." And that was what I got.  Jake had assembled it by pushing the metal tabs through the slots and folding them down to hold them in place.  And sure enough, there was a pink mother and father, a boy and a girl, and a little dog.  It had a couch and chair, a table and 4 chairs, and a tub and stool and sink in the bathroom.  The kitchen had a sink, refrigerator and a stove.  Jake told me he would get me more stuff someday.  But it never happened.

Some how the wonderfulness of the doll house was over shadowed by the sadness the Santa was not real.  All those years, it had been my momma cleaning other peoples houses and saving money a little at a time to surprise me.  It made me sad to think of her doing without so I could have something I really wanted.  I came to hate that gift more every day.  Momma never knew, but I did.

I hated the poverty that was our life.  I hated that my father did not ever touch me or carry me like he did Mary, Donna and Dorothy.  I told myself that he probably did, when I was little, but I do not remember that.  He spent a lot of time drinking when I was growing up and I attribute it to that.  Sure doesn't help these many years later.

So today, I am staying home, alone.  I am alone because I want to be, not because I have no one.  I have 6 children who have mates and children and some of those children have children which means I am a great grandmother.  I have nieces and nephews.  I have very good friends.  I just want to be alone, so I will.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and pray that you all enjoy life to the fullest.  I know I am going to do just that!

Peace!

It is legal here in Colorado, so.....

Yesterday my middle daughter arrived here from Kansas.  This is a piece of information that seems trivial, but marked a big day in my life.  Oh, she has been here before and I am always happy to see her, as I am all my offspring.  But yesterday was special in more ways than one.  I had lunch with Michael McQuire and Teresa Cordova from church.  Michael and Jimmy, his partner, gave me a homemade fruit cake with lots of frosting and pistachios, which I love.  Thank you boys for a special gift.  Then I hurried home as I had a plan for the afternoon.  First I called to see where Dona was in her journey, and then I planned her surprise!

As you know, Colorado is home of the free and the brave, as is every state in our union.  It is also legal for marijuana!  Now, I have never tried marijuana as a recreational drug, but I do make a pain cream out of the leftovers furnished to me by a dear friend in Canon City.  Some how he extracts the hallucinogenic properties and he is left with something that looks like a bunch of dried up leaves pressed into a block.  I then take that, cook it and turn it into a pain cream that will put your sciatic into a deep sleep almost instantly.  Very good stuff.  It contains none of the hallucinagenic  of marijuana and I have many people who swear by it, me included!  But that is beside the point.

I know my friend, Shirley,  used "gummies" to help her sleep, so I know pot has properties that are beneficial.  I have heard of marijuana brownies and how the high is different so I have been researching that aspect.  YouTube is full of information, so Saturday I made "cannabutter."  (I should interject here that a friend of mine had provided me with a big bag of weed a month or so ago.  His instructions to me were to turn it into something that could then be turned into cash.  I told him I could not use it in my pain cream so we agreed that edibles was the way to go.)  Thus began my venture into the world of marijuana edibles!

First another friend showed me how to remove the "buds", grind them into something I forget the name of and then take the "trash" that was left and use it for my pain cream.  Every part of the plant is used for something.  So I put the pain cream stuff aside and proceeded with baking with the "canna butter" when I got home from church.  First I made chocolate cookies.  Then I made chocolate cake bars.  I left the bars in the oven a little too long so they came out harder then I would have liked.  I will do those different next time.

So the unsuspecting daughter was met at the door with a cookie.  At 4:20 (which in itself is symbolic) she ate one half of a 2 inch cookie.  The following is the observation of subject:

1.  It tasted like "weed", but that is not a bad thing because it IS weed.
2.  At 4:50, she felt giggly.
3.  At 5:00 she was "stoned".  It was a very good "stoned", whatever that meant!
4.  She remained in the euphoric condition of "mellow" until she returned to her normal state at 7:20.

Now it should be noted, that during that time frame, she and I visited in our usual way.  So, I think I can safely say that this experiment was a success!  I think my cookies will be useful.  I do need to work on the preparation of the product, but that will come with time.

So all you people out there who think I am just your usual run of the mill grandma, please keep in mind that I still am.  I approve of marijuana for its medicinal properties, but I do not use it.  If you want to use it, I am here to help you enjoy it in a safe way and in the comfort of your own home.  I am not quite ready to take this to market, but I can see how that can happen.  It may be that this is as far as I go with it, but who knows.

In the meantime, I will put my baked goods in the freezer and when the time is right, I will proceed.

Or not.

Apparently I am pretty stupid.

Apparently I do not know the law.  See, I always thought that if someone was "delivered a summons to appear in court" that it meant they had to show up when called.  I further believed that if I were in that position, I would be required to tell the truth.  Now I never did claim to be the smartest bulb in the box, but some things are drilled into my head and have not left, lo, these many years.

I was raised that my country was a country of morals and scruples.  A country of immigrants.  A land of opportunity where I could be anything I wanted to be.  A free education.  I can recall the voice on the radio many years ago that declared.  "The war is over!  We have conquered the enemy."  It meant little to me than because my world was Nickerson, Kansas.  The only enemies I knew about were the cougars that screamed down on the river and the Gypsy's who camped outside of town to steal children.

Washington, D.C. was many miles away.  After Roosevelt had his "fireside chats," Harry Truman was President.  He was a "home grown boy."  I think his wife tried to be a singer, but failed.  Or so I remember it.

The point is this:  From Roosevelt until now, I remember all the Presidents.  I always respected the President because that is how I was raised.  I also respected the minister at church and the principal of the school.  Public figures were to be respected.  They were honest and open.  They loved their wives and respected them, or so it seemed.    There was no scandal in our little town, or at least none that touched my life. (I did hear once that the dentist's wife had too much to drink and drover her car into a ditch.  He later divorced her and married his nurse, but even that could have been heresay in my little mind."

The point is this, I was raised in a different world.  We respected our elders.  We respected our leaders.  We stood up when the flag was presented and we placed our right hand over our heart as a sign of respect.  We never questioned it.  We just did it.  It was the right thing to do.  The days of sand and shovels are behind me now!

I have never voted a straight ticket in my life.  The first election I voted in was for John Kennedy.  I voted for Jimmy Carter and Barack Obama.  The rest were Republican votes.  Well, not Donald Trump. I figured Hillary was better qualified, not that I liked her personally, but I decided early on that if Trump would not produce his income tax returns, he was not honest.  Seems I nailed that one.

Now, I know I am going to piss off a lot of my Republican friends, but I wonder if they are really thinking straight?  The man has been in office for 3 years now and has yet to produce a tax return.  He will not even stand up and defend himself in an impeachment hearing.  He has ordered his minons not to appear.  The world laughs at us!  Our environment is going to shit!  Every day that I turn on the news I am amazed at what he has pulled over night.  I do not feel safe in my country and I am not proud of what we have become.

What bothers me most, is what this administration has done to our country.  His son, daughter and son-in-law hold positions of power in government business both here and abroad.  Immigrants are dying on our southern border.  There is no regard for life.  No respect for women.  No respect for minorities.  Russia is our friend while the Indigenous citizens have been shoved onto land that is polluted by the Keystone Pipeline.  Our schools are funded by our teachers!

I could go on and on, but it is pointless.  If you are my friend and you think I am radical and nuts, count me out of your circle.  I like to think that my true friends will see a little bit of wisdom in what I am saying.  But if you are content to set in your warm houses and cuss the homeless, count me out.  If you can look at our migrant population with disgust, cross me off you mailing list.  If you can look at Mitch McConnell and smile,  delete my phone number.

Our country is in the shitter and we all know it.  If you think I am right, let me know, but if you think I am a lunatic, it has been enlightening knowing you.  Enjoy your selfish bigotted life.

Peace and prosperity to my loving friends.

In a perfect world.

I have a little grandson who is going to be 4 in February.  In a perfect world he would be my great grandson, but as you all know, this is not a perfect world.  He is very smart, or at least I think so.  My mind does not recall how old my oldest child was when I was divorced and began supporting myself by working 2 and 3 jobs.  The point here is that I never kept the baby books up to date.  I do not remember when any of them started walking, nor what their first words were.  I do not recall when they started stringing words into sentences, nor when they picked up a pencil and wrote.  In a perfect world, I would have done that, but in the reality that was my life, a roof over our heads and food in our tummies far outweighed the baby books.  We all survived.

I had 5 children,  8 grand children, and 11great grand children.  I now have 6 children, 7 grand children and 10 great grand children.  There have been no deaths, just a reshuffling of status.  Kenneth and I adopted one of the grand children, which makes him a child now instead of a grand child.  This also makes his son a grand child instead of a great grand child.  And that , my friends is how I now (at 78 years of age)  have a 3 year old grand son.  And this also brings me to the point of this story.

For privacy sake, I shall call him Little Boy.  Little Boy goes to pre school and is very smart.  My children went to Grandma Bensing who was paid to keep them alive for however many hours I was at work.  Little Boy is 3 1/2 years old and knows his alphabet, his numbers and speaks in sentences.  He spends 2 days and one night with me.  It seems to me, that every week he is growing and maturing into a little old man.  I do not remember how my kids grew.  It seems like they were little and then they were big and then they were gone and I never saw it happen.  I have their school pictures and I remember some of the things they said that surprised me, but I just do not know when it happened.

I remember once when Susie was tiny, they wanted to take her to school for show and tell.

I remember when we had a fluffy puppy and they gave it a bath and when the hair got wet it scared them because "Fluffy's bones are poking out!"

Debbie was always the little mother.  Came from being the oldest, I guess.  I sent her to Church group one Saturday.  It was on the river.  She left the group and walked up to my working place which was about a mile and a half up main street.  They could not find her when it was time to leave.  I received a frantic phone call wanting to know where she was.  At that time she was walking and no one knew where she was.  But I do not remember how old she was.  Probably 10 or so.

I remember Sam carrying on long conversations with the cat.  I remember being at the bank with him one day and he wanted something and I told him I did not have money.
He said "Why are we here?"
"This is where I bank."
"Get some money from here."
"There is no money in here."
"Well what kind of bank is it that has no money?"

Dona and Patty always slept together wrapped in each others arms.  Patty would fall asleep when I brushed her hair.

Sam had a speech impediment and could not make the "h" sound.  This made the teacher think that his father was a hard working man who should be providing for us better because he "did three jobs" instead of "Daddy does tree jobs."

I never missed a program at school, or a conference, or an outing, or a birthday.  I just did not write it down.

So now when Baby Boy does something, I am amazed.  He speaks in sentences.  Wednesday night he counted his toes.  Several times.  He had 10.  I have a pair of skeleton shoes which separates my toes into 4 compartments on each foot, the 2 small toes going in one slot.  He counted my toes.  I had 8.  He counted again and I still had 8.  He counted his.  He had 10.  I finally had to take the shoes off so he could get an accurate count.  Good memory and reasoning skills there.

He likes to eat Chinese so we stop and I order one meal with the fried rice in a separate bowl.  That is all he wants.  His dad is a meat eater; he could care less. My kids ate anything that did not eat them first.

He raked the yard yesterday with the mop.  His dad grew pot in the closet down stairs.

His dad took him fishing and he caught a cat fish.  When Bret asked him why he did not take the fish off the hook, he said, "Because I am too afraid."

It makes me very sad when I look back over my life and see what I missed raising my kids.  I should have had time to write things down, but the time did not come until later in life and now I have to rely on memories.  Most of my memories are shrouded in a cloak of sleep deprivation and running from one job to another.

I only wish I had taken the few moments it required to jot it down, but at that time other things took precedince.  Now it is too late, and when I die the memories will die with me.

And that makes me very sad.

Jake Smith and his grinding wheel.

Now this is a grinding wheel!  It is not the one in Jake Smith's back yard, but it is pretty close.  His had a bicycle seat on the end where the pedals are located.  He used to set there and pedal which caused the stone to rotate.  He would hold an axe blade against the side.  When the first side was sharp, he would turn it over and sharpen the other side. He would finish by dripping water on the blade and the spinning stone.  When he was finished he had a blade that was so sharp it could be used to shave and he tested it by removing a patch of hair from his arm.

Granted he could not make a living by sharpening axe blades, but it did help supplement the income he and his wife received.  She cleaned houses for some ladies in town to help make ends meet.  He was a retired police officer, or so I heard.  He would occasionally "strap his  service weapon" on his belt and scare us kids.  He was quick to tell us how fast we would be dispatched to the other side if we did not get out of his yard.  And to emphasis that he meant business, he would twirl the pistol on one finger.  Then he would set down in the chair that was located by a tree, lean back against the tree and have his afternoon nap.  

One afternoon, Jake and one of his cronies waited until he was sound asleep and then they crept up and carefully encased the old guy in ropes so when he woke up and started to tip his chair back down, it did not tip.  He pulled the ropes over his head, tipped the chair down.  Sadly when he stood up to walk, he found his feet were tied and catapulted to the ground.  He did not find this nearly as funny as us kids hiding over in the weeds behind the shed did!  Damn lucky he did not shoot us that time.  He knew who did it, but of course we all lied and said, "No!  Jake went bike riding and he is not back yet."

Life was so simple back then.  Sorry to say I have not seen one of those wheels in years and the one I saw was in an antique shop and priced far out of my range. Nor do I own an axe.  I do possess a 10 pound sledge hammer and a hatchet.  The hatchet was a pricey little purchase, but there are times when that little guy comes in very handy.  I used it a couple times to separate a chicken head from the body, but I do not do that any more.    My favorite way to butcher chickens was to grasp their feet, step on the head and jerk upward.  It was quick and painless, but barbaric.  Kenny's mom used to tie thier feet together and hang them from the clothes line.  She then streeeeeeeeeeeeetched out their head and proceeded to cut their head from their neck with a butcher knife.  Now THAT was barbaric!  I could scald and de-feather a chicken faster than anyone in the county, but that is history and I now buy my chicken breasts at the local frozen food section.

I just remembered why I started this blog!  I came across my hatchet the other day and noticed that there was a nick on the blade and that the blade was dull.  I have an electric grinding wheel in the garage with coarse and fine wheels.  I used to use it to sharpen my hoe, but since the snakes have taken over the garden, I do not plant any more and that area goes to weeds for the geese.  I am sure at some point in time I am going to have to do something, but for now, I am just going to have my humble breakfast of grits and cheese  and think about something else.

May Jake Smith rest in peace setting in his chair, propped against the tree, dreaming of his bygone life as a peace officer retired and sharpening axes and knives on North Strong Street, in Nickerson, Kansas.

My daddy did not have a gun.

He did not have a gun.  What he did have was a buggy whip and a 2 x4.  My brother tasted both of them.  I did not.  I did live in mortal terror that I would.  I could tell when he was mad or that something was bothering him because he would rub his thumb and fore finger together and talk to himself.  He was a strange man.  He did not seem to have any friends that I knew about.  He had a few acquaintances.  He also had a couple farmers he worked for on occasion.  John Britain and Ed Crissman.  Mostly he just hung out at the local pool hall where the "ne'er do wells"  hung out.  He worked there some afternoons.  He did let me go in there once when nobody was there.  He actually played a game of dominoes with me.  Of course he won.  He always won.  Score was kept on a stick with a series of holes.  Each time one of us made a score the stick was moved forward a  number of holes.  The score was always a multiple of 5, so 10 points was 2 holes  and so on.  I still enjoy playing dominoes, but rarely find anyone who knows how.

I always thought my dad was a very big man, but I think he was 5'10" which is not tall at all.  He had a ruddy complexion and hair with a reddish tint.  I inherited neither of those.  My sisters and brother did, but I was a miniature of my mother.  I had brown hair and hazel eyes that turned to blue or green, depending on my mood.  Dad's skin was light and mine was darker.  I tanned very easily and the sisters burned easily.

My father did not like pets.  We never had a dog and the cat mom kept as a mouser was not allowed in the house.  Mother did have a canary at one time.  It had a cage that hung on an iron post that kept it off the floor.  The cat did come in one time on my watch and made short work of the canary.  Mother was livid.  Seems the bird was the only thing that really gave her pleasure in her mundane world.  She had received it from Grandma Haas.  Not sure mother ever forgave me for that little fiasco.  I do know she never forgot.

Dad never interacted with any of us kids but Mary.  Mary looked a lot like Dad with his rather ruddy complexion and the hair that had an almost red tint, but not quite.  Mary was always delicate.  I do not mean sickly, because I was the sickly one.  I had my tonsils removed when I was 10 or 11 and then became the healthy person I am today.  Donna and Dorothy were bordering on being pudgy, but Mary was just delicate.  There is no other way to put it.  Josephine was the oldest and she was a half sister.  Jake was the son.  I was the oldest daughter born to the union.  Then came Donna, Mary and Dorothy.  That made me the middle child and I lived the "middle child syndrome" my whole life. Still do.  I am not quite happy with anything I do so I try harder.  Just can not do anything completely and revel in success.  I always fall just a little bit short.  You would think after this many years I would give up on that!

Don't know why I got this in my head today, but here it is.  Guess I will go downstairs and do something constructive.

Randy Travis calls this "Pickin' Up Bones."  Just makes me wonder if we ever really escape our childhood?  There are only 2 of us left now.  We live 400 miles apart and visit sporadically if at all, but it is enough to know she is there. And I am here.

World AIDS Day & the Quilt

I do not know when Pueblo began the commemoration of World AIDS Day.  I do know that at that commemoration there were only 2 people.  They went to the Arts Center and put black ribbons on several pictures.  Then that evening the 2 of them held a candle light vigil.  She was the sister of a young man who had passed from AIDS and he was a victim.  I never knew his name, but I still see her today.  It was through her that the Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt was conceived.

The next year there were 5 of us.  3 of us were parents of a gay child.  The third year there were 2  mothers and my daughter Debbie with her biker husband Hammer.  For some reason we thought we had to stay until midnight all the years before.  That year, Hammer told us we were nuts because it was cold enough to freeze the b@^^s off a brass monkey and there was no one that knew we were there. He was right!

From those humble beginnings many things transpired.  Someone started the Names Project AIDS Memorial Quilt early on.  It lives in California.  It is constructed of individual panels measuring 3' x 6', which is the size of a regular grave.  I conceived the idea for a smaller version of this constructed of 1' x 2' panels.  The Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt was dedicated at the Sangre de Cristo Arts Center on December 1, 1997.  For several years, that was it's venue until we started having World AIDS Day here.  The library is now it's home through December.  It is still stored in my basement.

The big quilt in California is now too big to be displayed any where.  The last showing of it was on the mall in Washington D.C.

NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt

The NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt, often abbreviated to AIDS Memorial Quilt or AIDS Quilt, is an enormous memorial to celebrate the lives of people who have died of AIDS-related causes. Weighing an estimated 54 tons, it is the largest piece of community folk art in the world as of 2016. Wikipedia

Tomorrow at 2:00 we will gather to recognize World AIDS Day.  Part of that celebration will be to recognize the loss of one of our leaders, John A. Tenorio.  He passed one year ago the day after Thanksgiving.  John was my friend.  I was the mother he lost and he was the brother I lost.  Our friendship had gotten off to a rocky start many years before, but we had both come to realize that this was a friendship blessed by God and misunderstood by man.

Sunday we will add his panel to the quilt.  It is simple.  The fabric is one of the plaid shirts he always wore.  The Christmas card he sent out the first year he was a grandfather is in the pocket.  There is a picture of him and his brother, Len in the city hall parking lot.  It does not tell a story.  It is not a work of art.  But it does hold a lot of tear drops, because I miss that boy more than words can say.  It is just something that will mark the life and death of John A. Tenorio.

May he rest in peace knowing he leaves behind a legacy that will never be forgotten and an empty place in our hearts that will never be filled.

Kids' say the darnedest things!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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