Kansas Naval Air Station

 KNAS.  So, I am a little fussy on the years here, but I think it was back in the late 1950's that Hutchinson had the Kansas Naval Air Station located South of Hutch.  I was in High School and my graduation year was 1959, or at least that is what my class ring said.  Sadly, I knew all I needed to know by the middle of my Senior year and I dropped out.  I attended my Freshman, Sophomore, and Junior  year at Nickerson High School, go Wildcats!  Might not have been wildcats, but my memory says it was.

Now you may ask how this has anything to do with the Navy, but if you are patient, I will get there.  Now what was housed at the Naval Air Station?  Sailors!!  Now you must remember that at that juncture of my life I was a nubile teenage girl who had not sampled the forbidden pleasures of life and love.  Ah, but I had dreams!  And I had dreams because I had finally developed what appeared to be a bosom and I had heard the other girls talking.  I was not quite sure exactly what "Married Love" was, but I was pretty sure I wanted to be a beloved wife some day and that some man would sweep me off my feet and take me to paradise where I would live happily ever after.  

In the meantime, the sailors who were stationed at KNAS liked to come to our little town and cruise Main Street during our school lunch hour and try to pick up girls.  I was scared to death of men, but I gotta tell you those boys/men in those tight, white navy pants with two rows of dark navy blue buttons touched me and warmed the cockels of my heart!  The neighbor girls, Delores and Irene, were allowed to date, so they did.  Delores ended up marrying one named Smitty and moving back east some where.  Irene dated some guy and fell madly in love until he was "shipped out"  and she was left crying in the dust.

But the stage for my life was set by those boys in their white uniforms.  Army khaki and Air Force Blue meant nothing compared to Navy white.  Winter was Navy blue wool and the wool looked pretty itchy to me, so Spring and Fall we were good to go and my heart came to life, but Winter was verboten, which is kin to mauch's nix.

But my minds eye can still see the coupes, which were their chosen vehicle, and the sailors with their white hats cocked just so, cruising Main and hear the cat calls emitting from the vehicles.  Of course all the girls tee-heed and me right along with them. Sadly, I knew the sailors were off limits and if I was ready to start dating, I better hope that the one I picked was the geek with the glasses in my History  class.  And sadder yet, he was my cousin!  Since the Beck family had been the precursors to the Haas migration from Germany, most everyone was my cousin.  In order to carry on the family line and for Mother to make a decent wage, we had to move to Hutchinson for my Senior year.

That was also about the time that the Kansas Naval Air Station south of Hutchinson closed and the base was deserted.  A couple years later I married a guy who had just gotten out of the Army and returned from Germany.  Boy was that an exercise in futility.  The floors were wood and they had to be paste wax coated which meant I had to rent a buffer every time I cleaned the floor.  His Kahki pants had to be starched and the crease sharp and exact!  Of course the fact that he was just going to get drunk and spill stuff on them was entirely beside the point.  Oh, and the allegiance I held for the Navy must be replaced by the Army.  Charlie and Kenneth were both Marines. But guess what!  I finally got my sailor!

Anthony was in the Navy on board the USS Proteus, a sub-tender.  The motto was Prepared, Productive, Precise.  And he reflected that later in life as well.  He was stationed in Hawaii.  He was in Pearl Harbor, but it was after the bombing.  Of course that was many years before I met him.  There is a lot to be said for the twilight years, but right now it slips my mind that anything I come up with would be worth repeating.

I saw his white bell bottom pants.  Of course they did not fit him any more, but I did get to touch them and for a while I was back on the streets of Nickerson and the sailor boys were "cruising  Main".  I was still 17 years old with dreams of being a missionary.  I still could not look a man in the eye, but I could envision him with dark hair and soft brown eyes dressed in his Summer Whites.  I can hold my little sailor boy in my minds eye, but more importantly, in my heart.

And at this point in life, memories and dreams is about all we have, isn't it?

If I had known

 If I had known the last time I held you that it would be the last time, I would not have  let you go.  I would have hugged you tighter and I would have thanked God for letting me.

If I had known that the last time I talked to you on the phone was the last time I would hear your voice I would not have put the receiver back in the cradle.

If I had known that the trip to the Reservoir was the only one we would take I would still be standing on the bluff looking out at the water.

The Scrabble Board is dusty.

The kite remains folded.

The Sand Dunes are still waiting.

The Aspens have lost their leaves.

The sun still sets and the moon still rises.

The stars still twinkle and I am sure some where life goes on, but it is not here.  I look into the abyss that is my life and try to make meaning of it.  I put one foot in front of the other and I say the things I am expected to say, but the world is empty and space but a void.

I must search for a new meaning to life because, after all, I am a survivor.

Those are the words you're gonna have to eat!

" I don't love you anymore, I'm glad that we are through.

Those are the words that I said to you.

Take those words and coat with chocolate, make them sugar sweet.

Those are the words you're gonna have to eat."

I tried to find this song on youtube and ended up with a recipe for Buttercream Frosting.  While that was not my original intent, I needed that also.  Many years ago this was one of the songs Corky and I danced to at the Convention Hall Saturday night dances in Hutchinson, Kansas.  Some girl sang it and I can not remember who, but it is playing in my head as I type. 

But it is not the song that is important, nor who sang it 60 years ago when Corky was the love of my life and dancing my only passion, but rather the words.  "I don't love you any more, I'm glad that we are through.  Just what was it that I thought I saw in you?  Take those words and coat with chocolate, make them sugar sweet!  Those are the words that I'm gonna have to eat!"

Now Corky is a distant, although pleasant memory and his face has faded from my memory, but those  words are still in my head.  This past week has brought that song back to the forefront and made me rethink a lot of stuff.  As I watched our capitol was being invaded by men and women carrying the American flag and smashing anything in their way into the bowels of the building where government business was being conducted.  Windows were shattered and men and women elected by us, fled into hiding.  Democrat, Republican, Independent seemed to make no difference to this mob.  And as I watched I could not help but wonder where our leader was?

I do not need to tell you how that little scenario played out.  America is still standing.  The Captiol building is still standing.  You and I are enjoying the same freedoms we had before and Joe Biden will be sworn in on January 20th.  Nothing changed except now a whole bunch of people will be arrested and tried, hopefully for treason or at the very least treasonous acts of terrorism. A few people are dead and that is sad.  But let's go a step further and question what they thought would happen.

They did this supposedly because they loved America and wanted to own her.  Did they think if they got into the building that you and I would just say, "Oh look!  They are in there, now Donald Trump will still be president.  He will rule the United States and we will be his followers?"  Methinks these people should have listened when they were studying the government in school.  America is a Democracy ran for the people and by the people.  We elect our officials to do that so we do not have to go to Washington ourselves.  If we had wanted to keep trump we would have voted him back in for another 4 years, but we did not.

For many years, I was an Independent and was registered as such.  I voted for Reagan and Bush.  I voted for Kennedy.  I cast my vote for Jimmy Carter and learned that just because a man is a good Christian and loves his wife does not mean he will be a good President.   I am not vocal in my politics and as long as whomever is in charge is fair and honest, I am content.   I will not go into this any further, only know this:

America is strong and designed to stay that way.  It is called checks and balances and we use it every day in our daily lives.  It is sad that this had to happen as the whole world watched, but that is modern day communications.  I imagine Putin was laughing his ass off and cheering the rioters on while doing so, but I was very sad.  So I went to youtube and I found this https://youtu.be/EBjEjoAzdHE .

So rest in peace,  America, the good guys are still in charge and peace will prevail.  To the people that tried to bring her down, sorry.  You should have read the Bill of Rights and peeked at the Constitution.  The game is not "King of the Hill," it is called "Democracy!"

Dreams never really die, do they?

 My first memories of Christmas include waking up and running in to the dining room table where Santa had left our gifts.  There was the usual panties and socks.  And then a ball and an orange.  There was also some sort of candy; not much, but something.  Mostly we got a chocolate thing that was about an inch high and inside it was something made with powdered sugar and it was disgusting.  I can tell you this now since Mother is no longer with us, that this particular candy was gross!  The chocolate did not have a taste since it was mostly wax.  The powdered sugar filling was hard, but that was 70 years ago before all the preservatives came to make sure nothing dries out or loses what ever taste it had.  

Ah, but at the bottom of the pile was what I coveted most!  A brand new Big Chief Tablet.  It was red.  Always red, I think.  I think this is what it looked like back then.  Mother always included a pencil and I think she was killing 2 birds with one stone, so to speak.  The fact that we had to furnish our own books and tablets and pencils and such came into play at Christmas.  She had to buy them anyway, so might as well give Santa the credit.

What momma did not realize that a sheet of paper and a pencil with a sharp point was all I ever wanted out of life.  I wanted to write poetry.  That was my sole goal in life.  It would be followed later by the desire to write a book, which was followed by wanting to change the world.  Reality deemed that I would work and raise children.  Motherhood took precedence over my wants and desires, but it has been fulfilling and I am proud of all of my children today.  Granted none of them every made it into the highest office in the land, but I consider that one of my greatest blessings.  I digress.

Some where in my past lives poems and short stories that will never be found or read by another human, but I know.  I can not always voice my thoughts, but I can write them.  I do have a gift for that, and for that I thank God.  What the world does not know is that if I am sad, I write.  If I am happy I write.  If I am fired up for a cause whether it be gay rights, abortion, civil rights, women's rights, homelessness, or any of the myriad of things that cross my sight daily; I write.

But here is the deal.  When I write I share happy thoughts, and I hope I make you smile.  When I write I release the demons that tear at my soul, and I hope you understand that also.  Sometimes I just want to share a tiny glimmer of hope that has flitted across my radar.  For some people, a drink after work relieves the pressure.  Some people jog.  I write.

So here is the deal; I will keep writing if you will keep reading.  My blog has a counter so I know there are  several someone's out there reading what I write.  Feel free to leave a comment, good or bad.  That way I know I made a connection.  

In the meantime, I have youtube playing in the background and this song tears my heart right out of my body.  click herehttps://youtu.be/KZ-4LwfCClk

Gonna kiss another year goodbye!

 Thanksgiving is over.  Don't remember what, where, or if I ate, but I am sure I did.  For the most part 2020 sucked.  There was the covid most of the year which pretty well kept us all isolated.  Well, it kept those of us who believed that it was more than the flu off the streets and out of the stores and restaurants.  And then when I lost my dear Anthony to a disease that didn't exist, I pretty much gave up.  

I do want to thank the friends who knew and who cared for standing behind me and keeping me from falling.  And to those of you who did not know, it is best that way.  I never was one to air my laundry as mother used to say.  It is water under the bridge and you know how that goes!  When the water flows under the bridge, it is gone.  Never going to see that water again.  Off to the sea, or into a reservoir some where and flushed down the shitter.  Gone.

OMG!  Today is Saturday.  I thought it was Friday.  Good thing I looked at the calendar.  The worst thing about isolation is that I never know for sure what day it is.  I am going to Fowler to spend the night with a friend on Sunday.  I will spend the night because I do not want to drive home in the dark.  If Shirley was still alive, I could stop and see her, but she isn't.  But, I am supposed to make Tiramisu and I planned on making it on Saturday, but that was when I thought Saturday was tomorrow.

So that last paragraph  has nothing to do with anything.  It is just more of my ramblings that were leading to what is really in my little head this morning.  So, here we go.  I am going to make my list of New Years Eve resolutions sometime this week.  I know I am going to do this because every year I do.

I write them down on paper, because that makes them real and I may forget what they were.  Let me rephrase that: I WILL forget what they are.  I have yet to fulfill one of the lists, so I really do not know why I bother, but hope springs eternal in the human breast.  (I read that some where.) So here it comes:

1.  This one used to be "quit smoking", but one day I just got up and never smoked again.  I am not sure what year that even was.  Seems like it was in the Spring.  Cathy knows because she quit then also.  So I will change this one to  "Drink more water."

2.  Take a walk every day.  Well, maybe every other day.  Let's get real here: Take a walk when the sun is shining and it is between 75 and 85 degrees and Jiraiya is here to keep me company.  There.  That should do.

3.  Keep the house clean.  Change that one to: Make sure the front and back doors are clear of debris in case the house catches on fire from internal combustion from the grease on the stove from the healthy diet I never followed from the last New Years Day resolution list I made.

4.  Call my friends more often even though they depress me when they tell me what they have been doing while I was setting home feeling sorry for myself.

So, hell with this.  I am never going to change.  Life sucks so I might as well get used to it. I still have 5 days to make my list so expect a revision on this list.  For now, I am going to just hit the publish button up on top and probably go eat a cinnamon roll.  

Remember what momma told me; "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."  And I do have good intentions.

Momma and the elusive hummingbird.

When I moved to Colorado from Kansas way back in the early 1970's, I left my dear momma behind.  Well, to be honest, I left a lot of things behind, the least of which was a string of broken hearts and many friends.  Momma had the key to the house and the restaurant and I had a husband and a 1967 Chevy.  But I also had hopes and dreams. The husband did not last long and he took the Chevy when we parted ways.  The hopes and dreams would never die.  

To make a long story short, I touched lightly on husband #4 and  then moved on to a single life.  Life was good.  I had friends and I had to work 2 jobs to survive.  My momma back home missed me and I missed home.  So once a year I would travel back and in the spring or she would ride the train to  La Junta.  I would pick her up and bring her the last 50 miles.  Once she traveled with a lady we both knew.  That was not a good idea!  

My momma loved the hummingbirds that live in Colorado, but not in Kansas, or at least I never seen them down in Hutchinson which is very hot and muggy.  It soon became her quest to see as many of them as she could.  I loaded her into the car and we drove to Beulah.  It rained and the hummingbirds stayed hidden in the trees.

By this time I had married Kenny and we lived on the mesa.  Momma really liked that. I had a feeder hanging in front of the big window in the front room and I could spot the little fellows all day, but dear momma was not so lucky.  She liked to set in my rocker in front of the window and work crossword puzzles while she waited for the tiny birds to appear.  My office has always been on the upper level and I have a clear view of the window, so I was the look out.

A bird would come to the feeder and I would call out to her, but by the time she finished writing the word in the puzzle, the little feathered creature had flown away.  Then she would set staring at the empty perch waiting for the colorful little bird to come back.  After a few minutes of staring out the window at nothing, she would go back to her puzzle and wait till I spotted another one and we would repeat the whole scenario.

We set in the front yard under the Ash tree and waited.  Of course as we waited we talked and the birds did not like that so they stayed away.  Her trips were always planned around the start of summer before it got to hot for the little hummers.  We did travel to Beulah a time or two and parked to watch for them, but by this time her eye sight was not as clear as it used to be.  I did get a picture of two hummingbirds and mounted it for her, but that was never the same.

As momma got older we worried about her riding the train alone, so someone would bring her to me.  At this point of her life she was now into my cooking more so then the hummingbirds.  When she arrived, she would get out of the car and in her hand she had a list of food she wanted me to prepare.  

"They feed me that crap out of cans and I do not like it."  She would hand me her list and my work was cut out for me.  It read like this:

1.  Tomato soup.  Not canned tomato soup.  The kind you make with tomatoes where you mash and boil them and put soda to take out the acid.  And made with milk!  Not water.  And I like a grilled cheese sandwich with that.

2.  Liver and Onions.  Calf liver that is floured and browned in the skillet.  Saute the onions and then put the lid on with a little water and turn it on low and let it steam.

3.  Cinnamon Rolls.  Made with yeast and flour and let the dough raise then roll it out and lots of brown sugar and cinnamon.  And let them raise.  Not out of a can!

4.  Chicken and Noodles.  Boil the chicken and make good broth.  Homemade noodles made with egg and flour and cut on the counter.  Not those slick things that come in a cellophane bag.

There were other things she liked me to fix, but those were the staples that she had traveled 400 miles and all day to eat and by the gods above I better not screw up those four things!  And light on the salt!  High blood pressure.  "You can always put salt in, but you can not take salt out, so take it easy with that salt shaker."

Yes, momma! My sisters swore the frozen stuff or the canned stuff was as good or better than homemade, but momma wasn't buying that crock!

I miss my momma and that is a fact.  I used to have a big family, but sadly I am down to only one sister.  When momma was alive I always went home, but now it just isn't worth the effort.  Course I am not a spring chicken any more.  I like to go see my kids, but this past year, I have not done so.  The pandemic, you know.  I miss that.  I miss momma.

I often wonder if I will ever get old enough to not miss her.  Probably not.  I think my kids still miss me, but I am wondering if I showed up on their doorstep with my menu in my pocket, what the reception would be!  First thing is that since there are no hummingbirds in Kansas, I would have to watch the crows.  As I recall those damn things were as big as chickens.

So I guess I will just set here and miss momma and wish I was young again and she was planning a visit.  We have to love them while we have them, because that is how life is designed.  And I wonder, if I had it to do all over again if I would do it different.  I kind of doubt it, because momma had a saying for every occasion and another of her favorites was, "Try getting that toothpaste back in the tube."

So there you have it!  RIP my mother, you are sorely missed!

Giving myself an attitude adjustment here!

 It has been exactly one month since my life has been turned upside down and it is now time to take charge and do something about it.  The idyllic life of the last few years is gone.  I am alone.  I have been alone before and at my age I probably better get used to it.  I will start by deleting a phone number in my phone.  It will never ring again, so why keep it? 

I have ashes on my dresser waiting for Spring when they will be taken to the final resting place.  I take comfort in knowing that will happen.  We should all have a final resting place when our time comes and the time is here.  I can never forget this past month of my life, but I can remember the years before it all changed.

He was a wonderful man.  He was kind and caring and made me laugh.  He made me feel special, and that will never change.  The small dark place he harbored deep inside was one I could not reach and that will always make me a little sad.  Actually it makes me a lot sad, but it is what it is.  

We were in each others lives for a while and for a reason.  We had many talks about God and the hereafter and I think in my own simple way I brought him a peace he needed.  At least I hope so.  So, for now, I will put one foot in front of the other and keep going one day at a time.

And I will forever miss the soft brown of his beautiful eyes and the moon will come up and I will remember how much he loved the full moon.  I will continue to live, but I will never forget.

Rest In Peace, my dear, dear man.

Life is pretty much a crap shoot.

 Here I set like so many times before, waiting for the sun to come up.  And like so many times before, I am second guessing myself.  What did I miss?  Was there something said that I missed?  Any sign at all?  And after all the soul searching and all the self recriminations, it all comes back to nothing.  Could I have done anything to prevent what happened?  I told her no.  But is that true?

We tried so hard to stay safe.  We did not go to public places.  We wore a mask any time we were out of the truck or the house.  He contracted covid; I did not.  He quarantined in his house and I stayed in mine.  I took him groceries and left them on his porch.  We talked on the phone.  The conversations got shorter.  Staying home alone, day after day begins to wear on you.  People are gregarious by their very nature.  He was no different.

Mother always told me "You never really know anyone.  You only know what they tell you and let you see."  Momma was wiser than most people and had an inner wisdom that gave her an insight like no other.  She could see the good in everyone, even the orneriest old coot in town.  And she could also see the weakness and evil in the hypocrite beating his chest and pointing his finger.  She had the sweetest smile and her hazel eyes twinkled when she looked at me.  She actually made me think I was capable of anything.  But she was wrong.

I have always thought I was put here on this earth for a reason, but I am now questioning that.  If I was, what is the reason?  I have raised the kids.  I have fought the political battles and won a few, but what is that?  If not me, someone else would have carried the banner.  

Life goes on and I look back and just wonder what it was all about.  If I had life to do over, would I?  And if I did, would it change anything?  I think not.  I know I have got to come to terms with some things, but I am not sure I know where to start.    I can not stop the river from running to the sea.  I can not get the toothpaste back in the tube.

In hind sight, there is nothing I would change, because I still would not have known what someone else was thinking.  I can not know what thoughts someone is thinking if they do not say them out loud.  Am I at peace with this?  No.  Can I change anything? No.  Would I like to?  Yes.

All I can do, and the only advice I have at this point is to keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep hoping and praying for a better day.  I do not want to keep second guessing and I want to remember that I did the best I could with the tools and knowledge I had at the time and if that upsets anyone, so be it.

I think it would be how momma did it. I sure miss my momma and that will never change.

 

Sure am missing Nickerson, Kansas

 Merle Haggard says it best.  https://youtu.be/TuwhpVde6NY The roots of my raising sure do run deep.  Growing up in Nickerson, Kansas was definitely a challenge.  Like all small town there was a right side of town and a wrong side, but it this case it was the whole "outside of town."  We lived "outside of town" only 2 blocks from the high school when I was very small. That was the "wrong side of the tracks."  When I started second grade we moved clear across town out by the cemetery.  That was also the "wrong side of the tracks."  Either place was a place we could listen to that lonesome train whistle blow.

I learned early to love that sound.  It meant the train was going some where and I knew it was far away.  When the train whistle subsided in the distance, the coyotes howled.  Occasionally a wolf would howl.  Coyotes made more of a yipping sound, but wolves had a mournful howl.  It was like they were trying to call the moon from the sky above.  Either one scared hell out of us kids and we waited for the howling to subside before we could sleep.

But as poor as we were, we knew we were safe in our beds.  To my recollection, I never knew my dad to own a gun.  He was in the Army in World War 1.  He was what I thought was a big man, but in actuality he was only 5'8".  It was not an unusual height back in those days.  I do not know why, but I am assuming it had something to do with what they ate back then.  The emphasis in those days was not so much on vitamins and minerals as it was on survival.  A cow was easier to raise than a head of lettuce.  But all of that is irrelevant.

I remember the first time we got linoleum in our house.  My God!  You would have thought we had died and gone to heaven!  We could walk across the floor  barefooted and not get a "sliver".  Slivers were little pieces of the wood flooring and could only be removed by a pair of tweezers and a needle held in the hand of our dear mother.

Closing the house up at night entailed closing the front and back inside doors.  There were no locks.  There was usually a hook and eye on the screen door, but they were used to hold the door closed when the wind blew.  Bad people did not exist in Nickerson.  I recall once coming home from school and there was a dog walking on my street.  It scared me to death.  I actually climbed up on the icebox so the dog could not "eat me".  Nothing ever changed in Nickerson and that dog did not belong on my street.

Occasionally someone would pass away (We never referred to it as dying.) and the hearse would have to pass the end of our street on the way to the cemetery.  Nine chances out of 10, we knew the body that was being transported because Nickerson might have had a population of 1,000 people if everyone was gathered in one place.  Needless to say, we had to stand quietly with our hand over our heart until the hearse had passed.  This picture was taken from the cemetery side, thus the words are backwards.

For whatever reason I keep retreating to my childhood I know it was my safe place.  One would think that at this late stage in life I could accept who I am, but I don't.  I love to hard, trust too easily, and my biggest weakness is that I am ever the eternal optimist.  But I forget the most important thing momma told me:

"You never know anybody.  You only know OF them.  You know what they let you see."

Thanks, momma, now I remember.

Louie and Linda

 Good Morning world!  It is 5:25 AM as I start this.  Happy Birthday, Bret Mercer!  Today I actually felt a twinge of happiness as I crawled out of my little bed.  You all know the saying, "Where there is life, there is hope."  And if that were not enough to make me happy, Bret told me they have lifted the burn ban!  He did say to call to confirm that, but just knowing that I could possibly be able to burn my brush piles after a year of not being able to, pleases me.

Laying in my bed and enjoying the last moments before the day begins is my favorite time of day.  This morning my mind drifted back to before I married Kenneth.  At that time he was still married to his first wife and lived out east of town.  Charlie and I had just moved to Colorado from Kansas.  He had lived here before and wanted to return and start a business.  I was game for anything at that point and my kids were back and forth between Hutchinson and Lakin, Kansas, so Pueblo was my destiny.

To get back to the point, Kenny was friends with all his neighbors and Louie was an old bachelor that lived across the highway from Kenneth and Wanda.  He was an engineer on the railroad and ran the train through the canyon to somewhere in western Colorado every day.  He returned every night.

Now, Louie lived in a rather ramshackle house in the midst of his animals.  He raised pigs, goats, cows, and chickens.  Might have had a turkey in the lot.  His chicken house was 2 stories and Kenneth always found that fascinating.  The whys and wherefores of Louie is irrelevant, but his uniqueness was legendary.

I learned at some point from Kenneth that Louie had married a 29 year old woman.  What he told Kenneth was basically this;   "Yep took me a wife.  She is a big one, but when I took her to the court house for the license.  the man told me it costs the same to marry a big one as a little one and I wanted to get my money's worth."

Of course I wanted to meet her so I made arrangements to go for a visit.  When she opened the door, I knew why Louie had taken the plunge.  She was a big woman!  She was probably close to 6 feet tall and heavy, but not obese.  She was dressed in a moo moo.  It reached from her shoulders down to the floor and she seemed to float across the floor.  It was not the dress or her size that caught my eye, but rather what was peeking out under the hem of her garment!

She was barefooted and 2 tiny chickens were under her skirt.  As she walked across the floor they were apparently busy under there staying out of her way.  Linda was a very warm and caring person and I spent several afternoons at her kitchen table, just passing the time of day "oohing and aahing" over the tiny animals she cared for under her skirt.

Sadly, Linda did not live  past 30 and when she passed Louie had her cremated with the explanation that he could finally lift her!  He took her on his final run through the canyon and left instructions that the same ride would be the one he took when the time came.

Years have passed since those days and I am the only one still on the up side of the sod.  Life gets lonely here on my little acre, especially with the covid 19 pandemic.  I just thank God every day for the people in my life like Louie and Linda who have graced my doorstep and brightened my life in some small way.  It is my earnest prayer that someday I will be able to see all the unique friends I have met over the years.

That would sure make heaven a brighter place!

Happy Fourth of July!

 I bet this is about the last kind of post you expected when you found me this morning.  Last thing I thought I would write about today, but I need a break from reality.  I need to be happy if even for just a few minutes.  It is 9 days until Christmas.  I have no tree.  No presents.  No hope for any happiness on the horizon, so it is off to Nickerson and the 4th of July.

It is back to the ramshackle house at 709 North Strong Street and it is July 4th, 1948 and it is hotter than hell.  No air conditioner in our window.  Electricity is only used for the lights because we do not want to "wear it out".  The war has been over for  almost 3 years.  My brother, Jake, had brought me home a package of fire crackers.  I do not know where he got them, but they were wrapped in cellophane and they were red.  There must have been 10 or twelve in the package and I was fascinated with them.  In truth, I was scared to death of them!

They were (as I recall) about an inch long.  They were a very dark red.  The fuse was a piece of white twisted paper.  If I had something like that today, I would light the twisted fuse and they would all pop and it would be over in 10 seconds.  But that is now and this was 72 years ago.  Times have changed.

We went to the old, dead Cottonwood tree out by the barn.  Jake showed me how to pick the dead wood and select just the right piece to use as "punk".  Punk is dead cottonwood  from the heart of the tree.  It separates easily, is very light , and it is free.  The man selling the fireworks had given him a free punk, but I needed my own.  In order to keep the punk glowing red, it needed to be blown on at regular intervals.  My brother was the smartest person in the world!  He was 4 years older than me and I worshipped the ground he walked on.

I recall untwisting one from the bunch and putting it in an ant hole.  With the wick pointed upward and the punk held downward and my eyes about 4 inches from the firecracker I touched the glowing punk to the wick and nothing happened.  Well, that is not quite true!  Something happened, but it was not a popping firecracker.  It was my mother jerking me off the ground and explaining to me that this was a stupid maneuver.  My brother rounded the corner of the house and quickly exited, stage right!

She then taught me the proper was to do it.  Unwind one firecracker.  Lay it on the ground.  Blow on the punk to make it red and touch the end to the fuse.  As soon as the fuse showed signs of being lit, back up very far away.  And then she was off to find brother Jake.

I do not remember many more 4th of July's until my first husband talked me into holding a Roman Candle in my hand and hurling it back and forth to make the balls go further.  When that exploded in my hand, my firecracker days were over!  Today I enjoy watching the fireworks across the river and I do it from the safety of my bedroom.  

I miss my brother.  I miss my mother.  I miss my sisters.  If this were not true, would I be writing about a 4th of July that happened 72 years ago?  No.  I would be curled up in my bed still sound asleep.  

There is an old saying that goes like this, "When God closes a door, he opens a window."  This means that life changes and life goes on.  Until the day God calls me home, I will have choices.  He has closed a door in my life and I am looking for the window.  I hope there is one, but right now, I am not sure.  I sure hope there is! 

So, until you hear otherwise,  Happy Fourth of July!  

I was happy then, wasn't I?

 Pandemic.  Such an evil word.  There was talk before about the possibility of a "pandemic."  What would we do?  All the people in power had simple solutions.  It was easy back then, wasn't it?  Medical was ready.  Hospitals were ready.  Every thing was in place to handle a health crisis.  What went wrong?

The flu kills people every year, doesn't it?  Sure.  People got their flu shots.  But my mind kept going back to the little red man in the diagram flying over here in a shiny plane.  The diagram showed him getting off the plane on the west coast.  Washington I think.  Then he got back on the plane and flew to Florida.  Such a simple little diagram, but then all the best laid plans of mice and men, as was inevitable, went to hell in a hand basket.  Little red dots began showing up all over the map.  OMG!  The impossible had happened.  We were smack in the middle of a pandemic which covered the whole world.

Even back then it was fascinating to watch.  They could trace it.  They could see it move across the country.  They could see people dying, but the little red dots meant nothing until they chose my world to come into.  We have lost a complete year out of our lives.  Our kids have adapted to online learning, but where is interaction with other people and kids occurring?  Online?  There is no electronic device that can replace the touch of a human hand; the sound of laughter.  Even a cup of coffee with a friend at Starbucks is a thing of the past.

My car rarely leaves the car port.  A quick trip to Lagreese is about the best I can do.  I still mail a few orders out from the neighborhood drug store, but my zest for life is gone.  The library where I used to spend so much time, is now off limits.  The AIDS quilt was not hung this year.  It is deserted and a time limit is imposed.  Church is closed and shuttered.  I can still walk down on the levee, but even that is a lonely undertaking.

My Sunday afternoon Scrabble in no more.  I fear I could slip into the doldrums and just wither away.  The sad part is that I am pretty sure I am not alone in this.  I met a friend at Starbucks last Saturday and we drank coffee in her car.  When our visit was over she walked to my side of the car and she hugged me.  She hugged me for probably a full minute and it felt so good.  We are not supposed to do that you know, but sometimes you just gotta' go with your gut and to hell with the outcome.

Someday this will all be over, but it will never be forgotten.  People are gone from my life like they were never there.  But they were there!  They were warm, caring, kind people!  Some of them were funny and made me laugh.  Some were super intelligent and challenged my mind.  One was special in every way.  I have a picture on my screen and I see him every day, all day long.  But he doesn't smile.  I still feel special, but it is an empty specialness and it leaves me cold.

Maybe some day I can smile again, but not today.  Maybe some day when my friends stop dying, and my church is open and I can see the rose window, I can smile.  But not today.  The pain is too fresh and the wound too deep.

Enjoy what you have, while you have it, because life is fleeting and love an illusion. 

A black felt circular skirt with a pink poodle.

 

In case you have never seen a poodle skirt, this is it.  They were the rage back in the mid 50's.  I never had one, but that did not keep me from wanting one.  I think every girl in school wanted one, so I was not alone in that.  There were only a few of the more elite girls that could afford one and it sure wasn't in my momma's budget. Of course if I had gotten the black felt circular skirt with the pink poodle on the leash, I would have needed the black and white saddle oxfords to go with it.  And a nice sweater!  Sweater would have required a bra and boobs, but I did not have that or those either.

We wore brown or black shoes.  Mostly brown.  They were lace up and tie shoes and the skirt I wore was wool.  Wool was cheap and durable.  Wool had to be hand washed in cold water because if it wasn't it shrank.  Mother was always careful to not let that happen.  Now you should know, there was none of that changing of the clothes every day like goes on around here now.  I wore my brown wool skirt to school on Monday and every other day.  Sometimes I changed blouses in the middle of the week if there happened to be a clean one laying around some where.  When spring arrived we changed to our cotton clothes.  

A side note here on the shoes.  We each got a new pair in the fall and they were our "school shoes."  The fact that they were our only shoes was beside the point.  They were polished every Saturday night so we could look really good on Sunday, when we put on our "Sunday clothes."  We each got a new pair of shoes when school started in the fall and by the time spring came and the ground was no longer covered with snow, we had grown out of them or they had completely fallen apart, and we went barefooted until it was time to buy new shoes the next fall.  Barefeet were more common back when I was growing up.  Try going in some where now without your shoes.

Now it goes without saying here that Josephine was the oldest girl and I was next in line for the hand me downs.  After I was done with an item it was passed down to Donna, Mary and then Dorothy, in that order.  Any time some one showed up on our doorstep with clothes they were getting rid of was a good day.  I always prayed someone would grow out of their poodle skirt but that never seemed to happen.

I seem to recall sometime in my growing up years that stiff, lace petticoats that held the skirts out to make them full were also in style.  Seems like that was high school and I did not have one of those either.  My sister Donna did and I recall it scratching her legs  and making them red. Served her right for being so uppity!

You need to know that Saturday was the day we did "the washing."  That way we had clean clothes for church on Sunday.  We also polished our shoes every Saturday night.  Had to have them looking good for church on Sunday.  We all wore brown shoes and the shoe polish was in a bottle with a dauber that we smeared the brown liquid on the leather and let it dry.  Then we buffed them until they shined.  We were each responsible for the care of our shoes and making sure our clothes were laid out for the next day.  We wore the same clothes to school 5 days a week.  We did change into "play clothes" when we got home.

But, back to the poodle skirts.  In my mind, if I could just have a poodle skirt and a nice sweater and black and white oxfords  and bobby socks on my feet, I could have ruled the world.  There were probably only 3 girls in the whole school who actually wore those things and the fad did not last long.  Seems I was not the only girl in the world who did not have those items in my wardrobe and I did survive.

Now years later, after I have raised my kids the best I could, I know what my mother went through.  Poverty was a palpable part of our lives.  Hand me downs were a way of life.  Staring through the window of the Corrington Mercantile at the fabrics and dresses and dishes just made me sadder.  It made me want more.  My mother patched our clothes with a needle and thread.  Today we live in a disposable society.  

And who is the winner?  Believe it or not, I think it is me! I have money to buy whatever I want, but I still put little  pieces of fabric together, but now I call them a quilt!

The patience of Job!

Those of you who know me also know that I tend to be a tad bit of a know it all and have a bit of an abrasive personality.  I am a fairly intelligent woman and I want to win.  I keep track of my score on Jeopardy! right up to the moment I fall asleep.  I love to play Scrabble and therein is the source of this blog.

My friend, Anthony was almost my polar opposite.  He was quiet and also very intelligent.  Our favorite thing was playing Scrabble with friends.  I found a game on Amazon called Boggle which could be played alone or as competition.  We made our own rules.  Boggle consists of 16 cubes with letters on all four sides.  We flipped it out on the table and then each one of us took turns making a word and fitting in into a grid with the words made before.  We could only use the letters that were showing on top.  Sort of like a crossword puzzle when it was finished.  The last one to make a word won.  Simple and fun.

Anthony always set quietly while I found my word and played.  He was the most patient man I have ever known.  The last Sunday is the one I remember.  We played; he won.  We played; I won.  On the last game it was his turn and I could see a very obvious word.  I could barely contain myself as I watched him searching the letters. I knew if he seen it, the game would be over.  He looked up at me in my agitated state and said very quietly, "It is my turn."  Yes it was and I watched as he chose the word and beat me!  But that was my Anthony!  

He never gloated over a victory and neither did I.  We were two very good friends enjoying a competition.  I respected his mind as he respected mine.  I find that very rare in a man, but usually it is a sign that he is comfortable in his own skin.  I liked that about him.

He was patient with me.  He was always kind.  Sometimes he was opinionated when we were talking about life, but always he listened.  He did not want anyone to take advantage of me and was quick to point out to me, if he thought that was happening.  While he never met my whole family, he knew who they were.  He loved his family, but sometimes he was sad and missed the ones who were no longer here.  I understood that.

My life has two parts now; before Anthony and after Anthony.  The pain of losing him gets easier every day, but not really.  There is a hole in my heart that can never be filled.  And I would not want it to change.  I will always see those beautiful brown eyes looking at me and hear his soft voice saying 

"It is my turn."  

The dash to the outhouse!

 I am up in the morning anywhere from 3:30 AM  to 5:00.  If I lay there any longer my aches and pains seem to kick in to remind me of my age.  This was all well and good back when I lived alone in my one bathroom house, but now I have a son who lives with me and he leaves for work at 5:30.  This means he sneaks very quietly up the stairs and into the bathroom and I do not hear him.  So when I open my bedroom door and see the light under the bathroom door, I know I missed my golden opportunity and I will now be doing the little dance that does no good what so ever, but seems necessary.

So this leads me to the moonlight trail to the outhouse back at 709 North Strong Street , Nickerson, Kansas,  seventy years ago.  While it was still light we all had to go visit the outhouse.  Hopefully that would be the last trip for the night.  Now, in the event we actually had to go in the middle of the night, we were allowed to make concessions.  One of these was if we only needed to go as far as the horse tank if we only had to do #1.  There was a "chamber pot" located behind the wood stove for the little kids to use and Dad.  I do not ever remember being an actual "little kid."  I am sure that after we left the Stroh place Jake, Josephine, myself were all big kids.  Dorothy was a tiny baby and Mary was 2 years old.  That would have meant Donna was 4.  Since they were little they went to Ora Ayres to be babysat while I was in school  She charged 50 cents  a week.    

I remember her kitchen well.  It had  very big wood cookstove that took up the whole kitchen.  I need to interject here that  when her and Jerry(?) were first married they were in a car wreck and Ora had suffered some brain damage.  She was still a functioning adult, but her reasoning skills were rather limited.  She could babysit and she could cook.  We grew up eating chocolate cakes that she baked every day and were used as a substitute for bread.  Now her cakes were a strange green color, but mother said it was because she skimped on the chocolate or used an inferior brand.  But that is neither here nor there and has no bearing whatso ever on anything and I do not know why it stuck in my mind. 

Jerry was an avid gardener and when he harvested his crops were kept in his bedroom.  His harvest seem to consist of mostly peanuts which were boiled and eaten that way.  Gross.  Never understood that, but it really was not any of my business.  The back yard had a grainery and that was where the chickens lived.  The "out house" was located in one corner of a row of ramshackle sheds strung together that surrounded the grainery.  It was a hole in the ground with a wash tub with a hole cut in it and turned upside down.  That was one place no one wanted to go and I never had nerve enough to perch on that with my pants down!  It was breeding grounds (in my mind) to a new breed of giant, poison spiders.

Some times mother sent us big kids to bring the little kids home.  That was always a treat because Ora would give us a piece of the green cake and we actually liked it as long as we did not know the difference.  Entertainment at her house consisted of blocks of wood which were used as cars to travel on the dirt roads we drew on the dirt yard.  

As I write this, I realize that this was our "normal".  If I gave one of my grandkids a piece of wood and told them to go pretend it was a car they would think I had lost my mind!  I can get Jiraiya to walk across a field with me to check on crawdads in the ditch, but a block of wood is just a block of wood to him.  He likes to fill the feeder for the geese, but then the computer games are his weapon of choice.

I miss my life on Strong Street and I can not imagine why I ever wanted to leave, but I did.  My idea of heaven is not a street paved in gold, but the sandy soil of Strong Street and the mud that dried in the puddles and waited for the sun to bake it so we could walk barefoot and feel it crunch beneath our feet.

  That and a piece of green cake will get me a seat at the throne of God any day!

Mama always said....

It is without fail that I wake up every morning to my mother's voice in my ear reminding me of something she thinks I might have forgotten.  Today it is the one about "If you can reach the end of your life and count all your friends on one hand, you are blessed."  Once more, I can see the wisdom of her words.  She defines a true friend as someone who carries you in their heart.  Someone who knows your deepest secrets and will take that secret to their grave.  It is someone one that you can call after months or years of absence and both of you are happy for the call.  Someone who knows the good and bad about you and accepts it as normal.

And this morning I counted. There is one in Kansas.  One in Missouri.  Those 2 go back to the Red Carpet so they are my oldest friends.  Now that Renate is back in my life, I realize that makes 3.  John Tenorio was #4, but he passed two years ago and has not been replaced.  His brother has pretty much filled that vacancy because I can bitch and moan to him and tell him my thoughts without him thinking ill of me.  Number 5 is solid.  I met him when I first came to Colorado and we have remained friends for all these years.  Now let me tell you about this friend.

I do not talk to him very often, but we both know we are just a phone call away.  And I know I can count on him to understand.  He was one of my first phone calls when I lost Kenny.  He called when his dad died and again when his mom passed.  Our first conversation in several years occurred about my Anthony two weeks ago.  He kept jumping ahead in the conversation with "Did you get married again?"  "Are you going to get married?" When he heard the outcome of the story, he was devastated as I knew he would be.  He lives in a pollyanna world where good things happen to good people.  That is not so in the real world.  The real world hands you happiness and just when you think it is alright, you learn it is not.  And that is why we need friends.

So, momma, if you are up there, and I am sure you are you need to know that the scrawny little brown haired girl you raised to be a full grown woman actually listened to you.  I do very little in this life that is not influenced by things you taught me when you thought I was not listening.  Your picture is the last thing I see when I leave my house.  There is another by my bed on the stand where the Bible should be.  I remember to cherish my friends. I do not lie, steal or cheat.  I try to treat everyone fairly.  I do not let my left hand know what my right hand gives away.  I love my fellow man.

I try really hard, but some days life just sucks.

Renate, my friend the artist!

This is a picture that Renate painted for me.  It is beautiful, but sadly the overhead lights are reflected in the glass.  (Nobody ever accused me of being a photographer.)  But just look at this picture.  It is beautiful.  I never knew her to paint.  When we were kicking around we were both into writing.  Apparently she got a wild hair at some time and tried her hand at painting.  Now, while I am not schooled in the fine art of painting, this appeals to me and makes me feel that I am right there  on the lake and it even makes me feel a little cold.  She has a desire to paint pictures and sell them, which I am thinking she should be able to do.  Maybe some day I will be able to introduce her to my friends as  "Renate Tursi, the accomplished artist who lives in that great big house on the hill that she paid for with her paintings money".

I have never had an artistic bone in my body and my talents are mostly the written word, but some times I like to cook and bake new things.  Today I made pecan bars and that was a mistake.  See, there is no one here but me and this was a pan 13" x 9" and the bars are about 1 inch tall.  So I called Ross over and he ate one and took 2 home, but that still leaves a lot in the pan.  Bret should wander in later, but he is not a big sweet eater and these things are very sweet.

  

Well, let me tell you something about baking.  It is rather hard to bake anything that is not loaded with calories.  First you have the flour, then the sugar, and the butter and then the good Lord deems that it must all be held down with frosting, which is just a different kind of sugar.  I can make noodles, but there again, starch, starch, starch.  

And now guess what?  I am sleepy so I guess I will call this finished and head off to bed.  I know there is no lesson learned today and I have not touched your soul, but just know that sometimes I just need to type something that means nothing and teaches no lessons.  Mostly I guess, I just wanted you to see the picture Renate painted for me and to know that is is so nice to have my friend back in my life even under the worst of circumstances. We are not the same people we were  10 years ago, but we have a history and that history will work to make us better people.

Good night, Renate!  Tell the dogs I am coming soon!

 

Time just keeps right on marching.

 Funny, I thought the world had stopped, but it has not.  It has been 2 weeks today since my life was altered by circumstances far beyond my control, and yet so close to my grasp.  When I say life is funny, I do not mean it in the literal sense.  It is funny in the way that we really think we matter and that we have any control at all over the events that transpire and pull us into a web that is intricately woven by some unseen hand.  The house I used to enjoy going to on Sunday after church is empty and a realtor placed a sign in front of it.  I will not drive by to see if anyone lives there, nor to see if the broken limb has fallen to the street below.

When I pass by the reservoir, I will remember the afternoon we went hiking and I will smile.  When I   drive  down Pueblo Boulevard past Minnequa Lake, I will remember the 3 of us trying to get a small kite into the air and  I will smile. When I go to Sam's club I will remember that he used to buy me a juice called Naked because it had no additives. 

"Hey, Lou!  I got you Naked!"  " Oh, Anthony, I sure hope that is in  a bottle".

Little things that meant nothing now mean so much.  It is almost 6:32, the time my phone pinged that I had a message; the last message I would ever receive from that number.

Yes, life goes on whether we want it to or not.  God is still in his heaven and I still trust him with my life.  I do not know his plan, but I am sure he has one.  Nothing is random and God will never give me more than I can carry.  This I know is true.  And there is one more thing I know that I tend to forget and that is this:  "God never closes a door without opening a window."

Right now I do not know where the window is, but I am sure I will find it and it will lead to peace.  That is how my God rolls!

OMG! It's a YAK!!!

 I can never think of my friend Renate without those words popping into my head.  There are words that could manifest there, such as friend, kind, compassionate, funny, dependable and even sucker, but Yak is the one that is in the fore front of my mind.  And "Yak" is followed by gales of laughter.

Renate is coming today.  I wrote about our reconnecting yesterday or the day before.  I have lost all track of time when it comes to days of the week and I consider it a major accomplishment to know that today is December 4 and it is Friday.  To be honest somebody told me.  My youngest son lives with me and he reminded me that today is Friday and Renate is coming.  And I told him the Yak story before he left for work and he gave me the "poor delusional momma" look as he left.  But I was victorious because I now knew for sure what day it was and that Renate was coming today.  I think it has been close to 10 years since I seen her.

My last memory of her was a trip up to Beulah with her dad and step mom.  Renate and I were in the front seat and she was driving.  Dale Tursi and his wife Val  were in the back seat enjoying the scenery.  We were talking about meaningless things that had transpired the previous week.  We were on our way to Beulah where we planned a drive through the mountains and stopping some where to partake of what ever was in the picnic basket she had packed.  

Since the scenery rarely changes we were just talking and not really paying attention when suddenly about halfway up the drive we both caught sight of animals in a field where cattle belonged.  The cattle had always been there and now we both stared in amazement at 8 or 9 black very strange looking animals which could have been cattle had they not had long hair.  

The words that came out of both our mouths at the same exact time were "What the hell!?  YAKS!!!  Those are Yaks!"  It was so ludicrous that we then dissolved into gales of laughter.  Renate parked and Dale and Val were in a state of confusion.  

Renate pointed at the Yaks and explained.  "Look!  (pause)  Yaks!  I thought they could only live in cold climates!"

I am not sure why, but they were not nearly as amazed as Renate and I by the sight.  They sort of looked at us and shook there heads.  We then continued our day, but I am willing to bet that when Renate reads this she is going to be taken back to that day and she and I are going to have a very good laugh.  

Some things can only be remembered by the people who were there and while I have since learned Yaks can live in Colorado, I have never seen one.  

Renate is my friend.  My mother once told me these words "If you can reach the end of your life and count your true friends on one hand, you are blessed."  And as I set here, I think of many people who have been my friend over the years.  God has blessed me with many friends through the years, but when I follow her criteria, I see she is right.  

On one hand I can count 5 friends.  Only 5 that I consider true friends.  A true friend is one that keeps my confidences.  One who knows my deepest secrets, but never finds a need to discuss them.  Renate is one of them.

So lunch today and who knows what tomorrow may bring.  Life gives us little twists and turns, but always seems to lead us where we need to be.  I am looking to have a beautiful reunion with my friend and hopefully in this drab world we are currently in we can find a little laughter, God willing.

When God closes a door, he opens a window.

 I have always known this to be true although I also tend to forget it a lot.  I need to lay the back drop for this story first.  30 years ago I began working with AIDS patients as a care giver and personal companion.  The epidemic was in full swing back then and a lot of people were worried about "catching it", so people who did my line of work were in great demand.  But this is about a friendship forged in the midst of sickness and dying buffered by an underlying hope for a cure.  Sadly there was not a miracle cure discovered, but there was medicine discovered that could suppress the virus and allow people to live fairly normal lives, but that is history and this blog is about a friendship.

While I worked in the field with the clients, my friend was a case manager.  She dealt with them in their medical care and financial needs.  I helped them with house work, laundry, cooking, shopping, banking and that sort of stuff.  I also tried to give them avenues of entertainment including walks in the park, picnics and  and stuff like that.  Since there was a stigma connected to them at the time my job description changed almost daily.  I was whatever I needed to be at any given time for any reason.  And always in the background was Renate.  What did I need?  How could she help?  Always a phone call away.

In our line of work at that time there were frequent deaths.  It was a scary time for us as well as the clients.  Science was working overtime to conquer this plague and all we could do was try to help where and when we could. We started social events to try to have some sort of normalcy.  We started World AIDS  Day and made an AIDS Quilt.  We were marking time and eventually it paid off.  The community learned that AIDS was a manageable medical condition and it was spread by love.  Safe sex became our mantra, and now many years later, it has paid off and we can teach safe sex.

  I eventually left the client base because they did not need me any more.  I went to volunteer at hospice and Renate retired to live her idyllic life with the man she loved. Renate and I drifted apart after she retired.   But life is cruel. I knew she moved to Fowler and now had a life partner, but that was all I knew.  And now all these years later, the circle has reconnected and we have made contact again.  Her life has changed and mine has changed.  She is a widow and I just lost my Anthony.  She will be here tomorrow!  She thinks she can still find my house, but we will see.  The neighborhood has changed and time has passed.  We will see.

So, today I am going to make cookies or cinnamon rolls for my friend.  It seems strange to say the word "friend" in connection with some one I have not seen in many years, but some bonds are never broken and when people fight for a cause that is right and just, they remain friends forever.  

It will be nice to see her and  I am going to hug her so tight she can not get loose!  And we will cry over Jim and Anthony, and laugh over Mark and Allen and all the clients of long ago.  And when she leaves we will make a vow to never be seperated like this again and maybe this time it will work.  I just know this, the Lord works in wonderous ways, his miracles to perform.

Peace.

And now it is tomorrow.

 Life has a way of going on whether we like it or not.  It has been almost a week since my life was thrown into a bottomless pit, and yet the sun comes up every morning.  One day it snowed; the next the air conditioner kicked on to cool the  house.  I cooked a turkey and I burned the roaster beyond ever being useful again.  I swept the porch, but not the sidewalk.  I bought goose food.  I made coffee every morning.  Funny how the mundane works to keep us sane.

Covid 19 is still the number one story on the news, both here and abroad.  I mask up and go to the grocery only when I need something.  I wove a couple rows on my runner, washed the sheets on Jiraiya's bed and stared blankly at the television for several hours.  Life goes on.  Someday I am sure, life will again have meaning, but not right now.

If the church was open I could go set in the corner and talk this all over with God, but it is not, so I do the next best things.  I stand in my front yard early in the morning and watch the sun spread across the eastern sky.  I watch the birds shake themselves out of their stupor and rise against the sky in search of a fellow bird much as my soul rises in hope that this new day will be better.

And at night I search for the moon.  Sometimes it is full, which fills me with wonder.  Sometimes it is a crescent and sometimes it is dark, but always it is there.  As I watch it rise on the horizon, I know that some where, some how, I am not alone. I have a little trouble remembering when life was fun and I can not hear the laughter that used to live inside of me, but some how I know it is still there.

My hand reaches for the phone and then stops in mid air.  The number is dying in my head even as my hand retracts.  That part of my life is over.  It is over, but it is not forgotten.  It will live every day in my heart and someday, there will be a big harvest moon.  It will be a beautiful orange and it will make me smile.  And then, as now, the moon will enter a new phase and I will only see the outline of a cresent against a black sky.  

And maybe someday, I will smile again.

Today is Thanksgiving Day.

 Oxymoron is defined in the dictionary as a figure of speech that seemingly contradicts, such as  "cruel kindness."  Today is Thanksgiving Day.  The day we give thanks for all the wonderful bounty that our creator has bestowed on us.  I am sorry.  While the turkey is in the oven as it has been for the last 79 years of my life, the bounty is not reflected in my heart.

We are in the middle of the worst pandemic of our lives.  The government leaders are begging us to isolate and stay in our homes, but the airlines are busy.  There is a festivity in the air that is completely asinine to the darkest sorrow in my heart.  Life is going on as usual in so many areas, but not here on South Road.

I have not seen my kids in over a year.  It has been longer than that since I seen my sister.  I only have one sister left. I have a few nieces and nephews that I never see and rarely hear from. A couple friends that I talk with several times a year and that is about it. The Aunts and Uncles have all faded from the horizon and I am left in the abyss that is called my life.  My life is in Colorado now.  I have friends here and I had a special friend named Anthony.

Anthony has been gone 5 days.  We had plans.  He was such a caring man.  I wish the whole world could have known the simple little soul that was Anthony.  If I have to say something I am grateful for today, it can only be that he was in my life for the time he was in my life and he touched me to the very depth of my soul. My world is a better place for him having shared a part of it.

He loved the moon.  I loved the moon.  We looked at it together, he on his side of town and me on the mesa.  We talked every day.  Sometimes it was just a touch base thing and sometimes we talked for hours.  We had different opinions about many things, but we respected each other and that made it good. I had coffee with him every Sunday after church.  It was the high point of my week.  And then he got sick.

Thanksgiving?  I think not.  I will cook the turkey, because that is what I do.  I will feed the geese, because that is what I do.  I will sleep through Jeopardy!  because that is what I do.  I will remember that Anthony would call me when the opening theme song of Jeopardy! started and tell me good night.  He knew.  He understood me and he loved his family.  He missed his family.  He told me that many times.  And now his family will miss him.  

The gentle giant is with us no more, but as sure as there is a God above and the deep blue sea below this man will live in the hearts of everyone who knew him. 

For now, Rest In Peace, knowing you are missed by so many and loved by all who knew you.

Until we meet again........

Farewell to my friends as I close another chapter.

 Sometimes God reaches down and for no reason whatsoever, picks the most beautiful flower in the garden to hold as his very own.  He holds it close to his heart and whispers, "You are mine!"  And so it was last Saturday, when he took my friend.

In life we meet many people.  Some are random and pass through leaving very little trace behind.  Some linger for a while and leave without a trace left behind.  There are also those who have spent a lifetime with us without leaving a trace behind  and then there are those who become entwined in our souls and the very fabric of our being.  Anthony was such a friend.

I do not remember how many years ago it was that I met Anthony and Annie, but they forever altered the fabric of my being.  Annie was an invalid and Anthony was her caregiver.  He had been for many years and as such had enlisted Hospice to help with respite care.  I worked for Hospice as a relief.  The first time I met Annie she was drawn to my blue eyes and if Annie was happy, Anthony was happy.  So began a friendship forged of a common need. 

This friendship continued after the passing of Annie, and continued until last Saturday when God seen my Anthony standing all alone in the garden of life.  He reached down and cradled him in his arms and with only a brief glance at me standing in the breach he put his arms around my beautiful Anthony and took him home.  And they were gone. 

We are all given our reasons for being on this earth and we sometimes know what they are and sometimes we do not.  My first obligation was to Annie.  My second to her son.  They are both with God now and I can only thank my dear savior for having had the privilege of knowing these two beautiful souls.  I am  a better person for having them touch my life.

Nobody's Cat.

 The same sun came up this morning, just like it has every day for so many years, but this time it is different.  It is an empty sun shining on an empty world.  I do not know how many people there are on this little ball we call earth, but I am sure it numbers in the billions or trillions.  That does not matter to me.  What matters is the one person who is not here.  The one person who made my world turn.  The one person who could brighten my day and give meaning to my life.  The one person who understood when I was sad and laughed when I was happy.  The one person whose hand was warm and whose eyes were bright.  The man who wrote "wash me" on my back car window.  The man who fixed my coffee with just the right amount of froth to the creamer.

When I met this man many years ago he was taking care of his invalid mother.  He was so kind to her and so solicitous of her every need that I thought he must surely have wings under his shirt.  Our first serious conversation concerned an old cat that lived on his patio.  I asked whose it was and he said "no ones" it just lived there.  

I asked him about the small crate the cat slept in. "Well, I put it there so it could get out of the weather."

How did it come to be on his porch?  Well, it followed him home from the store.  It was a kitten then and he had to pick it up several times because it was tired and lagged behind.  He did not want it to get lost.  Did it ever come in the house?  Well, sometimes because it was cold he let it sleep with him.  I thought it pretty much qualified as being his cat and when he had to have it put to sleep he cried just like it was his pet.  But he still said no.

Over the years we became friends.  We learned to understand each others idiosyncrasy's.  It was tit for tat and yang for yang.  He was an  independent man and I was an independent woman.  We were friends in a way that many people strive for and few people achieve.  I shall never stop reaching for his hand and never stop waiting for the phone to ring.

Fly free, my little friend.  God has gained a priceless treasure in his store house of love.