His name was Gene.

 It was a long time ago, but it still haunts me.  I had divorced my first husband, and my second when I met him.  I owned a restaurant on Fourth Street in Hutch at the time.  I had dated my soon to be third husband, but discarded him as a lost cause when I met Gene.  He lived in a small town up near Kansas City.  He loved to dance.  He had a sense of humor.  He loved my kids and most importantly, he loved me.  He worked with my sister's husband and that was the downfall.  He and his wife were in the middle of an amicable divorce and I was all set to become Mrs. Happy Wife when fate intervened in the shape of my sister.  

He stopped calling.  He changed his phone number.  Communications back then were not the convenient little texts and stuff that they are now.  So, I gave up on Gene.  I started dating Charlie.  I never for a minute forgot Gene.  My sister told me he had gone back to his wife.  But one night as I was alone after closing the cafe, there was a knock on the window.  There he was.  He came in and I made us coffee.  It was a very strained conversation as he explained that he had gone back and he and his wife, although not happy, were comfortable in a marriage of convenience.  It was then that he explained that my sister had called him and told him that I had married Charlie and we were very happy so he should just move on.  She was married to his friend and co-worker, so why should he doubt her?

Maybe because she had lied?  Now it was too late.  Time had passed and while he still loved me and I him there was his wife to consider.  And Charlie.  He just wanted to see me one more time and tell me that while he was not happy, he and his wife were comfortable in their marriage of convenience.  And of course, there were grandkids now.....   I knew I would never forget him, and I was right.  Here I am 50 years later and I can see him as clearly as that night in Lou's Kitchen on 4th street.

I confronted Josephine and she explained that she did what was best for me.  Water under the bridge.  There is no going back, is there?

I do not think of what might have been, although it does pop into my mind from time to time.  My sister is gone and I am sure he is also.  I came to Colorado and have now been here fifty years.  I do think of the time we spent together and that will probably never stop as long as there is breathe in my body.  I will remember how we danced and laughed.  The last time I danced it was with him.  I woke up in the night last night remembering him and I can not see that ever stopping.

I never really forgave Josephine for her duplicity, but we never spoke of it.  It was a betrayal and a betrayal by any other name is still a betrayal.  

I have had a good life in Colorado.  I spent 20 years with a wonderful man whom I loved and he loved me in return.  I would not give that up for all the dreams I had.  

So rest in peace, my sister.  Rest in peace Gene.  When it is all said and done and the nails pounded in the coffin, it is all just a memory of what happened on our way to our destiny.

Good night sweet prince.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness!

 At least that is what momma always told us.  Now back in the day that she preached that, we did not have running hot and cold water.  We never actually had any running water in the house.  We had an electric pump out by the horse tank.  Horses need a lot of water.  Since their water needed to be clean, we were not allowed to play in the horse tank no matter how hot it was.  Of course, I was terrified of those big horses with their big, yellow teeth.   There was no way in the world that I would let them come near me.  Of course, my dad was not the best fence builder, so it was not unusual to find they had escaped.  That meant we had to go find them and lead them home.  "We" was usually Jake and I.  I digress.

Summers in Kansas are very hot!   Very hot and usually very dry, but occasionally we did get a rain.  When that happened, Strong Street was usually flooded.  Since we had an old car that was only used to go to Grandma's house, we walked everywhere.  Now you should know that barefeet in the mud is one of the small pleasures we had.  A mud puddle was meant to be walked through barefooted!  I think that might have been a law back then.

Now, you should know that bare feet and cool water in a mud puddle is not the only joy of my childhood!  When the mudpuddle began to dry up, we did not walk in it.  We waited patiently for it to dry up and when it did there was a whole new joy!  When it was completely dry, it formed a crust.  The crust then turned into a curled- up crust and we could step on the curls and feel them crumble beneath our feet.  Oh, my vision of heaven contains a lot of mudpuddles!  Of course, this was the bane of my mother's existence!  Before we came in the house we had to go to the pump and wash our feet.  "You are not getting in that bed with those filthy feet!"

So, Jake and I would take turns pumping for the smaller kids and each other.  Bonding was different back there on Strong Street than it was on Avenue A in Hutchinson.  When we moved to the big city with running water, we were afraid to use it.  We did not want to "wear it out" or "use it all up".  We did like to set in the bathtub with no water on hot days and watch the little red haired boy who worked at the film developing place across the alley.  Forgot the name of it, but the boy's name was Tommy and my little sister, Mary ending up marrying him!  Sadly, they are both gone now.  There is  nobody left but Donna and I.  

Funny how that works, isn't it?

It makes me sad.

 As life goes on, so does my memory, which is actually a good thing until it wakes me up in the middle of the night.  Last night I woke up remembering my oldest sister and, of course, Nickerson, Kansas.  I was 15 years old and my sister, Josephine was pregnant.  She had a little girl who was 3 or 4 as I recall.  Her husband was at work in the oil field.  As I recall his shifts were 24 on and 24 off, but that could be just something that came into my head, because I never really paid much attention.

On this particular day I had been sent to stay with her to keep an eye on her daughter, who shall remain nameless for this story.  I liked the little girl so it was no problem to entertain her.  Josephine was another matter.  She stayed in bed and appeared to be in some sort of distress, but how was I to know what was actually happening?  I had no idea where babies came from and was not interested in learning about the birds and the bees at this point in my life.  I was there to entertain my niece, and that was what I was doing.  But Josephine had other ideas.

She called me into the bedroom and told me to take her daughter, my niece, and go get help because the baby was coming.  I grabbed my niece and ran next door to the preachers house.  He called the grocery store and told his wife, who was a nurse, to come home right now.  He assured me it was all under control and that I should take my niece and go to my house where mother was and send her to Josephine.

It was only 3 blocks, but it seemed like it was miles.  I carried my niece most of the way which was not easy as she was heavy for me.  But we made it.  Mom left on foot because we had no car.  To make a long story short, the baby was stillborn.  It was a little boy.  

The next day, Jack Lamb, the mortician, brought a tiny coffin to the house.  He brought it in and set it on the coffee table.  He opened the lid to show us a very tiny little boy wrapped in a soft blue blanket.  His little hand was positioned to hold the blanket closed and I would have thought he was only sleeping had I not known.  That was so sad and a picture in my mind that will never fade.  

Since that time, I have attended many funerals, but I always see that tiny baby in my mind.  I went to visit the Nickerson cemetery several years back and visited the tiny grave of Baby Boy.  He did not have a name, but he will never be forgotten.  Although he never breathed a breath on this side of the veil, he still lives in my mind and my heart.  65 years later he is still in my mind holding his blanket together under his tiny chin.

Some memories never die.

Update on my trash service.

 Service?  That word is not in the vocabulary of the people who work for/own/ or drive for C & C Disposal.  My trash remains sercured in the back yard, but makes a daily trip to the front just in case they decide that I am worthy of having my trash picked up.  Better Business Bureau has not received my complaint yet.  

We used to have a newspaper and if we still did I could write a letter to the editor.  Maybe there is some way I can do that online.  Maybe I will call the health department today.  Since I have little faith in anyone doing anything for me I do not look forward to doing anything about this today.

So I am just going to leave this here and go get another cup of coffee.  But do this for me.... if you have a trash company that actually picks up your trash, give me a call.  I pay my bill on time and try to do all the things they ask, like not put dead animals and such in the bin.  I am just a little old lady who wants to get rid of her trash and not having much luck!  If I was even 5 years younger I would start a trash company and I would use my little Honda for the truck.  Sure would be better than the company now who just blows old ladies off and goes on their way.

Today I am going to do nothing about the trash situation, because I am tired and old and C & C Disposal does not give a big rats ass!!!  Maybe when the gray wagon comes to haul me out to the crematorium someone will notice my mountain of trash and give my estate a ticket for littering.

Oh, for crying out loud! Just do your job.

 I am having a very hard time believing that my life has completely changed and that Covid is to blame.  Prime example would be my trash service, or rather lack of it.  I got my bill.  I picked up the phone and called the office and paid my bill.  I know if I do not pay when I get the bill that I will do the procrastination thing and end up receiving a friendly reminder.  Most of my bills are on level pay with an automatic deduction from my bank account.  This one is one I need to pay every 3 months, so I paid it.

Next week I did not have much trash and so I am not sure if it was picked up or not.  Week 2 and no trash pickup.  So I called the office.  "Oh for sure!  So sorry!  Shall I send a special truck out?"  I did not think that was necessary.

Week three and the trash is now up over the top and the neighbor cats are having a field day!  So once more I called the woman  who is now my sounding board for frustrated old ladies who are spending a lot of time on the back burner!  

Of course she checked and they must have just missed me quite by  accident.  Could I just load it into the car and bring it out to the yard?  This struck me as rather ludicrous to say the very least!  I am 80 years old and drive a Honda Fit!  I am doing damn good to get a bag of groceries in it!  Trash is heavy and this is now beginning to smell like garbage.  I do not want to touch it, let alone load it in my car and haul it somewhere that I do not know where it is.  She assured me that this time my trash would be picked up next Thursday as scheduled.  Or Friday if it snowed, which of course it did.

By this time, the dumpster was overflowing, so I had wrapped it with a rubber rope and taken it to my back door to deter the 8 cats that live next door and love to forage.  So, I pulled it to the front yard for the trash man on Thursday.  It set on the front parking all Thursday night.  I did not untie the rope.  I thought I would run out when the man arrived.  

Friday morning dawned and my hopes soared.  Friday night I dejectedly drug that damn thing back to the back yard! Saturday we repeated the scenario.  Today is Sunday.  Tomorrow is Monday.  My trash day is Thursday.  I am beginning to see a pattern here.  Had I not paid my bill, they would tell me my trash would not be picked up because I did not pay.  So...... now what?

I will call out there tomorrow and she will tell me how sorry she is, but you know what?  Sorry doesn't cut it.  Society has rules and one of them is that we pay our bills on time.  I did that and here I set a month later with the same damn trash that I had when I paid my trash bill!  

So, do you have any idea how I can get all that trash in my car to haul it across town?  Will the secretary come to my car and unload it for me?  Or better yet maybe I can just take the tote up to South Road and leave it there.  Someone will see their name on the side and report it as abandoned.  Course that does not do anything about the 3 months of service that I have paid for, does it?

I will call the company Monday and the lady will be very sorry, but you know what, sister?  Sorry isn't going to cut it this time.  I am 80 years old and tired of being screwed with.  Every bill I have is on auto pay so I do not have to screw with people who do not give a damn about whether my trash gets hauled off or not!  You are not the only trash company in town so here is the deal....  I am going to send you a copy of this blog and then Monday morning I am going to call you, cancel by service and demand my money back.  Then I am going to call the Better Business Bureau and tout you as the worst trash service in town.

If you are so busy that you can not service your customers, you sure do not need any new ones!

Ok, now it is getting personal!

 Time to vote and that is what I do.  It is my right.  It is my duty.  You have the same right and the same duty.  I respect that.  I used to love to stand in line and wait my turn at the polls.  I would visit with people in my precinct that I had not seen since the last time I voted.  Course that is all changed.

Now, I get my ballot in the mail and fill it out at my kitchen table.  I then put a stamp on it and walk it back down to the mail box.  Or throw it on the dash board of the car and drop it in the ballot box behind the "used to be bank" building on 8th and Main.  Never had to worry about poll hours or anything that way.  

Now we have a faction in this country that wants to change the voting laws and the way the electorate works.  There has got to be a way to keep the poor, the minorities, the "less equal then us" from being able to cast their ballot without it becoming a hardship!  No mail in ballots, no early voting

I also used to watch the news faithfully to see what was going on in the world.  Occasionally there was something on there that made me feel good, like the time that the rescuers saved those boy scouts who were lost in a cave some where overseas.  A place I never heard of, I think.  Those days are gone.

Now it is politics.  "Them versus us".  It seems that my world pretty much went to hell 3 or 4 years ago.  Respect for government has pretty well gone out the window.  Did it start when the world watched on live feed as a white policeman knelt on a black man's neck until he died? Did it culminate when a band of thugs breached security at the nations capitol and destroyed a piece of history?  And then when we were most vulnerable I watched the television screen show a little red "x" leave Wuhan,  China, travel across an ocean to Seattle, Washington and then cut catacorner down to Florida to begin spreading something called the "Corona Virus" in our country.  

It was then that we scrambled to find a vaccination to contain it and our mortality rate began to sky rocket.  It was then that a faction of America rebelled and refused to wear a mask or be vaccinated because "they" had "rights" that I do not have.  Death rates began to spiral from a pandemic that parts of our society dub a "government conspiracy" to circumvent their rights.  What the hell?

Where is my America?  You know, the one where we cared about each other?  Where are the lines for immunization where we all lined up to fight mumps, red measles, polio, diphtheria.....?  We quit flying the Confederate flag for a reason.  We used to be considerate of other people.  We used to say "excuse me" and "sorry".  A tear running down someones cheek used to invoke sympathy.

Where in the hell did MY America go?  Where is the compassion and common sense?  Maybe I am just a dreamer to think that this country can survive if we all pull together.

It just ain't happening, is it?

Pecan pie and a thief in the walk in.

 

Somebody said something about a pecan pie over on facebook and I immediately remembered back to my days at the Red Carpet Restaurant and the boss's venture into the bakery on south main.  The bakery was in trouble so Bob leased it at t very low price.  Mother had a husband who had a grown son who needed a job (Dammit! I forgot his name, but maybe it will come to me.  The son, not the husband.  His name was George.)  Seems like I had an in with Bob so George asked me if I could talk to Bob and get (I will just call him dipshot for short until I remember his name.) Dipshot hired .  So I did.  Course Bob let me know that I would be responsible if Dipshot screwed up.

I would close the resturant kitchen at 10 o'clock and head by the house to pick up Dipshot and take him with me and we would head to south main to bag the bread that had been baked earlier.  First we had to slice it and then bag it and twist tie it shut. This usually only took a couple hours.  Then Bob decided to add pies to the line.  So cases of pies were delivered to the Restaurant.  I baked these while I was working and returned them to the case which was then taken to south main and sent out to the stores. 

Now Dipshot was not the brightest bulb in the box and honesty did not run deep through his soul!  I was however, mildly surprised when I opened the refrigerator in my kitchen at home and found 6 freshly baked Pecan Pies. Upon closer investigation, I determined that they were from the stock in the walk-in at work.  The fact that there was a piece gone out of one led me to believe that perhaps Dipshot had releived the boss of a case of pies.  A conversation with him later in the day proved I was correct.  I had a thief in my house!  This did not set well with me.

He, of course, promised that this was a one time thing and he would never do that again.  My mind, however, knew that "once a thief, always a thief".    I explained to him that we were going to take the pies back and he could just explain to Bob what he had done.  Of course, he swore he would never do something like this again if I just let this one slide.  Confessing  to the boss was not an option that interested him.  However, being the purist I am, I could not let this go unpunished.

I loaded the pies in the car, retreived my house key from him and bade him a fond farewell.  He had been a friend for a time, but honesty is paramount in my world.  So I drove to the restaurant and explained to Bob what had transpired.  I put the pies back in the walk in.  My heart was heavy at the loss of what had happened, but Bob never brought it up again.

I do not know what ever became of Dipshot, but the last I knew he was living in Western Kansas with his sister.  I lost my brother many years before and for a while I was happy that I had a replacement.  But you know what?  No one could ever replace Jake!  Jake was one of a kind and all of us kids were raised to be honest and respectable people.  And there was something else momma always said that rang true in this experience!

Don't let the fox guard the chicken house!  That woman was always right on!

Peace.   

Christmas Day 2021

 For those of you out there who worried that I would be sad on Christmas, you can put your worries to rest!  I had a very good Christmas! I went over to Ross Barnhart's and had lunch with him and his family.  Food was delicious because Rooster and Missy grow their own vegetables and cook from scratch.  I think Ross made the pork roast.  Robin and Terri made something very good as an appetizer, but I do not know what it is called.

This is Ben!  Ben belongs to Robin and Terri and is a very sweet boy.  He likes to play video games and you will hear more about that yellow thing that someone is playing with there a tad bit later.

This is Terri, Ben's mom.  She appears happy, but trust me, you better "duck" when she looks at you!

This is Robin, Ben's dad.  He is trying to look so innocent here, but do not let your guard down. He kind of loses something against the bright window, but is still a lovely person.  You can not see too well, but he is setting with a cat who is almost as old as Ben, his son.  Terri and Ben belong to Robin, Ross's brother.

This is Ross's other brother, Rooster!  Rooster is married to Missy and I did not get a picture of her for some reason.  Rooster appears very innocent, doesn't he?  He is not!!!   For the record, he "ducked" me many times!

Now for the record, this is a duck!  It is a rubber duck!  It is about 3 inches long and made of rubber.  You stick your finger in it's head, stretch it out and let it fly at your opponent.  Now for some reason all of them decided I was fair game!  Can you imagine that?  little innocent me! 

This is the host, Ross Barnhart and the smile that looks so innocent is acutally an evil snicker!

And this is what they did to me!  They all shot me with ducks and almost killed me!  But, I have to be honest.... I shot them back!! I am not sure if those are ducks or chickens, but they stretch out to be about a foot long and fly through the air and do not hurt a bit when they hit you.  Where do people come up with this stuff?!?  I am thinking an idle mind is the devils workshop!

I do have to admit, this was one of the best Christmases I have had in recent years!  I usually just go to church and then set home and be miserable, but not this year!  I must admit that this is also the first time I have ever shot a duck!  I did try to conduct myself with some sort of decorum so maybe they will invite me back again!  Sure hope so!

So now, Christmas is but a fond memory and we are fast approaching the New Year.  Christmas was so much fun that New Years Eve will surely be anti-climatic!  And since I am so slow in my blogging now days, I am going to go ahead and wish you all a very Happy New Year!  

  Remember that what does not kill you will make you strong.  May the new year bring you peace and harmony and may the Lord shine his face upon you. 

 

But most of all I wish you peace and love, because when it is all said and done we only get out of this life what we put into it.

Shalom!

Oh, the memories!!!!

 It is almost 5 AM and today is Christmas Eve.  I have my coffee and there was a time I would be enjoying (?) a cigarette.  Not any more.  I checked with my friend Cathy who quit the same day I did.  It has been 12 years!  My lungs are clear which amazes me since I smoked for 54 years.  God has sure been good to me in that area.  Well, let's face it, God has been good to me in every area of my life.

First he gave me the wisest mother that ever lived and definitely the one who was the best mother for me!  Momma always said that I thought she was the best because I never knew any different.  She might be right on that!  I do wonder if I had been born into money and prestige if I would be the same person I am today?  I wonder had my first husband been the one I stayed with my whole life, would I be the same person I am today?  

I can look at my kids and see shades of my mother in each and every one of them.  Debbie is the oldest and the most like me.  She even looks like me.  She spouts things mother would have said.  "What don't kill you will make you strong."  She is a pioneer woman to the core.  She lives with her husband in Eastern Kansas and is raising 3 grandkids on a 40 acre dryland farm.  Her husband, Hammer, bought her a new backhoe or something like that for her birthday or some such occasion.  Mine used to send me flowers!

Today is Christmas Eve.  Holidays are not my strong suite.  To be honest, I could function very well with out any holidays, but nobody asked me.  Tonight I will attend the Christmas Eve service at my church.  Christmas is the holiday that marks the birth of my saviour.  I will go alone and I will come home alone.  I will make oyster soup for supper because that is what Kenny and I did for years.  I guess I am a grinch!  So be it.

The end of the year is for me to look back and reflect on how things went and how I can improve and do better next year.  I spent New Years Eve of 2003 watching fireworks on Pikes Peak.  I set alone in the cafeteria in a hospital where my husband lay on life support.  While I do revel in the baby in the manger, I am a realist. I know how the story ends.

So, to my friends and family, Merry Christmas!  The babe in the manger is our hope for the future.  Take time to reflect on just what that babe did for us.  Our hope for the future and the remembrance of things past.  New Years is coming and we have a chance to make this next year different.

So when you think of the baby and the manger remember it is all part of a much grander scheme than we could even imagine.  It is the birthday of our saviour!

Welcome to my life, Jesus Christ! 

Happy Anniversary to me!

 40 years ago it was 15 degrees below zero.  I had been living in sin with Kenny Mercer for 1 year.  When we had been dating for a few weeks we decided we would get married.  I told him of my past marriages and that if we could live together for one year without me leaving I would marry him.  So began a life of sin!

That year went by very well with only a few bumps in the road.  We began a trucking business in and life was good.  On December 23, 1983 Kenny and Gene Baugh were putting a drive line in one of the old tandems.  It was 15 degrees below zero!  They went to Pueblo Brake and Clutch to pick the drive line up that had been repaired.  PB&C was closed!  They came home and Gene left.  Over a cup of coffee and a sandwich, Kenny looked at me and said, "Well, it has been a year.  Let's just go get this shittin' mess over with!"  So we did!

We picked up a license and found a retired minister in an assisted living place in Canon City.  He mumbled a few words, had his bed bound wife in the next room sign on the dotted line.  He stepped into the hall and found a befuddled old man to sign on the other line and we left the building as man and wife!  A quick stop at the donut shop for a cup of coffee and a chocolate doughnut and then home to Pueblo.  

Upon our arrival, we found a cheap bottle of wine in the middle of the table.  Apparently Gene had known what the plan was.  The next time Gene showed up we offered to share the wine with him in a celebratory drink.  He declined, saying "If I knew I was going to have to help drink it I would have gotten some good stuff!"

And so began my life as Mrs. Kenneth Mercer, a role I enjoyed until his death in 2003.  We fished, traveled, worked, learned to square dance, played cards, raised 2 of my kids and adopted a grandson.  He retired and I continued to work with my AIDS patients.  He baked cinnamon rolls and made carmel corn.  We joined a church and life was good.  

Do I miss him?  There is not a day that goes by that I do not see those twinkling, beautiful blue eyes.  He is the person who made me realize that I am a worthwhile human being and I should never sell myself short. I have learned to live alone.  He had always said that I should not give up when he was gone.  Life does not end for one just because it ends for the other.   I do date occasionally, but it never ends well. 

He was honest.  He was patient.  He was faithful.  He had an incredible sense of humor.  Trustworthy.  He believed in me.  

I guess mother said it all when she said "When you lose a husband, he immediately takes on sainthood.  Even if he is completely worthless, you will remember only the good in him."

Momma was right!  Momma was always right!

                                                            RIP Kenneth A Mercer  

                                                                    1931-2003

A high tea to remember!!!

 Today I went on an outing to end all outings!  My very dear friend Rebecca Wasil and her delightful husband, Ron, took Ross Barnhart and his step mom, Gail and myself to the Queen's Parlour Tearoom located in the Miramont Castle Museum in Manitou Springs.  Now I have been hosting a High Tea at our church for 7 years with the exclusion of the last 2 years due to Covid restrictions.  Hosting a high tea is one thing, but actually partaking of the ritual is a whole 'nother game!

We arrived early to partake of the ambience and believe me there was plenty of ambience to go around!  We were seated at our table which was set and everything was in it's proper place.  There were 5 of us and the table was set for 5.  

Our waiter's name was Daniel and he was most helpful since I could not pronounce most of the brands of tea.  About all I keep around here is black, green and a little stuff called Pekoe, what ever that is.  Here is Daniel and Leah, who was trying to make me look like I have horns, but she missed my head!  They were both lovely people and the place was busy so they had plenty to keep busy doing, but took time to make little old me feel special!

Daniel took this picture for us, I think.  Him or Leah.  Anyway they had to get on a chair to get this angle!  From left to right, Gail Barnhart, Lou Mercer, Ross Barnhart, Rebecca Wasil, and Ron Wasil.  I could not have hoped for a more congenial gathering of souls!

I am not sure what any of this stuff was, but it was damn good!  I can see that I am going to need to step my game up for the next high tea at First Congregational Church!  Wonder if I can con Leah and Daniel into serving?  Rather doubt it so I may have to train my servers a little better and I gotta say, the scone they fed me was out of this world.  Guess I better hone my cooking skills along with everything else!

All in all it was a wonderful day and I can not thank Rebecca and Ron enough for the experience.  And as tea companions, I could not have chosen anyone better than Gail and Ross!  Delightful light conversations and wonderful food.  Who could ask for anything more?

'Tis the season!

 

This is the tree.  It is a little taller than the television remote.  Now, all you nay sayers can relax.  I am ready for Christmas.  This time of year is not one of my best times.  I remember when I was in grade school and each class had a Christmas tree all decorated and festooned for the occasion.  At the end of the last day before Christmas break one of the little Bartholomew kids would get to take the tree home from their classroom.  It was a really big deal!  I remember dragging it home when I got it.  It had pieces of tinsel clinging to it's branches and it was wonderful!  I was so proud!  And momma added to it as she thanked me for bringing it because we surely would not have had one if not for me!  Needless to say she showered the same praise on whichever one of us brought the tree home.

And then I was grown up and I was the momma struggling to give my kids a Merry Christmas.  Some how it always happened.  The jobs I worked were never big on Christmas Bonuses, but I always seemed to manage.  The kid's dad was always big on Christmas so that helped.  I do recall borrowing money at the last minute one year at a very high interest rate and dashing to the stores with my friend Gibby Fields in tow to fill the Santa list.  Now be real here!  Have you ever gone shopping on Christmas eve?  That is akin to a bomb being tossed into the store and blowing all the toys out the window. 

 

But we survived and my kids grew up to teach their kids about Santa.  So when I married Kenny and had time on my hands I decided to make all the grandsons Dinosaurs for Christmas since that was the rage. (I thought!)  I think I made the girls Care Bears.  The kids were all thrilled until I handed the last one to the grandson who shall remain nameless for this tale.  I was especially proud of it because it was a Brontosaurs and as such was the biggest package.  His eyes lit up as he ripped into the package.  When he saw what it was, he threw it to the floor and burst into tears.  I was astounded and perplexed.  His father laughed and said, "Oh, he wanted a transformer!"

          I think that was the year, I quit believing in Santa Claus and started just putting money in                          envelopes.  I have now advanced to hiding in my house and hoping Christmas does not see me                here alone with my peas and porridge.  The kids are all grown and have kids and grandkids of                  their own along with the customs they have inherited mostly from their dad.  I am good with that.

          I will go to church on Christmas Eve because that is what it is all about when everything is said                and done.  The baby in the manger is what brings us all to the foot of the cross.  That is my                      Christmas cheer and to all my friends and acquaintances out there I wish you a very Merry                        Christmas and a Happy and prosperous New Year.  

           May the road rise to meet you and the wind be ever at your back.

           Peace!

   

 

 

 

One thing I have learned....

 The one thing I have learned and the hardest thing for me to do is to set back and let someone else take the lead and do something for me.  My years with hospice were so fulfilling because it all came naturally to me.  My job was to accept a client in or near their final journey.  Sometimes the job was just a one night or day, but several lasted longer and I became a "part of the family" and remained so for the duration of that person's journey.  So it was with Dorothy and later Doug.  Mona was one, as was  Ruby.  My latest was Annie. 

In all of these journeys I have dealt with families on a very close and personal level.  Early in the  relationships, I would set with the family member while the caregivers took time for other activities.  They knew someone that they could trust was with mother, father, or whoever.  When death is imminent the family sometimes just needs a "friend" to help them understand what the process entails.  While I am not an expert on death by any means I do know that death is inevitable, and no one is going to get out of this world alive.  

In most of my dealings I was able to establish a relationship with the client and we could talk about the hereafter.  Having never been there, I can only imagine what life on the other side of the veil could be like.  I am pretty sure it is a big step up from life on this side and I tried to relay that to them.  It is a fine line between preaching and visualizing a perfect world that is waiting for us.  

It is after the death that I, by virtue of having been there through the last days,  become a part of the family.  My presence seems to give people a connection to the loved one on the other side.  I can not explain it, but that is how it is.  I no longer operate in the capacity of "companion", but I still deal with families who remember.

So now to the crux of the matter.  I am no longer with hospice.  I do not volunteer at any place.  I rest on my laurels and that pretty much is about it.  Covid has changed all of our lives and it is quite possible that this is our new normal.  But, I have been invited out by my friends Rebecca and Ron for a high tea at Miramount Castle in Manitou.  And I am going!  And here is the one thing I have learned:

My first thought was "Oh, no!  I can not do that.  It will cost her a lot of money and time and I am not worth the effort."  But then I analyzed the situation.  Rebecca is a wonderful person as is her husband, Ron.  [She actually sent him out to scope out the fox problem in hopes there was something they could do.]  They are dear friends and as such want to do something nice and include me!  So..... Saturday I am being picked up by car and transported to a High Tea!  I am sure it will be lovely and you can bet I will be giving you a full report.

Sometimes I have to just remember, that there are people out there who care about me and want to show me.  It is called accepting from others.  It is an art I need to cultivate.

I am so excited by this new adventure that I am almost tempted to go buy a dress.  Key word there is almost!  

Stay tuned for a full report next week!

Competitive little waifs!

 Following instructions runs deep in my veins and I rather suspect I have passed it on to my children, but I did not know until tonight, just how deeply it was ingrained in my son.  I have been referred to as "anal retentive" a time or two.  He is a vegetarian, bordering on, if not completely vegan.  Tonight we were talking about a visit to his doctor in which he was instructed to collect all of his urine for a 24 hour period.  Now being the obedient patient, he did just that.  Needless to say he drinks a lot of water.  LOTS of water!  

To say the doctor was surprised at just how much urine he actually collected would be an understatement.  Apparently his doctor has a bit of an accent.  When Sam produced his specimen jars, the doctor exclaimed that this was a lot of urine for 24 hours and he must drink a lot of water!  When he was relaying the conversation to me he used the accent.  Of course I got to laughing.  The upshot of the whole conversation degenerated into a laugh fest and I asked him if he had hauled it in with his little red wagon.  I never did find out what the doctor learned from all that urine or what he was even looking for.  Apparently the little specimen bottles from days of yore are not used in this doctors office.

Sam and I have much the same sense of humor.  Our conversation had started because I want to sell a china cabinet and he thought I needed money. I explained that it was not full of what it was supposed to be full of and had now become a "catch all" so I wanted the space more than the piece of furniture.  When I finally got it across to him, he was good with that.  Little guy just worries about his mommy going around the bend!

I go once a year for my annual exam.  The doctor does not actually touch me.  He does wave the stethoscope at me  which is anti-climatic since he does not use it.  The nurse does take my blood pressure and it is always a tad bit low unless I have just made the dash across the parking garage and up three flights of stairs.  

Well this may be short as the cat is wanting to lay on the keyboard and if I do not yield to her wants she does tend to bite me and that hurts.  That and the fact that cats, by virtue of their  use of the litter box, are actually filthy little germ bombs, makes me give her a very wide berth!

So enjoy your day and remember, you can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself!  

You cannot get the toothpaste back in the tube!

 There are 2 phrases that my psyche is shaped by and that I also fight with most of my adult life.  The first is "Hind sight is 20/20 looking back." and the second is "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."  There are many little things momma threw in along this line and for the life of me I do not know where she got them.  I strongly suspect that she got them from her mother since they lived a fairly cloistered life there in south central Kansas.  The sad fact remains, that all these years later, those are burned into the depths of my being.

In my younger days I was surrounded by Aunts, cousins, grandmothers and a few uncles.  Males in my lineage tended to either die young or live forever.  Uncle Coon lived to be over 100.  (Now I am not sure that this was his given name.  Seems like it might have been Conrad, but it is irrelevant to this article!)  The point is that while the rule at the time was that children should be seen and not heard, the other was that men were the strong silent type and it was best to remember that.  As kids it was our past time at family gatherings to hide under the table and watch the men enjoying an after dinner cigar or pipe.  As I recall there was a lot of coughing and choking while this "pleasure" was being indulged.  

This pastime was second only to spying on the chickens in the coop and hoping one would poop out an egg and we could see where it came from. (To this day I do not actually know how the plumbing of a chicken works, nor do I care!)

I only recall one male cousin in my youth and that was cousin Carl. The girl cousins were named Rosetta, Alvina and Marilyn.  I had another cousin named Donna, but she lived in St. Louis and we rarely seen her.  She never married.  

Carl and I were close at the time.  We used to weed the garden for grandma after family dinners.  Carl grew up and married someone and they had one child.  I am not sure it grew to adulthood.  Seems momma was the only one out of the whole family that was a good "breeder."

Momma had eloped immediately after graduation.  She married a man named Jack Walden and ran away to Chicago.  They lived near the "Loop" whatever that was.  They had a baby girl and for some reason mother found herself hitchhiking back to Kansas with the baby in her arms and fearing for her life.  (Or so I hear. Little bit of "toothpaste" for you there.)  When the baby was but a year old she married what would be my father and they lived not so happily ever after.  While the marriage may have been a bit rocky it lasted until his death in 1965.  I ended up with 3 half brothers, 1 full brother and 3 sisters.  Guess Josephine was my half sister.

All that is irrelevant!  It was at my mothers knee that I learned the art of being seen and not heard.  I also learned that when the words "Little pitchers have big ears!" were used I was about to be banished to another room and I better not listen to what was being said.  "Ixnay" meant no.  Anyone who died went directly to heaven!  No doubt about it!  The meanest SOB that ever walked went to Heaven.  Man beats his horse; straight to Heaven!  Seems like the only thing that would actually keep you out of heaven was lying to your mother and disrespecting your elders.  Stealing and pulling the legs off grasshoppers were minor infractions.  

So, here I set lo! these many years later, still a child!  Could it be that as we age, we become our mothers?  I need to ask my kids how their minds work.  Did they actually learn anything from me and if so, what was it?  Did they walk away with my good qualities or the bad ones?  Do they look back on their childhood as a learning experience?  Was I a good mother?  I know I was rarely there, but do they know I tried?

I guess only time will tell.  I do know they are all independent, compassionate human beings and I love them and they appear to love me.  I hope that I imparted just a bit of my wisdom and honesty to them by my actions.  It may be something I never really know, but when I look at the lives they live, I am proud of each and every one of them.  And I am proud of their offspring.  

Kinda hope that the fruit does not fall too far from the tree in my family tree!

Peace and love!

Momma

As I look back down the road that brought me here to where I have lived for the last 40 years, there is one person I see that quietly shaped me into the woman I am today.  My momma.  She was the glue that held our family together.  She was a very proud woman.  I only remember her holding me a few times, but those were times when I needed held or I would have surely shattered.  Once was when the baby calf died and the other was when I lost my brother, her only son.  I am sure that hug was what both of us needed at the time.

My first memories of my life centered around the Stroh place.  Those were the good days.  Those were the times when dad worked and took care of us.  Momma belonged to "club" and attended once a month.  She dressed in her "good dress" and wore a hat.  Josephine and Jake were old enough to stay home but I went with her.  I had to set on the floor beside her chair and be quiet because children were to be seen and not heard and I seemed to be the only kid there.  The women discussed recipes and sewing and stuff like that which any 4 year old kid would not understand.  Never anything personal.  God forbid!

I do not know what my dad did for a living, but I am pretty sure it was shady because I have snippets of memory of a big 3 story house across the river and my dad went inside and left me in the wagon.  I was terrified of that big horse and some times it looked at me and snorted, showing his big yellow teeth, which added to my fear.  Then some time after that we loaded all our "stuff" on a hay rack and moved down the road to the other side of town to the Ailmore place.  It was at that time that Dad quit whatever he was doing and mother started cleaning houses for the "ladies" in town.  By this time I was in first grade.  Then, whoosh!  we moved again.  

This time we were buying the house on the other side of town.  Dad was share cropping with a man named John Britain.  Momma took business classes at Salt City Business College and then started working as a secretary.  Dad started running the Domino/Pool Hall up on main street in Nickerson.  In my Junior year we moved to Hutchinson and it was downhill from there.

The point of this is that through my life, my mother has been the one constant in my life.  She was always there.  She was never the "touchy feally" mother in the story books, but she was always the backbone of the family.  She made sure the food was on the table.  She made sure we had clothes on our backs.  She was the one that inisisted we go to Sunday School and then sit quietly in church.  My first communion was at her knee.  My first poem was published in some kids magazine and she bought it and kept it for years.  

 When I married my first husband and went to her with my first black eye, she explained that "this is a man's right and you need to try harder."  That was the only time she tried to guide me through my "wifely duties."  My method of dealing with my children when a husband hit them was much different from my mother.  "Divorce the a##hole!"

But I digress. This is about my mother and the examples she set for me.  From her I learned a deep and abiding love for my saviour.  Jesus Christ is never far from my thoughts and I do not make a decision without first running it by him and then thinking "What would momma think about this?"  Now granted, I do not always do what I know either one of them would recommend and I usually regret my decision.  Good Lord made the mistake of giving us "free will".  That means he lets us make our own decisions.  In those instances, I usually end up regretting my actions which brings into play the next lesson, "live and learn."

So here I set in the sunset of my life, thinking about momma.  I wonder what my life would have been had I actually listened to her?  She was a wise woman.  Compassion for other people and for the citizens of the world was paramount in her life.  I knew my mother loved me as surely as I know the sun will come up tomorrow.  My mother was wise and kind and when I would tell her that she say that I was prejudiced.  When I told her she was the best mother in the world she said other kids thought that about their mothers.  

But I do know this, I did have the best mother in the world.  She may not have been the best mother for other kids, but she was best for me.  God put me right where he wanted me to be to learn the lessons I needed. Some day I will get it right and be right up there in heaven with my sweet Jesus and my momma!  I may see a lot of people I know, or I may not see any.  It will all be revealed when the time is right.  

But until that day, I shall watch and wait, and I shall remember my sweet momma.  While I mourn my brother and my sisters that have gone before me and yearn for my grandmas and the grandpas I never knew, I am filled with anticipation!  Some one asked me once if I believed in the hereafter and Jesus.  I told them this, "If I did not believe I could not continue to put one foot in front of the other here on this earth. "  

My goal is my crown and my hope is in my salvation and all of that is centered around my saviour and my mother.

Any more questions?

.  

5 sons in law!

 The last blog I did was totally in accurate!  I have 5 sons in law and only God knows how many ex sons in law.  Course if I count the exes and the steps we could be here for days, so I am just not going there!  

I am not going into further detail.  I will just update you on the Covid-19 situation at my house.  Yesterday I went over to Mesa Pharmacy and got my booster.  In and out in 15 minutes.  Just had to wait to make sure I wasn't dizzy.  I love that place!  They have the sharpest needles in the world.  Not that I get a lot of shots but when I do, I so enjoy a sharp needle!

I am going to move my prescription over there since I am in there dropping things in thier mailbox several times a week.

I have to go buy goose food today and that is all for my errands.  Lord I hope this day is good!

Ok, I am out of here.  Have a good day!

No matter where you go...

 No matter where you go, you are still going to be there!  This was the brilliant observation of one of my  ex-sons in law.  Not sure which one it was, but I will attribute it to one named Keith and leave his last name buried in my memory.  I rather doubt that he reads this blog or even knows of its, but in the event he does, I am sure he will get a kick out of this.  I still see him from time to time and we are both surprised that the other has survived life this long.  Of course he is no longer with the daughter he was married to at the time, but since I was not named in the divorce action I can call him one of my old used to be sons in law.

Most of my sons in law lived in mortal terror of offending me in one way or another, but a couple actually endeared themselves in my heart and remain so to this day.  Take Hammer for instance!  He was 2 tours in Vietnam, a biker with a Harley, drank like a fish and had more hair than Lady Godiva!  He and my daughter Debbie, were jailed once for refusing to break the death grip they had on each other in the middle of 4th Street.  The first time he came to my house he ended up face down here in my office because an aerosol can exploded in the neighbor's trash that was burning in the field out back.  PTSD.  He said something once and I exclaimed, "Are you nuts?" and he replied, "Yes I am and I am certified!  Get a pension for it!"   They are still together and live in Eastern Kansas.  They are raising 3 grandkids and are approaching 40 years of wedded bliss, I think.  They were married at the Pueblo County Court house.  I was Maid of Honor and Shirly Smith was Hammer's Best Man.  Good times!

My girls are much like me in that they need to sort through and figure out just what they actually want in a husband and then they are settled for life.  My son, however, waited for what he was sure he wanted and is now living happily ever after in Dallas, Texas.

I guess Kenny spoiled me for ever wanting to take the plunge again.  I have been a widow for 20 years now.  I rarely date, and when I do, it does not take long to figure out that being alone suits me!  Something about not answering to a man appeals to my base nature. "I eat when I'm hungry, I drink when I'm dry, and if whiskey don't kill me, I'll live till I die."

Right now it is 3:21 AM and I am up for the day.  What man would understand this?  I am going to go into the kitchen pretty soon and warm up some butter beans I cooked a couple days ago.  Man would want something cooked like hashbrowns, bacon, eggs and toast with a big cup of coffee.  I may cook that some afternoon, but not today.

I am just setting here counting my sons in law.  I have 4 daughters and have had a total of 12 sons in law I think.  May have missed one there somewhere, but if so I apologize.  

The other thing I have learned in life is that when you are over the hill you pick up speed.  That little adage puts all the rest in perspective.  

So as my clock approaches 4:00 AM, I am going to say that I am happy with the men in my daughters lives at the present time, and they all look like they have settled in for the long haul!  That is good.  Life is good.  My life is good.  One word of advice...

If life hands you a lemon, make lemonade!

Peace!

Way back when

 Back when I was a wee lass and protected from the harsh reality of the world, Thanksgiving was different.  Our mode of transportation was mostly on the back of an old plow horse or our two feet.  Of course we rarely left Nickerson, but occasionally we did.  The grandmas and aunts lived in Plevna which was 20 miles.  But this one time I am remembering my dad had a son that lived in Hutchinson and invited us to Thanksgiving dinner.  That was a 12 mile trip and central Kansas in the winter is nothing short of brutal.  So, us kids were all a twitter for the upcoming adventure.  

Since it had snowed the night before we awoke to a freezing cold landscape with a brilliant sun shining.  Mom and dad figured it would take us about 3 hours to make the trip.  We bundled up in our coats and scarves and prayed to the good Lord above to please, just keep us out of the ditch.  Mother had heated rocks in a bundle to help keep us warm since the cars back then did not have heaters.   We had wool army blankets to huddle under.  And off we went.

We sailed down the highway at about 6 miles an hour.  Of course we carried cans of water because the radiator leaked and we stopped regularly to add water to the radiator.  We arrived at Earl's house before noon and we were so relieved to be there.  His wife's name was Gertie.  The house was heated by a "gravity flow heater".  The heat was transferred to the house by means of an open grate in the floor.  One of the boys (Leon I think) had crawled across the grate and been badly burned.  Back in those days this was a fairly regular occurrence. He did carry the scars for as long as I knew him.

I do not recall the dinner, perse, but I know it was good and I know there was pie.  And corn, mashed potatoes, gravy, turkey, dinner rolls and casseroles of something.  We prayed over our dinner.  We never ate a meal that was not prayed over by the men of the household.  Well except at the grandma's because there were no men there.  We used to pray about everything that affected us from the moment we got up until the prayers were said preparatory to bed.  I kind of miss that.  But back to the trip.

We had to leave as soon as the midday meal was over and the kitchen "redded up" in order to be home in time to do the nightly chores.  So loaded with leftovers we began the trip back to our house.  We knew if we waited too long the roads would "freeze up" and make driving hazardous.  Every one of us had to make a last stop in the necessay room to avoid having to pee alongside the road where "God and everybody would see our bottom!"

Even back then at the tender age of 8 or nine, I loved my family.  All of them.  Even the ones I did not know.  Looking back is always better because I have my selective memory and I was bound to my sisters and brothers with a blood line that would never change.  Or so I thought.  I have one sister left.  We are not in touch any more.  She is busy and I am in Colorado.  It used to bother me, but not any more.  I have friends who are closer then any blood could ever be.  I have children that think I hung the moon! I just had my 80th Thanksgiving and there was no one there that carried my blood in their veins, but that does not matter.  I was thankful for the meal and the comraderie and the 2 dogs that showed up later.

The trip up and the trip back was uneventful and with traffic like it is, uneventful is good!  So this Thanksgiving I can give thanks for those that I love and those that love me.  Thanks for friendships and kinships that make my world go around.  And most of thank the universe for spinning and holding me to the earth, grounded in friendships, kinships and the tiny flowers that are going to sleep for the winter and will burst forth next Spring to thrill me with their beauty.

But most of all thank my God for surrounding me with the compassion of my friends and family who have accepted me as I am with all my faults and short comings.  Thanks to God for giving me a clear mind and a strong back and an innate insight that lets me see people as they are and overlook their shortcomings.

Today is the day that the Lord has made!  Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

Peace!       

Oh, the things you do not say!

 I have a friend and when he starts to talk, he crosses his arms in front of himself.  Feet are apart and his back is straight with toes pointing slightly outward.  Now this screams "I am going to protect myself and you are not going to get close."  The words that come out of his mouth may be as casual as what a nice day it is or what he had for lunch, but the message relayed to me is nothing I am hearing.  Psychology 101.

I notice this in myself also.  Usually, I am pretty laid back and not much ruffles my little feathers, but occasionally the defenses go up and I turn inward and you can talk till you are blue in the face and I will not hear a word you say.  The conversation inevitably begins with "You just need to..." and ends with me sorting the mail and cleaning off the table.   You may think I just "need to", but unless it is my idea the need evades me.  

So, friend or foe, let's do this.... let us sit down here at the table.  I will fetch us a beverage of your choice.  I have coffee, tea, and water.  Hot or cold on the first two.  And be aware before you get too comfortable, there will be no winner or loser at this table!  You will no doubt think I took every word to heart but you are going to be sadly mistaken.  The conclusion that you draw from our conversation is now what you think you wanted all along.  You have been played by the master!

Mostly my life goes on every day in a mundane manner.  The dust piles in the corner and the cat hair covers the setting places in front of the television.  I gave up on the green carpet of grass outside the front and back door.  I now opt for the late fall dead weed scenario.  I do not have much company and that is due to the Covid crap that some bat in a lab in China is credited with developing.  Do not misunderstand me on this, my life is good!  Occasionally I will venture down into the sewing room and sew something interesting, like place mats or a quilt.  I made a lap quilt the other day and may make more of them and drop them off at the nursing home.  Then again I may not.

Today I am off to Monument with Ross, Rooster and Missy for Thanksgiving dinner with Robin and Terri and their family.  We will be missing Anna who is still in England and I, for one will miss her!  (When are you coming home, my little friend?) 

I got a new "kitty bed" for my Icarus and she sleeps beside me when I work here on the computer.  Right now the only sound in my house is the sound of the furnace that keeps me warm and the tinnitus ringing in my ears.

Life is good here on South Road most of the time.  I did have a fox problem a while back, but I solved that by buying a trap and playing catch and release with the neighbors cats.  

Now I see I have once more digressed from the subject I started to write about, but then that is one of the reasons I write and you read!  So, let us all go enjoy whatever we have planned for today and then meet here again later!  Right now I have to go whip a pint of cream to pile on the Tres Lechen Cake I made to take with us.  I plan on tossing a few Blueberries  on top followed by a sprinkling of cinnamon.  Maybe tomorrow I will remember what I wanted to tell you today, but for now,

Happy Thanksgiving and may our good Lord watch over us in our travels.

Peace!

November 21, 2020

One year ago on this  November 21 at 6:38 AM my cell phone pinged.  I was awake and had been for a while.  It was when I saw the message and that it was from Anthony that I was faintly surprised.  "The keys to the house are in the mailbox."  That disturbed me.  So I dressed and headed for town.

My phone rang before I got to his house and it was friends of his from Pueblo West who had been talking to him the night before and were concerned.  They were on their way to his house and just wanted me to know they were concerned. He had been home in isolation for over a week with Covid.

I arrived before they did so I got the house keys and opened the door and went inside.  His car keys and phone were on the kitchen table.  I had never been downstairs except once to check out his new furnace.  Since he was not upstairs, I knew he must be downstairs and he was.  His bedroom was at the far end of the basement and he was in bed covered up.  I told him I was going to call for help and he said "OK."

The rest is history.  Now I have always been a strong woman, but this has been a rollercoaster ride for me.  PTSD is what they call it.  Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.  It happens to military in times of battle.  It happens to anyone who has been through trauma of about any kind. It would not happen to me because I would not let it.  As referenced above, I am a strong woman.  Don't let that statement fool you!

Strength has nothing to do with it.  I must equate it with the rides at the carnival.  There are a couple that will have you going very fast forward and then suddenly you are going the other direction.  How you keep your head on your shoulders is beyond me, but it happens.  My life the past year has been just that.  I am normal.  I am driving down the street enjoying the beauty of an Autumn Day and singing my old country music with the CD player and before the next breath I am parked and sobbing on a side street. 

 This is my new normal.  

We were friends.  I thought we were good friends.  I guess what I am dealing with now, a year later is the loss of that friend.  There are steps that should be taken in dealing with death and I have done that, but there are gaps in my mind of that morning and they may never be resolved.  PTSD.   

It was never about love or the lack of it.  It was never personal.  It was not something he did to me or because of me.  I was never a factor in the planning that led to the final act.  I just was.  But by the simple act of "being", I became a means to an end.

So, as I take stock of the situation as it now stands, I know what needs to be done.  Get over it.  Move on.  Give it to God.  The mind is a simple thing, or is it?  Are there maybe things that we encounter on our way to the cross that our minds cannot fathom?  We all have our own concept of reality.  What seems right and normal to me may be ludicrous to you.  What is the answer to how I can finally resolve this in my mind?  

I don't know, but I do know this:  I have friends who care.  I have family who care.  I have a good life.  I still know how to live, love, and laugh.  I just need to do it more.  The answer is not inside these four walls.  I have already said goodbye to Anthony.  I now need to open myself up to a future.  I need to accept love that is all around me and fly high and free!

Peace and Love!

 

I missed the "dirty thirties!"

 Momma, Dad Josephine and Jake were there for the "dirty thirties", but I was but a mere gleam in my Daddy's eye at the time.  I think they were called that because the wind blew and there was no vegetation to hold the soil.  I could be wrong, but I think that, "therefore it is!" And we do all live by what we believe to be true, don't we?

I do know that I used to have a bunch of ration stamps.  I think I sold them on ebay because every time I looked at them, it made me sad.  There is just something about poverty that seems to eat at my very soul.  I am not poor and I am not rich by any means, but I am "secure" and that is what I have clawed and scratched my whole life to attain.  I guess I may fall in the category of the "working poor."   

Poverty seems to have a hold that goes to the bottom of my soul.  I have my house, car, savings and am secure, but I still have little habits that irritate even me.  I have all kinds of things I do to make a few extra dollars.  I am a seamstress and the money I make from that goes into my third bank account which is known as "my third bank account."  That money is designed for things I need and want as opposed to my first bank account which is for my retirement check which supports the house and feeds me.  I also have a savings account with a minimal balance in case the other two dry up.  To say I live from hand to mouth would be a good way to describe it.  But be aware that I do this not because I am dirt poor, but because the memory of when I was dirt poor is ingrained into my very being to the bottom of my soul.  It is an empty part in me that can never be filled.  It is what guides every thing I do from the time I get up until I go to bed at night.

First, I am a hoarder.  My closet is filled with clothes I have never worn and will never wear, but still I keep every stitch.  I went yesterday to buy new panties and bras.  I came home with 3 bras and forgot the panties.  I went through my old bras and did not throw any away.  The new ones are in the back for a "special occasion" and I want to ask you just what in the hell that means?  I can not foresee every wearing them until all the straps and fastners fall off the old ones and can not be stitched back on!  When I put a pair of underwear on and they slide down before I can get my jeans on, out they go.

It does not stop there!  I eat alone most of the time.  I do cook and I try to cook for one, but that does not happen.  I was trained in "institutional cooking", which means every meal is built with an army in mind.  this means that if I cook a pot of beans, I will eat on that pot until it is gone or until it grows a soft, green mold across its top whilst setting in the refrigerator waiting to be "warmed up one more time".

I am looking at plastic tubs in the middle of my front room full of yarn.  I love yarn and am now in the process of crocheting "market bags" since I hear plastic bags are going to be discontinued at the end of the year.  Sadly, most of my yarn is polyester or some such synthetic that for some reason I can not bring myself to use on my "recycle bags."  You do notice that the beginning of this paragraph uses the word "tubs" with an "s"?

It does not stop there.  Every scrap of paper must be used on both sides.  Any container with a lid can be used for storage of something that should have, no doubt, been thrown out long ago.  I have probably 6,000 yards of fabric down stairs that I will use "some day".  When I do make a quilt I go buy "new fabric" just for that purpose.

I have 2 heavy duty mixers and one Kitchen Aid.  Also have an assortment of ladles, mixing spoons, measuring cups and spoons, cutting boards, knives of every size and shape for chopping or cutting anything that does or does not move.  I have five different sizes of roasters!  One for a very small piece of meat all the way up to a 20 pound turkey and beyond.

My mother is the one who pointed out to me that I was a hoarder and why.  Kenny's mother used to wrap up a tablespoon of leftovers and put it in the freezer for "later".  

We save containers.  We save boxes.  We save change.  Nothing is save from us and everything that crosses my path has more than one use.  It is sad, but you know what is sadder?  That our society is not geared to people like me.  Drink a pop, throw away the can.  Eat a half of a sandwich, throw the other half in the trash.  Thirsty?  Spend $1.50 on a bottle of water and drink half of it and throw the rest in the trash.  I wonder how many tons of trash are generated every day on this poor planet?

The longer I live the more thankful I am that this world is not my home, I'm only passing through! click here to play

People who forget the past tend to repeat it!  Just something to think about!

Company's comin' up the road!!

 Back in the day when life was laid back and summer days were long and winter nights were cold, a visitor was a rarity.  Cars were few and far between and if a car pulled on to our road leading up to the Stroh place we knew we were going to have company and they probably would spend the night.  I remember one such visit, but I do not remember who it was.  Only thing I am sure of was that it was Aunt somebody and Uncle somebody.  

Apparently mother had received some sort of message either through the mail or a phone call from somebody and the visit was expected.  Momma would spend days cleaning the house in preparation for the big day.  I do recall the time Uncle Ode came to visit.  What I remember is that he was tall and smoked a pipe and it smelled so very good.  He asked it I would like a puff and of course I said yes.  Momma said "NO" but Uncle Ode stuck the stem in my mouth and told me to take a deep suck on it.  Oh, my good God in heaven, I damn near choked to death!  Of course Uncle thought it funny but mother did not! 

When Uncle Ode came he only stayed a few hours, but I recall one visit from Aunt and Uncle Somebody.  They had a new shiny black car.  I might note that back then there were two colors for a car, black or blacker.  Later they would add a dung green, and then brown.  I was  allowed to be lifted into the car and I could set there and look around, but do not get it dirty!  I wallowed in dirt all day long so I had to be "dusted off" before I was allowed to set on the pristine seat!  

Starting the car entailed poking a "crank" into the front of the car under the radiator and turning it firmly until the engine "caught".  Then the driver would engage the clutch, engage the transmission and when he released the clutch  the car would move forward and they would disappear in a cloud of dust!  Cars were few and far between in our little world, but we liked to see them.  Jake and I used to set under the bridge and hope one would pass over us, but not break the bridge down so as to kill us!

Jake always wore overalls and us girls always wore a dress.  I recall in high school one day a year was designated as "tacky" day.  We could wear jeans that day, but I did not have any.  When school started momma made each of us girls dresses and of course I inherited the ones Josephine grew out of and passed mine down to Donna.  When clothes were "worn completely out" they were then taken apart and went for another use.  The worn parts were rags for cleaning.  The still good parts were cut into one inch strips and a slit cut in each end.  These were then lace together and rolled into a ball.  When mother had enough balls she took them to the "weaver lady" who wove them into a rug.  Nothing was ever disposed of until it was completely used up.  We even had a "button jar."

I know that sometimes when I write on here it seems that my childhood was very sad, but it was not!  Back in those days it was different.  We had an outhouse, but a lot of people did.  Inside plumbing was a rarity and non-existent on Strong Street.  Meals were mostly pots of soup or beans.  We heated with a wood stove and cooked on one also.  We played "Kick the Can" when we were lucky enough to find a can.  Our quiet place was the cemetery behind the house.  Momma made our soap with old save up lard that was first used for cooking and then strained and turned into "lye soap" with lye she made by dripping water through soft, gray wood ashes from the cook stove.

There is not a day that goes by that I do not thank God for sending me to the mother he sent me to live with.  She was a pioneer.  She was honest to a fault.  She was dependable.  Her heart was broken by me many times, but she never gave up on me and never once ever told me I was a disappointment, even when I knew I was. 

So, fancy cars, running water, a cupboard full of food and a home that stays the same temperature all year long with the touch of a dial, are all taken for granted.  My ancestors were pioneers and I thank God every day for them.  And you know the best part of all of this?  I see it reflected in everyone of my kids.  They are all honest, dependable, God fearing little creatures that are always in touch with their momma!

And I am as proud of them as I can be!  And there is a song that reflects all this.  It goes like this;

Count your many blessings, name them one by one, 

and it will surprise you what the Lord has done!click here