I will not live in fear is complete bullshit!

I am scared.  I will be the first to admit it.  I do not want to get shot at Walmart, or in my church, or at the school, or any where else.  I see the marchers that say they will not live in fear, but think about that.  When something like Texas, Las Vegas, Sandy Hook, and etc. etc. etc. happens I am afraid.  My government is doing nothing to allay my fears.  The NRA has a death grip on our congress.  Feed them money.  Money talks.  I have always heard that you can send an honest person to Washington, but you can not get that honest person back!

When one of these incidents (for want of a better word) occurs they begin to dig into the shooters past and lo! and behold! there were mistakes made in letting that idiot buy 15 AK 47's and 40,000 rounds of ammunition not to mention the arsenal in his bedroom that makes the local police look under armed.  I have a 22 pistol.  I keep it in my underwear drawer.  Does that make me feel safe?  No.  It would have to be a damn patient killer to wait for me to dig it out and find the safety and the clip and everything I need to shoot an intruder.

A wise man once told me " You never know anyone, you only know of them."  When we have an "incident" like this last one, then we dig into their past.  We first try to tie him (and so far they are him) to ISIS.  Rarely have any real ties to ISIS, but might leave a note saying it so no one will think he as just a lunatic.  Until then we did not give a shit who he was or what he thought.  Ah, but hindsight is so much better than foresight, isn't it?  The why's and the where's are all behind us.  Nothing can bring those people back.  Nothing can change the past.  Now is not the time to talk about it our pain is too fresh.  We must honor the dead.  We must hold a vigil.  Is that really what we want?  Not me.

I want to march to Washington D.C. and grab the congress by the throat and demand that they do something.  They work for ME!  Not the IRA!  When their second amendment right (and if you actually read that, they are off base on that.) infringes on MY right to the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness there has got to be a change. 

Australia has it right.  Get rid of the guns.  That sure cuts the mass murder rates down.  The NRA nuts,  (and I use that word to describe those Second amendment idiots that are demanding they have their "protection") are controlling my world.  What in the hell is our police force for?  At the Walmart shooting so many citizens pulled out their guns and waved them around that the investigation was stalled because they had no idea which gun waver was the shooter.  Did not stop the shooting; just screwed up the scene.

I am smart enough to know that my one small voice will get jack shit.  I am not, however, going to jump up and say "I will not live in fear," because, Buddy I am.  I get in my car and leave the safety of my home and God only knows if I will make it back.   I hesitate before I walk into a place where I know there are a lot of people because who knows what nut is right outside the door, or what I will find inside.

The following is taken from a report on the Internet.  Just a short read FYI.

American civilians are buying as many AK47s from Russia's top armory as the Russian military and police. 

The surge in sales of Russian assault rifles and shotguns are fuelled by firearms enthusiasts who are paranoid about the weapons being banned in the United States. 

The semiautomatic weapons, fitted with high-capacity magazines, are manufactured at Izhevsk Machinebuilding Plant, Russia's primary small arms factory.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2188727/Americans-buy-AK47s-Russian-military-assault-rifle-surges-popularity.html#ixzz4xqP0z0q2 
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When I read that the American people buy more of these guns then the Russian military and police, I get really scared.  That is just the AK 47.  Not all the other guns, just one model.  If that doesn't alarm you, I do not know what will.  So you guys/gals hold tight to those guns.  Do not let them take your gun because you never know when you are going to need to save your ass.  Mine, not so much.

89 year old man gets his first erection in years!

Really!  Really?  I got this email today or yesterday and it absolutely amazed me.  My name is Lou therefore I must be a man.  And I must not be able to get it up.  Now this is not the first one of these ED letters I have gotten.  And quite frequently I am contacted by a sweet young thing who would love to share her "unique" pictures with me.  Hmmm.  What is the world coming to?

Many years back I signed up for one of those dating sights.  I would like to meet an older man for companionship, walks along the river, dining out, and maybe a movie.  I love county music and dancing would be a plus.  Must be a Christian.

That unleashed a torrent of men who wanted me to know that their "plumbing" still worked and that their stomach was flat.  We could meet for a drink at some hotel that had a bar.  The Library was out.
A walk was fine as long as it entailed walking to the car.  Country was alright as long as it included a dark road and no music. Dining out was fine, but home cooked was a lot better.  And church was definitely not on the table at all.

Maybe I am just too old and jaded for this life as it exists now.  I still want conversations.  I want walks.  I like people and I do not want to be looked up and down like a piece of prize meat at the butcher shop.  I want to know who you are, not what you are.  Are you honest and trustworthy or are you looking for a slam, bam, thank you mam?  Will you call me for no reason?  Will you surprise me with a doughnut and a cup of coffee?  A trip to Starbucks on a Tuesday afternoon and then check out the movies.  Will you unload my goose food and put it in the barrel?  And will you show up at church just because you want to see what it is like even though you are a Catholic?  That is what I am looking for.  Oh yeah. and if and when it snows I need the walk shoveled and a trail broken out to the goose pen.  But I gotta tell you, I am not holding out much hope for such a man to exist in this world I live in.  So I am not going to the dating sites, no, not me!

Living alone definitely has it's advantages.  Like right now, I am eating a breakfast burrito with green chile.  Breakfast for supper.  No salad for the digestive tract.  No iced tea.  No have to set at the table because that is the eating place.  No dessert because I want to eat up the rest of the Pina Colada ice cream I made a year ago.  I have moved by clocks back an hour and instead of going to bed at 9:30 I am going to bed at 8:30.  Which will be 9:30, or at least I think that is right.  Who knows.  I hate the damned time change almost as much as I hate cooked apples.

I wish I was a goose.  The geese go to bed at dark and get up at dawn.  They have no idea of what time it is.  All they have to worry about is eating their food before the other goose eats it up from them.  I have never been able to check the sleeping arrangement in the goose house so I am not sure who sleeps beside who.  Oh, and there is another joy for remaining alone... I can sleep on either side of the bed.  I always sleep on the side closest to the door, but I could sleep on the other side if I so choose.  Hell, I could even sleep with my head at the bottom of the bed, or I could sleep downstairs.  Or on the couch.  The possibilities are endless!

My house phone is not working and a quick check with repair service tells me it is not going to work for a couple days.  Damn!  I wonder if they will understand when I deduct 2 days off the bill.    Ok, I am having dessert.  It is Carmel popcorn.  The house is very quiet.  The cat has snuck onto my lap making typing rather awkward, but at least she is quiet.  See if I could find a man this good, I would be all over that, but it ain't happening so I think I will go to bed now.  So if my clock says 6:30 now, a few minutes ago it was 7:30 and my body is thinking it is 8:30 or maybe  9:30.  I know one thing and that is about the only thing a man could do for me at this point in my life is tell me what time it is and why in the hell do we have to change it every time I figure out what time it is!

My dad loved his horses; us kids, not so much.

As far back as I can remember my dad had horses.  He used them for farming.  They were what pulled the plow, and the harrow , as well as the hay rack and the buckboard.  Hank Windiate had one old horse and he used it to pull the wagon he used as his means of transportation.  Every morning Hank would harness that poor old bag of bones and hook it to the wagon.  I know there is a name for that kind of wagon, but I forget what it was.  Hank was paralyzed on one side of his body, but he could still drag himself up over the wheel and onto the spring board seat and off to town he went.  I think all the old farts went up and set on a bench that was right outside the jail and watched the world go by.

Now the jail in itself was another story.  It was very small.  No!  Smaller than that.  It was probably about 10' x 10'.  I heard that it could hold 4 prisoners, but I found that hard to believe.  Maybe they slept standing up.  I asked Dad once if there had ever been a prisoner in their and of course he gave me some bullshit story about a bank robber or some such nonsense.  I know I never seen any sign of a prisoner.  I did hear all the old men arguing one day because some one had spit on the street and that was just so disrespectful and that man should be put in the jail.  The sheriff would take care of it when he came back.  No one was real sure where the sheriff had gone.  They were not even sure who the sheriff was, but they were all pretty sure he would come back and lock that man up, whoever he was.

But this is not about the sheriff now, is it?  No.  It is about my Dad's horses.  When we were still on the Stroh place he had bought us kids a Shetland Pony.  I am pretty sure he was drunk when he did that and I am pretty sure Mother pointed out to him that he was not very smart if he thought for one minute that he could go into town and do "whatever" and then come dragging a pony home and she would overlook his indiscretion.  I had to take her side in that one, especially after we got a good look at our new pony.  It was little, not like the big horses that we wanted to ride in the parade.  He was also furry.  He was kind of cute looking out the back door at him clear across the yard standing there all alone.  Looks are certainly deceiving!

My brother, being the oldest and bravest decided he would ride Star first.  He got the saddle and walked toward the horse.  Holy Mary, Mother of God!  I swear that horse had fire coming out his eyes and nose both.  Jake hesitated and Star began to emit sounds that only the Devil in Hell below could identify.  He began to rear up and kick backwards, and forwards and I swear that beast had 8 legs.  At that point Jake dropped the saddle and lunged on his back to ride him bareback.  With his hands wound in his mane he looked towards Heaven and smiled a very wide smile which was immediately followed by Star reversing directions twice causing Jake to do a half backward, followed by a full forward and then a side dismount.  Star turned to face us as if to ask who was next.  There were no takers.  About the only action Star got after that was for us to lead him around the yard and we could pet him, but make no mistake, he was not going to be ridden by any man, woman or child.

Little note here on the side.  My brother had a scar on his right cheek.  He had Star to thank for that. Well actually he had himself to thank for that.  Jake and some of his little friends were playing in the yard and they bet each other that they could sneak up on Star and "goose him".  Jake went first.  He also went last because at the same time Jake reached his rear end, Star kicked backwards at the unseen intruder and Jake went clear across the fence and was immediately rushed to the hospital in Hutchinson to get his face put back on.  After that he gave Star a wide berth.

When dad bought horses they were always a "matched pair."  A matched pair was some sort of big deal to the men who had a matched pair.  The last matched pair my dad ever owned was bought about the time we left the Stroh place.  In my 7 year old mind I seem to recall that this was a pair of "Strawberry Roans."  Not sure how to spell that, but I can still see them in my mind.  They were strawberry which meant that were sort of red.  Mostly off white with a kind of pink sheen and roan because of the spots.  Their tails were blondish red and dad spent many hours braiding the tails and putting a ribbon in the braids.

(Did I ever mention that my dad was in World War 1 and served in the Cavalry and his job was to take care of the horses.  He had a hole in one of his arms where he had been bitten by a horse.  I never attempted that horse riding business because I did not want no damned horse trying to eat me.)

I used to think my dad was mean, but time has softened my memories of him and I now see him as a sad little soul.  He was 30 years older then my mom and so I think kids were just something that had happened to him, because he certainly did not have paternal feelings towards any of us, although in later years he did dote on my sister Mary.  And when I had my first baby, Debbie he actually touched her and held her.  She is the only one I have a picture of with him.

Looking back I think he brushed his horses on a daily basis and braided their tails as an act of love. He was always tender with them, but if they did not obey when he "hee'd or haw'd" he was not above picking up a single tree, or whip or what ever was handy and beating them into submission.  Lord the things we did back then would get a man hung now days. I think maybe in my little mind I was afraid he would do the same to me.  He was always just a silent man around the house and we walked lightly.

When Star was gone, the Strawberry Roans were gone and Danny was gone there was no reason to stay in Nickerson.  Mother had gone to Salt City Business College and learned to be a bookkeeper/secretary.  She then found a job in Hutchinson and we moved there.  Dad used to drive to Nickerson every day to hang out at the pool hall there and play dominoes with his friends.  I guess he worked there.  I guess he never really left Nickerson either.

  I guess Hutchinson was too much of a change for me because I skipped school most of the time and finally dropped out completely.  I got a job washing dishes at Skaets Steak Shop.  Then I met and married my first husband.  Mom went to work there as did my sister Donna.  When I left my husband I returned to work at Skaets as a waitress until I opened my own restaurant.  Dorothy worked there.   And now my sister owns it.  A long time ago.

Lot of water under the bridge, so to speak.