Some things will always be the same.

I lay in bed awhile this morning thinking of something from long ago.  The road in front of the Strong Street house was dirt.  Actually all the roads in Nickerson except Highway 96 and 56th Street (the back road to Hutchinson) were all dirt.  Well, the county road to Sterling and 3 blocks that made up Main Street were paved.  I think they were originally brick, but who knows.  Back to Strong Street.

It was the silty stuff and I can still feel it on my bare feet.  In the summer it was very warm, but the sidewalk was hot, so the sandy dirt was much preferred.  I should explain that the sidewalk of which I speak was a block away over beside the highway.  It was a 2 block long sidewalk that ran from the Fein house, along an empty field and then the block in front of Mr. Kings house, a rental house and then in front of the house where some crazy lady lived that we never saw and she may or may not have actually lived there.  The side walk on that block was pretty cracked and had chunks missing.  So if we were lucky enough to snag a pair of skates we could only skate on the first block.

Three things come to  my mind from the above paragraph.  First, Mr. King (and that may or may not be his actual name, but it works for me this morning.) is the one who slept face down in his garden one day all day long until a black hearse took him away.  Second is the matter of snagging skates.  My friend Barbara had skates and sometimes she would let me borrow a pair to skate home from her house which was in town and where I visited sometimes.  There was always the stipulation that I not skate in the dirt and I not lose the "key".

For those of you who do not know about old time skates, I will update you.  They were made of 2 steel platforms with two steel wheels in front and two wheels in back.  The body was held together with a nut which required a "key" to tighten and loosen.  Loosen the nut and slide the platforms either apart to make them bigger or together to make them smaller.  The front had clamps which were loosened and then adjusted for the tight fit needed to hold the front of the skate on your shoe.  The back had a strap for you ankle.  If everything was not tightly fitted your skate could come off and down you went with your tender flesh skidding along the rough side walk.  Ah, but when everything was perfect the feel of the wind on your face and arms as you sped along at 3 MPH was worth all the risks!  The best way to stop was to steer off into the dirt and that worked every time.

click here to see a pair

The last thing that comes to my mind from that paragraph is that the corner of the sidewalk that was by the Fein house had several steps that brought you up from the highway to the sidewalk.  It was on those steps that my brother brought the news to me that Hank Williams had died in the back seat of his limousine on his way to do a show in Nashville.  He was so young and we could not believe it.  People did not die for no reason, but there it was.  How very sad we were that day.  WSM had announced it.  WSM was the Grand Old Opry station.  I wonder if it still is?  I may turn the radio on some Saturday night and see.  That is if I can find the radio and if I know which button it is.

But what I really started out to tell you this morning, is how clearly I can feel the sandy dirt on my feet from all those years ago.  I used to like to wiggle my toes into a pile of it where it had blown up along side the road.  It felt silky and warm and made me happy.  But when it would rain and there would be puddles, that was fun too.  If the puddles stayed several days there would be little things in the water that looked like tiny dots with a tail.  I soon learned that those were pollywogs, which would turn into toads or frogs in just a couple days if the mud puddle did not try up and we did not step on them.  They were pretty damn fast, so stepping on them was really not an option.

Ah, but the best part was when the puddle dried up if we did not disturb it, there would be a whole new thrill.  If left alone the sun would dry the mud and the top layer would curl up.  When that happened I could step barefooted on the dry mud and feel it crackle under my feet.  That was a whole new feeling and if Jake got to the puddle first he did it and that used to piss me off so bad!  Sometimes he would save it for me and that made my whole childhood worth while.  I do not know the last time I actually stepped on dry mud.

Funny the things we think about in the middle of the night when the world is asleep and we are all alone.  Guess that is why God gave us a memory.  It keeps me grounded.

Just a hairy mass of molecules.

My late husband had his own way of describing the various pets we had over the years.  He called them a "hairy mass of molecules"  and that seemed to describe about any one we had.

When I married him I had a dog named Sysnyck.  She was a poodle/Chihuahua mix.  Very black and with the hair that required a groomer.  She was named after a television show that was about a drill instructor that opened a gym in the heart of gang territory in New York City. I just name my animals whatever comes to mind.  No thought for gender or looks or size.   Sysnyck lived to be 12 years old and died of kidney failure, a weakness in both of the breeds at the time.  She is buried in the front yard.

Then Kenny's sister gave us a red dingo cattle dog.  We got her the same day I peeled 3 bushels of chile, so we named her Chile.  I guess she was actually a heeler.  She was nuts about tennis balls and loved to play catch.  She played catch as long as someone would throw the ball.  Key here was it was between you and her.  You throw and she fetched.  One time we had company come and they had a couple boys about 11 or 12.  We sent them out to play fetch with Chile and they decided to toss the ball to each other.  The came in crying and terrified because Chile sent them up the tree because that was HER ball.  End of that game. 

She would play with one ball at a time.  When she was tired of the ball she would shred it and pick another.  We picked up 12 tennis balls at the flea market once and brought them home to her.  We dumped them all out on the ground.  She sorted through and got the one she wanted and the rest were put away because if we threw one of those she would not chase it.  She only wanted HER ball and when she tore it up she was ready for another.  She is in the front yard.

While Chile was still with us we got a little blond poodle since that was Kenny's choice of a dog.  Chile helped house train Tammy by standing in the flap of the doggie door so Tammy could go out and in to potty.  Damn smart dog.  Chile died before Tammy.

Next dog was another heeler named Polly.  She was white with one black eye.  She became very possessive of me and finally attacked Tammy for getting too close to me.  That was sad as we had to have Tammy put down from  her injuries.  We thought about having Polly done also, but decided to be a one dog house instead and that was what we did until the neighbor lady came dragging home a little white dog with 2 black eyes.  By this time Polly was ready for company and we pretty much lived happily until Polly passed and Elvira needed rescued.  I never knew how old she was.

Also interspersed through the years were several cats.  I only like calico cats and I only like distinctly marked Calico.  First was Charmin who lived 18 or 19 years.  Boots was Kenny's cat because he was a boy and he was gray.  He was around 15 years.  I finally got my last Calico 7 years ago.  I had a friend who named her.  Calicos are always female for some reason.  He named her Icarus.  When I explained that Icarus was a boy, he informed me that no one but me was smart enough to know who Icarus was.  So Icarus she is and is on my lap constantly.

My menagerie that is shrinking.  But memories live forever, don't they?

Rest in Peace

RIP

My Little Elvira

Unknown-1/18/2018