I used to have a family.

I came across this picture the other day.   I am the first one  on the back row.  I used to be young, believe it or not.  Mother is in the middle of the back row.  I probably miss her more then you can even imagine.   The last one on the back row, is my older sister, Josephine.  

The lady in white on the front row, is sister Mary Shea.  Donna Bartholomew is in the center  and hiding behind her elbow is the youngest sister, Dorothy Anderson.  It is sad to say, but there are only 2 of us left.  Donna and myself.  We were ranging in age of oldest to youngest, Josephine, Me, Donna. Mary and Dorothy was the baby.  

How I managed to survive while my younger sisters did not, will never cease to amaze me.  Growing up, I smoked like a train and drank like a fish.  I went through husband like they were disposable items and for the most part they were not necessary to my survival.  I had 5 kids with the first husband so he stands out in my history as one of the few I could actually tolerate for more than a few months.

Josephine had married very young.  Now when I say very young, we are talking 13 or 14 years old.  She married a man twice her age and if that had happened in this day and age, that man would be in prison for a little thing called statutory rape, but back then, the sooner you married the girls off, the less mouths you had to feed.  Not excusing it, by any means, but at the time the legal age for a girl to marry was 16, with most states being younger than that.   I think Mississippi stayed at 13 and was the last to be raised to 16 and then 18.   So Josephine was not really a participating member of the family dynamic that I grew up in at the time.  She was however, an active member, just lived somewhere else.

Dad died in February of 1965 and Jake died in October.  Many years passed and then Mother was the next to go, followed by Josephine and then Mary and Dorothy.  So all that is left is one sister and maybe some cousins.  No Aunts or Uncles and I guess there are nieces and nephews, but I never see them.

I have been asked a few times why I do not move back home.  Back home?  I have been in Pueblo, Colorado for over half of my life, so I pretty well call this home.  But in all fairness, this world is not my home, I am only passing through.  There are songs written that say that.  My family consists of people I meet on the streets and in back alleys that are seeking something that I can give them.  Usually it is just a kind word, but sometimes it is my coat.  My church is my solace and my refuge, but if I did not have it I would still be here.  The homeless and the down trodden are my family now. When I lay down at night I hear a lonesome train whistle from the railroad that runs through Nickerson, Kansas.  I hear the cougar scream from the river.  I see my brothers eyes and I feel my mothers breathe.

It is only in the far recesses of my mind's eye that I will ever be home.

Scared shitless in the mortuary.

I used to babysit for a couple who ran the mortuary in Nickerson, Kansas.  Their name was Lamb, as I recall and they had 4 or 5 little stair step children that all had names that started with the same letter.  I could be wrong on that, but I do not think so.  At the time of my babysitting career they lived on the upper floor of the mortuary.  On my very first night of babysitting, Mrs. Lamb gave me a tour of the apartment.  This included the room where the caskets were stored.  The caskets were, of course, empty.  She did share with me that the one casket downstairs was not empty, but not to worry because the man who actually owned the place was receiving visitors while they were gone.  There would be no need for me to go downstairs.  Thank you, Jesus!  I was most happy to learn that.  Being of a tender age of probably 13 or 14, I was not experienced in dealing with dead bodies and in all fairness, I was not real excited to enter that phase of my life.  Plenty of time for that in the future.

So I tucked the babies into bed, read them a bedtime story and went into the living room.  I did up a few dishes in the sink and then decided to turn on the television.  I hoped I could actually watch something, sine television was fairly new back then and we did not actually own one at home.  There was a small thunderstorm passing overhead, but the television sprang to life in spite of the interference.  The announcers voice was very serious.  "We interrupt the regular programming to bring you this special bulletin!  The earth is being invaded by another planet!  This is happening as we speak.  I can see the forces running through the streets.  We are under siege!  Do not leave your homes!"

I snapped the television off and went into panic mode!  What the hell!  I was in charge of these kids and their safety and the damned aliens were at the door.  I was not ready for this!  I was not even old enough to know what a damned alien was!  At that moment the phone rang and I picked up the receiver to hear the man downstairs also pick up the receiver and say to his wife.  "No, the electric is still on here, but I will come right home.  See you in a few."  He broke the connection and my mind began to fill in the blanks.  He was leaving and I was going to be alone with a dead body, 4 kids, and aliens running wild out side in the rain.  Great!  And almost on cue, the lights flickered and the world went dark.  My mind could not grasp whether the storm made the lights go out or if the Martians had flipped a big switch some where.

I could not call my mother, because the phone was now dead.  The kids were asleep and there was a body down stairs just waiting to come up the stairs and do God only knew what with me.  On some level, I understood that dead bodies did not move nor do things, but on another level, this one was capable of damn near anything!  I did resist the urge to wake the little Lamb kids up so I would not be alone.  I think fear held me completely immobile.  I did learn to pray that night.  I learned how to fall on my knees and dedicate my life, should I survive the night, to the most holy God.  I think I may have even recited the rosary, what ever that was.  There was not even a Catholic Church in Nickerson, but I was a Catholic that night.  Well, maybe not the whole night but for the 17 minutes the electricity was off, I was totally in God's hands and I was very pliable putty, I kid you not!

With the flickering of the lights when the electric was restored, I was once more the capable babysetter.  The kids had not even changed postitions.  I heard the door open and heard the man return downstairs.  Very soon Mr. and Mrs. Lamb returned.  They had been at a friends house and watched the program that I had watched.  They were amused and thought it so clever to present it as a real life event.  I secretly wondered about their sanity.  But Mr. Lamb took me home and paid me my fee, so life was good.

That little episode occurred probably 63 or 64 years ago, but it is as clear in my mind as the night it happened.  Soon after, the Lambs moved out of the mortuary and opened their own funeral home.  I do not remember if they got another babysitter or if she just stayed home with the kids.  A lot of my memories are not real accurate and some are non existent, but life went on back there on Strong Street in spite of it all.  It was many years later that Kenneth and I were in a campground some where in the mountains, and I saw a camper with a Kansas flag.  On a whim, I knocked on the door and to my utter amazement, Joanne Lamb opened the door and she remembered this little Bartholomew girl.  She and Jack were retired, of course and she filled me in on all the kids.  Of course, it all went in one ear and out the other, but it was a beautiful hour or so that took me back in time.

It is little things like remembering that keeps us all young and vital.  How sad when we have no memories.

One more year is nearing a close.

Another year is about to go in the history book that is my life.  Kind of sad.  Gives new meaning to that saying I have always had, "When you are over the hill you pick up speed."  I used to make a list of all I wanted to accomplish during the coming year, but I have now decided to settle for making a list of all the things I did not get done.

#1. I fully intended to have the world's largest rummage sale and empty my house of all the hobbies I have accumulated over the years.  I did get a lot of the stuff moved out to the garage, but that just makes it mouse food.

#2.  I intended to take down the bore infested Apricot tree behind the house and prune the Choke Cherry bush so I could walk through the yard.  I also intended to remove all the Elm trees that are embedded in the fence line.  None of these thing happened.

#3.  I wanted to list the house this fall and be moved into a little place in town by the first of the year.  It is now the first of the year and here I set.

#4.  When I saw none of the above was happening, I settled for making candles for the homeless, which is also not happening.  I did make a quilt, but that is about all I got done.  And I did pile a bunch of stuff in the dining room to move out to the pile of crap in the garage to put on top of the other pile of crap.

Maybe I need a trainer.  You know someone with a whip to come in and crack it over my head and see how high I can jump.  Sadly, even that would not move me.  I do occasionally think that the perfect solution is to just set here and do nothing.  Some day, with a little luck, I will quietly pass away in my sleep and surely someone will think to check on me and there I will be.  It is at that point that all this crap will become someone else's problem.  So I have words of advice for whoever gets stuck with that job.

Put a big sign on the front door, "Worlds biggest junk sale.  Make an offer."  What ever they offer, accept it.  Throw all the money in a box and divide it up with each other.  What doesn't sell, send to the dump.  I do have a will.  That is one thing I did do.

So, now I am starting another day of futile attempts at getting something done.  Wish me luck.