Bowls are good for lots of things!

Went to Western Kansas last week to see part of the tribe.  You should know that my middle daughter, Dona M Seeger owns a beauty shop in Lakin,  Kansas.  The first order upon my arrival was to take a nap in the back room since she was busy with customers.  Bill, my son in law from my daughter Patty, came and woke me up.  He has been having some health problems so I was glad to see him up and about.  As soon as Dona finished her last customer we went to Mi Ranchita to eat.  There I seen more grand daughters, grandson, great granddaughters and more great grandsons.  It appears I have been very prolific because this little gathering produced 12 or 13 paying customers and only 2 of my daughters were accounted for in this gathering.

After supper we headed out to Dona's house and bed.  Now, I forgot that I wanted my haircut while we were in her shop and I did not think about it again till the next day.  I was one tired puppy.  I did not think about it the next day, but rather Sunday morning when it was almost time to leave.  Now I do not know if I discussed the bowl business with Dona or not.  Sometimes I have conversations with myself in my head and the bowl business may have happened that way.  What I wanted to tell her and did not, was that I was proud of her and the way she has made a successful business to take care of herself and her sons.  The bowl business aside.

Back before I was even in school mother was a lady of leisure.  Dad did something to make a living , but I do not know what it was.  I know he drank and I think he may have been involved in something not quite legal because we always had money when we lived on the Stroh place and he went to the sale and brought home a Shetland pony and that was the meanest damned horse on earth.  That is the one that kicked my brother in the face and left him with a very ugly scar that he carried all his life.  Jake may or may not have goosed the horse which is what one of his friends said happened.  I just don't know.

The important part of the story is that mother always went "to club" and we had to be clean when she took us.  Did I tell you how she used to put me under her arm and pump cold water over my head when she washed my hair.  Jesus!  That water was cold!  I still cringe when I think of that.  But anyway, back to club.

I do not know what went on at club because us kids had to go into the other room and somebody watched us.  The ladies of the club were very helpful to each other.  All of them were dressed very nice and wore little hats because that was what they did back then.  They shared recipes and gave each other tips on how to raise kids.  One of the ladies was a hair cutter.  That meant she came to the other ladies houses and cut the kids hair.  That was always a day to be excited about.
 
"Mrs. Soandso will be by on Friday to cut the kids hair."

 Now my mother had a special bowl which was for Mrs. Soandso to use as a pattern for the hair cutting job.  First we had to get out the haircutting stool which raised us to the proper height so Mrs. Soandso did not have to bend over.  She had sharp scissors that were used only for haircutting.  The haircutting usually went very smoothly and very quickly.  Course if the recipient moved at all, the bowl would slide a bit and one side might be longer then the other.  At times like that I was a stone statue because I sure did not want my hair to be uneven.  And when she was all done we would line up for inspection. Mother would gush about how beautiful we were and then insist that she take a quarter for herself.

Have you ever looked at the old school pictures?  You can spot the kids whose mothers went to club.  All of our hair ended right below our ears and sometimes our bangs were only about an inch long .  because Mrs. Soandso was tired. Of course we always had to have a "fresh haircut" for pictures.  I often wondered back in those days, if there really was a god!

For some reason, when we left the Stroh place and moved everything we owned on a hay rack to the Ailmore place, mother quit going to club.  Dad quit going to where ever he used to go.  Mother started cleaning houses for the rich ladies in town and life changed without me even knowing it.  I wish I had remembered what changed, but I didn't.  Sometimes way in the back of my memory, I almost remember something, but not quite.  Some where is the memory of a big house with an elevator across the river, and I seem to remember going there once with my dad.  But it was never talked about and Dad never went there after we left the Stroh place.

Isn't life funny that way?

I have miles to go before I sleep.

Spring is here and this is the time of year that I get itchy feet.  I left Hutchison, Kansas in 1977 with my then husband and with everything in a U-haul we moved to Pueblo, Colorado.  Since he had lived here before, it was a returning for him, but for me it was a leap of faith and a complete 180 degrees from my life in Hutchinson.  I gave my mother the keys to my little Lou's Kitchen on 4th Street and fired up the engine on my 1973 Chevy and headed West to seek my fame and fortune.  I was one naive little girl back then.  The husband turned out to be a little less then I hoped.  We did start a business so I had a job to do.  

The husband soon became an ex husband and the job a former place of employment.  At that time I thought about pointing the (now a Cadillac) east and leaving Colorado, but I could not go home a failure, so I stayed.  I went to  College and got a degree in Finance while waiting tables at a small cafe in Bessemer.  I married a local guy and divorced him 2 months later.  Then I met and married Kenneth.  The rest is history.  Through all the years, I made trips to Kansas in the Spring to see the Lilacs.

And, of course, a trip to Hutchinson also called for a stop at Skaets Steak Shop on the corner of 23rd and Main which is the entrance to the State Fairgrounds.  That was the first place I ever worked and a member of my family (sometimes more then one member) has always been on the payroll there.  My sister, Dorothy, had a heart attack and died there.  Luckily they hit the restart button on her and she lived several more years.  

I would meet my friend Joe there for a 2-3 hour coffee.  That was always fun.  I do have a gold elephant I need to send him someday.

But, those days are behind me.  The days of throwing the pistol in the suitcase and driving 8 hours to get anywhere are now behind me.  Water under the bridge.  Lately I have been studying the family tree and I was surprised to find that I am now the top nut on the tree.  I used to ask someone older then me about our lineage, but now I find that the buck stops here.  There is no one to ask.  Damn!  When did that happen?

I think about the trips to Hutch and I get sad that they are no longer.  I have my own Lilac in the back yard.  I feel much like Robert Frost must have felt when he wrote this poem.  Am I really done?  Is this where it ends.  Wait!  I have so much left to do...….

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

BY ROBERT FROST

Whose woods these are I think I know.   

His house is in the village though;   

He will not see me stopping here   

To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   

To stop without a farmhouse near   

Between the woods and frozen lake   

The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   

To ask if there is some mistake.   

The only other sound’s the sweep   

Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   

But I have promises to keep,   

And miles to go before I sleep,   

And miles to go before I sleep.

So, from someone who knows, life is short.  Love your neighbor, brighten the corner where you are and if perchance you think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, stretch your neck over there and have a bite!  You may be right.

There is a heel in every loaf.

Well, actually there are 2 heels in every loaf, but I am not sure how to spell heel.  I think this is right.  I like home baked bread. Like may not be a strong enough word for my love affair with baking.  I know I can get into the car and drive into town and find several bakeries most willing to take my money and give me a loaf of their bread, but some how that just seems so wrong. It will have all kinds of stuff in it to make it better than mine, but I gotta tell you, it always falls short of the mark.  Sure it is crusty and tasty and already baked, sometimes with an egg wash to make the crust even crustier.  Sad, because I like mine better. 

Mine is made with water, yeast, salt, sugar, oil, and flour.  That is it.  Nothing fancy and I don't have to scald, puree, or infuse anything.  I throw it all in a mixing bowl with a dough hook and 4 minutes later, the dough has climbed the hook and it is ready to be covered and let raise.  I usually make a couple double batches and set them to raise on the stove top.  When the pans are almost ready, I turn the oven to 355.  The bread bakes about 20 minutes or so.  Nothing is set in stone at my house except my naptime at 3:00 while Jeopardy is showing.

Now this little fellow decided he might like to try a piece of the heel on the first loaf out of the oven.  It was his own idea, not mine.  Something about the aroma of fresh baked bread is just more than a human can resist.  He just wasn't sure at first that eating a piece of bread was what he really wanted to do.  I did not push it because I like the heel best myself and there are only so many in a loaf.  So he took it.

And the rest is history.  He used to look for cheese puffs, or orange juice, but the aroma of fresh bread is his new mantra.  Bless his little tiny heart.

This little fellow is not real fond of meat and sweets are not his thing either.  Mostly he dines on fruit and cheese.  Kinda fun to have around.  Looks like I will be making bread for him for several more years before he figures out about junk food, but maybe not.

He does keep me on my toes and he is now trying to teach me to jump.  For the record, I am not learning that one very well.  I think it is this damned old age thing.  Not only am I not good at jumping, I don't even want to try.  It all seems pointless at this juncture.  So we shall engage in our little war of the wills until I either jump or he gives up.  

How ya' betting?