Currants are just pretty nasty tasting by nature.

Titled this and then thought I better go out and try one just to be sure my memory was correct.  Yep.  those currants are pretty nasty tasting things.  Well, that is assuming that it is actually a currant bush and not some deadly poison bush that the wicked witch of the west put out there to trick me with.

When I was a kid growing up on Strong Street, the fence row on the way to the chicken house was lined with currant bushes.  As I recall, they went from dead green to a kind of opague looking sort of amber berry.  Just in case I am wrong, I am not going to eat any more of those currants and if I do not wake up dead in the morning I will be very happy.

But if you think the currants are nasty, you ought to try a Gooseberry.  Now the mother in law was very proud of her gooseberry patch when she was alive.  I think it has pretty well dried up and gone to weeds now, because not everyone was as fascinated with those gooseberries as she was.  Oh, when Bret and Shellie were little tykes she let them pick gooseberries for her.  Being kids they had to sample their wares.  First one was kind of funny look, second one was a look of revulsion and the third one never happened.  Why God puts some of this stuff on earth for us to eat is almost more than I can understand.

Blueberries, Strawberries, Raspberries, Blackberries and stuff like that are good.  Eat one and you know immediately, but then try the gooseberry or the currant and just wonder why you did that.  Now I could understand if I was stranded 800 miles from a food source that eating that nasty stuff for survival might be necessary, but I do not plan on being that far from good stuff.

And then there is the Kale to consider.  Now if it is young, tender, organic Kale, I can eat it.  Course I rate it right up there with Lamb's Quarters.  When we were tender little kids mother used to round us up in the springtime of the year and walk the fields in search of Lamb's  Quarters.  We had to pick only the young tender ones and not the big ones.  Of course when one is picking little plants about 3 inches tall, it takes a long time to pick a "mess".  That is what is enough to make a meal.  Instead of saying "meal" mother called it a "mess."  We would take the stuff home, wash it good, and cook it with a little bacon grease.  Today I eat Spinach, but if I could find a bunch of Lamb's Quarters I would eat that.

And on the subject of bacon grease, it seems that the bacon grease we always ended up with was from some old boar hog and it was strong enough to stand on it's own.  If we weren't eating weeds and strong bacon grease, that mother of mine was seining for carp.  Now I do have to say this for the carp, that is a trash fish and I am damn glad I do not have to eat that now.  The only way that stuff was palatable was if she canned it and then in the dead of winter when there was absolutely nothing to eat, she would make patties and fry them in the rancid bacon grease.

Do not think for one minute that I do not appreciate all my mother did for me, because I sure do.  It is just that I have honed my culinary skills and now budget my money so I can buy the finer cuts of meat and the tender vegetables.  I drink homogenized milk because raw milk has tiny pieces of cream that used to get on my lips and I am a spoiled.

I think I will just stay out of the back yard and away from the currant bush and let the birds feast on the fruit.  I may go make me a Bacon Lettuce and Tomato sandwich with the thin sliced maple flavored bacon, store bought tomatoes, and fresh crisp lettuce.  Oh, and mayonnaise.

Be careful what you wish for: you just might get it. 

A Black Widow Spider by any other name....

This is a Black Widow Spider.  It is round like a marble.  This is the female which is larger than the male.  After she has mated with the male she kills him and eats a good portion of him.  I am scared of spiders of any kind but I am scared shitless of this mother!

I learned very early in life to spot this lady.  She likes to build her nest in dark places and behind doors.  Spider webs are soft, but the web this spider builds is very strong.  I can spot one.  I have lots of spider webs in the garage and around the yard, but this one is special.  When you look at it , it looks different than the little webs of other spiders.  I take a stick and catch a part of the web and tug just a little.  If it is a harmless spider web, it will break, but the Black Widow web is strong and will crackle when I tug at it.

By simple showing you this picture and telling you about this mean spider, I will have nightmares tonight.  I have managed to get through my life with out a spider bite or so I think.  I read an article once that told me how many bugs and such the average person swallows in their lifetime and I can not dispute them.  I can live with sharing space on earth with the harmless little garden spiders and even the one that lives in the front yard and carries all her babies on her body so she looks like a fur  ball until you step on her and 659 millions babies run off in every direction.

Now I do not know just what brought on this blog about Black Widow Spiders and I am not going to try to figure it out.  Just rest assured that this is one mean mother, so stay away.

And, oh yeah, sweet dreams!

A day late, but relative nonetheless.

I was about 20 years late getting into the fight for Gay Rights, but when I got on board I gave it my all.  Stonewall was nothing to me in 1969.  I did not know any gay people because there were not any in my world of western Kansas at that time.  Little did I know that my 4 year old son would open my eyes and make me see the injustice of discrimination.  Little did I know that less than 20 years later I would be not only waving the flag, but it would be one I stitched with care.  I knew nothing about PFLAG in 1969, but by 1973 I was a whole lot wiser.  By then I was single and working at the Red Rooster Restaurant with a little guy named Gibby.  Gib was a very good friend of my mother, so of course he was a friend of mine.  Gib was gay.

I had never to my knowledge ever even seen a gay person, but now I was friends with one.  And it was nice to have a male friend that I could go dancing with, or hang out with and not have to worry about a romantic involvement.  Then I started my journey  that has led me to where I am today.  I moved to Colorado in 1977 leaving Gib and my mother and siblings behind.  Soon after the "gay disease" reared it's ugly head.  In June of 1981 the CDC  published a paper about a strange disease that was affecting gay men.  And thus began the AIDS epidemic.  I am not here to give you a history lesson, only to tell you why I am where and who I am today.

Gibby was one of the first to die.  He is buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in central Kansas.  He is only one of many that received the same treatment.  Fear held us in it's paralyzing grip.  There was talk at one point of isolating the "victims".  The CDC scrambled to set up guidelines and finally succeeded in calming the fears, approving new meds and I am happy to say that now it is not even

mentioned as AIDS, but is HIV and it is a manageable condition.  I speak of HIV only because it led me to the gay rights movement.  

In 1983 I married Kenneth and for the next 8 years I lived a fairly mundane existence.  This all ended when the religious right groups headquartered in Colorado Springs put forth Amendment #2 for the Colorado Constitution that basically stated that gays and homosexuals were to be denied civil rights protection.  This was on the ballot for the November 3, 1992 election. It was known as the "Hate State Amendment 2". 

It was worded in such a way that it was confusing to say the least and it passed.  Barely, but it did pass and the gay community was devastated.  At that time there was a catering business on Elizabeth and for some reason we congregated there.  We were all so disappointed because what this bill did was basically declare open season on gays.  The place was filled to overflowing and that night "Pueblo After 2"  was born.  We knew that as gay and straight we had to band together.  As a straight person I could advocate for my gay friends.  Warren, David, Joe, Carolyn, and the list goes on.  Along with  Nancy and Jalia, PFLAG was born in Pueblo.  Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.  It was the local chapter of a national group.  

Events and times become confused in my little mind and I think I should have kept a journal.  But I did not.  I did what needed done with the help of my colleagues. Westboro never stood a chance with us.  Pueblo After 2 morphed in Southern Colorado Equality Alliance.  Southern Colorado AIDS Project was borne of the need to take care of our afflicted children.  

At some point in time I conceived the Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt which is hung at the Rawlings Library the end of  November through most of December.  World AIDS day is observed on the 4th floor every December 1 and I am guest of honor.  

We have come a long way, but there is still work to do.  I was given a lot of awards over the years, but none as prestigious as the mother who thanked me recently for giving her son the strength to acknowledge who he is! That is called "coming out" in case you wondered.

Kinda' makes it all worth it.