If it is snowing, it must be spring!

This was last week.  Mid week I think when it snowed'

This was Saturday of last week when I hosted the 3rd Annual High Tea at our church.

And now we come to this week.  I have been out cutting trees that are in places they do not belong.  Oh, I bet your first thought was "You should wear a shirt."  I already thought of that and can you imagine what these arms would look like had I NOT worn a shirt?  All I can say is, "I must be a tad bit suicidal!

But isn't Springtime in the Rockies wonderful?  Just never know what to expect.  Last night the furnace ran most of the night.  Today the air conditioner beat a steady rhythm and now I am starting to open windows to let a little cool air in before the furnace kicks on!  Where else can we enjoy all four seasons every day?

On a good note, the onions are up.  So are the potatoes and Zucchini!  One little Basil plant is struggling for survival.  3 tomato plants are looking poorly in the garden; one is flourishing and 2 more in the trash can are actually blooming.  The broccoli, peppers, watermelons, cauliflower and cucumbers are sprouting in the tiny greenhouse under my deck chair.  The house next door is vacant for a while and I been running the geese over there to eat weeds on the back acre.  They are very happy.  I am very happy, but Big R is a little pissy because I am not buying grain this month.  Happy pocket book!

I walked over to Jackie's the other morning and took a short walk yesterday so I am hoping that this will help me with my health problems.  Probably going to have to walk more than that, but I seen 2 big dogs and they scared me.    I do not want to get eaten by strange dogs. 

I have had several people tell me that they miss my regular writing on this blog, so I am going to try to do better in that department.  See, I have been getting lazy and sometimes sleeping in until 6 or so and then my day has taken flight by that time.  I think of brilliant things to write about when I am laying in bed at night, but then I doze off and my genius is lost!  I now have a clipboard by the bed and hopefully I can begin to function once more as a productive member of society. 

Take my hand and walk with me for the best is yet to be!  (or something like that)

Thought I forgot how to do this!

This is the blanket I crocheted for Bret and Amanda's little one.  It came out really nice if I do say so myself!

So I decided to do a little different pattern for Ryan and Heather and their little one.  It came out pretty good also.

So, now that I know I can still do this, I am going to make a few of them and sell them on Etsy!  Daughter Debbie did not see the pictures on facebook so I am putting them in the blog.  Here you go!  Tell me what you think.

Love, mother.

A sad little horse.

The neighbors have a horse.  It is in a field in front of their house.  It has a shed to stand in and that is about it.  Oh, it gets food and water.  The neighbors on the other side also have a horse.  It has the same life.  The two horses are separated by an offset fence so they do not have any contact.  They just stand there close to their respective fences.  What a life.  Neither one ever gets ridden or taken out of their pen.  I do not know why either neighbor has a horse.  I guess so they have some where to spend any money they happen to have left over.
I taught Ito to say please.  I go out with carrots and he holds up his left front foot.  I give him a carrot and he eats it slowly.  Then he raises his foot again and I give him the other carrot.  It is a game we play, but alas, the game is over.  The neighbors are moving to Castle Rock.  They are actually mostly moved.  Ito is all alone over there.  It is very sad to me to think of him all by himself.  I am sure they will come and do something with him.  I know he will be glad to see them, but ai am sure he will miss his other horse freind and who will give him carrots?  He can't ask for them.  Maybe his new owners will know that horses like carrots.  I sure hope so cause he is really a nice horse.
So I am off to bed, but just wanted to let you know, that my heart is very heavy tonight.
Sleep tight.

I'm Buster Brown! I live in a shoe!!

Thinking about my new brown shoes way back when, and I remembered the ditty.  "I'm Buster Brown!  I live in a shoe! (Bark) That's my dog Tide, look for him in there too!"  That was back when they knew how to make advertising that stuck with you.  That was also back when shoes were made to last.

"Aren't you glad you use Dial?  Don't you wish everybody did?"  "Ivory Snow is 99 44/100ths percent pure.  It floats!"  Never mind that it only floats because the man in charge of stirring it to "trace"  went to lunch and forgot it and it stirred air into it while it was hardening on the mixer.  They did not want to waste the whole batch so they tested it and discovered it floats and that set it apart from the other soaps.  Back then baby diapers and clothes had to be washed in Ivory because it was "pure".  Later Dreft figured out how to do that and it was almost as pure as Ivory, but they only had powdered laundry soap, so they could not float it to show how "pure" it was.

I remember the Sears and Roebuck catalog.  Montgomery Ward had one also, but since they were so hard to come by we did not have one of those.  When Dad would bring home the Sears catalog it was like Christmas all over again.  Some of the pages were color and that was always a treat.  We had to be careful though and not look at the panties and bras because they were almost naked women there.  I think Jake snuck a peek now and then.  And when we had pored over the pages until they were dog eared and the new catalog arrived, the old one was "re purposed" .  That means it went out back to the privy and was used for toilet tissue, which was not invented yet, or if it was we could not afford it.  We learned early in life that the colored pictures, which were slick, were good for nothing except papering the cracks in the wall of the out house!

Thinking about that old outhouse always brings back memories of the Currant bushes that grew along the path.  Ever eat a  currant?  You would remember.  In the Spring, the bushes are covered with small yellow flowers.  In due time those dry up and tiny little round fruits appear.  They are about the size of a very small pea.  Do not under any condition eat one of those things when they are green!  That is second only to a Gooseberry in sourness!  My God, those things can pucker your whole digestive tract!  When they turn purple you might be able to choke one down, but best to wait for black.  When they are black and just begin to be a tiny bit soft is peak eating.  Now I did not say they are good.  Under no condition is that statement coming out of this mouth.  Black and a tiny bit soft they are edible.  I know there are some recipes that call for currants and I am assuming they are alright in that context, but this is definitely not a fruit I am going to seek out. I see in my back yard that the birds have planted me some currant bushes.  Oh, I am excited.  I will leave them for the birds.  The birds will also get the Choke Cherries.  I will pick enough to make one batch of Choke  Cherry Jelly and then let them feast on the remainder.

And now to the point I am coming too which I have forgotten in my rambling.  Oh, yeah, advertising.  I recall when Coke used to have the bears and Budweiser had the Clydesdale's.  That was advertising.  I knew they wanted me to drink Coke and have a Budweiser beer.  Couse that was also back in the day when you drank a Coke and then burped and it burnt your nose.  (I heard that the original Coke had cocaine in it, but who knows.)  Irish Spring was like taking a shower in Ireland!  Levi was probably the first to show a woman with out a blouse(from the back so the Levi label could be seen), but I knew it was Levi.  Maytag washers were built to last and last and I believe that to this day!

I set in front of the television now and wonder just what subliminal message they are sending me.  A sullen, skinny little guy walks into an empty room, probably a loft warehouse some where, and suddenly the music knocks me out of my rocker, a scantily clad woman appears out of no where and  her and the skinny guy begin wallowing on each other.  Since she has very long hair I finally decide it is an ad for hair color.  Or maybe a bra.  Oh, wait!  It is a granola bar.  She is eating healthy. OK.  I give up.

I especially like since lawyers can now advertise, those ads.  A woman comes on and says, "I was delivering pizza and got hit by a truck and for 2 years my insurance did not pay me anything until I called "Mr Good Guy"  and he got me 2.3 million dollars."  Now he can not get everyone that kind of money, but call anyway.  There is no mention that he takes 30-40% and the hospital, doctors, therapists, etc. relieved her of the rest.  Also, law dictates for the most part how much she is going to receive.

Drug companies advertise for blood thinners and then the disclaimer that you may bleed to death.  Irregular heart beat?  High blood pressure?  Overweight?  Disclaimer that side effects of this medicine may be death.  You know what I am saying here, don't you?

And now in closing, I know the rule about "i" before "e" except after "c", or when sounded as "a" in "neighbor" and "weigh".  Why can't it just be "i" before "e"  all the time?   Just a little something to think about as we go about our busy day!

Yep, I am one of Gooch's best!

These are the two that started it all!  This was their wedding picture.  Mom and Dad.  Christine and Reuben Bartholomew, January 19, 1935.  Or thereabouts.  The family record may be a bit screwed up.  The point is not that, the point is this is the woman who gave birth to me and the man who caused that to happen.  

My dad was pretty much a share cropper and did day labor for farmers in the area.  He had been in World War 1 in the Calvary.  I know this because he had a scar on his upper arm close to his shoulder where he had been bitten by a horse.  I am very careful around horses because I do not want one to bite me.  They must have been happy because they had a baby every two years right up until Dorothy was born and then they stopped that nonsense. 

Back in those days, the best anyone could hope to do was eke out a living and that is what they did.  There were 6 little mouths to be fed and 6 little bodies to be clothed.  Mom cleaned houses for the ladies around town and us kids kind of just existed.  There were two times during the year we knew we would get something new.  It goes without saying that one of those was Christmas.  Santa Claus could always be counted on to deliver to our house.  I think that might have been helped by our dear Aunt Helen and Uncle Skinny.  They sometimes came by about that time of year. But maybe not because my mother was very resourceful and hard working.  She raised chickens and rabbits and I learned  very early  how to gut a rabbit and I could then and still can now, wring the neck on a chicken and scald it and pick it faster then anyone else.  I digress.

The other time something new could be had was when school started.  We knew we would get a new pair of shoes and a new dress.  This is how the shoe thing worked; we got a new pair of shoes from the Sears and Roebuck catalog.  Our feet were carefully measured and they would be brown.  They would be lace ups and they would be leather.  And they would fit.  And they would last.  My shoes would be handed down to Donna when I outgrew them.  Donna's would go to Mary and Mary's to Dorothy.  There the cycle ended.  The shoes then left our house and went to God only knows where, but there must have been someone poorer than us!

Ah, but the new dresses were planned for the whole year preceding.  Mom went to the feed store in town for the chicken feed and rabbit pellets.  Gooch feed packaged their wares in a cotton bag with Gooch clearly marked on the bag.  Flour and sugar also came in those bags. Yeah,and corn meal.  About everything because the world had not yet become a disposeable entity.  Mother would buy matching bags so she had enough for one dress.  Then she would choose another color and pattern for the next go round.  She very carefully cut out one dress and sewed it for each of us.  That was our new dress for school.  Of course they were handed down.  

Of course there were also times when the Gooch trademark was placed not quite where it should have been and the "ch" or  "Go" might appear on the hem of the skirt, but Momma always tried to keep that in the back so we did not see it.   Now I gotta go on record here as saying that Gooch always had the best and that was their  logo "Gooch's Best."  That also went for the bags.  I sell on ebay and several years back I sold a big pile of the bags.  The bags were 36" x 36" and the least I got for one was $8.99 + shipping and I sold one to a lady in Korea for $49.00 + shipping.  I would love to luck into a bunch more of those.

Anyway, until I was grown and gone I was known as "One of the Gooch girls."  Until I was 8 I thought my name was Louella Gooch.  I did not give a rat's ass. My mother worked hard making clothes for us kids.  When I hear Dolly Partin sing her "Coat of Many Colors"  I remember my mother bringing home some leftover slip cover material from some place and making me a brand new coat.  It was corduroy and it was light teal.  I loved that coat and when I could no longer fit in it my heart was broken.

I also remember my mother and her "box of rags."  When our clothes reached the point where they could no longer be repaired they went to the rag box.  Mother would then carefully cut out the "good parts"  which were like the skirt and parts of the sleeves that had no wear.  These were used for quilts.  I have curtains hanging in my kitchen that I can point to and know that my mother had a blouse with that fabric in her later life.  Old habits die hard.  

The parts that were still kind of good were torn into strips.  A slit was cut in each end and they were linked together and rolled into a ball.  This was then taken to the "weaver lady down by the doctor's office, "  where they were woven into a rug of whatever length we had scraps to make.  We could come home with a nice rug for a couple dollars.  

When mother got something wool she was in hog heaven.  Wool was cut into strips about 3/4" wide and sewn together.  She then took her crochet hook and cotton twine and somehow crocheted the strips into a thick rug.  Wish I could remember how she did that.  

Sometimes she was Momma, sometimes she was Mother.  She was also Mom.  And later grandma.  She was the driving force behind the woman I am today.  Not because she made me who I am, but she emolated who I should become.  I wonder if someday one of my kids will sit at a computer and remember me with the same all consuming love that I still have for her?  We will see.

The bane of my existence is such a small thing.

As far back as I can remember I have been plagued by the dreaded mouse!  I hate them.  They are small, dirty little creatures that carry germs and poop on the counter. They can go into very tiny places and I read once that if they can get thier nose in a crack they can collapse thier body and slide through.  I do believe that.  My first recollections of mice as actual creatures in my world was when we lived on Strong Street.  I was probably 6 or 7, which is awfully young to be subjected to the rigors of mouse killing, but I was.  Mother opened the vacuum cleaner and there was a nest full of baby mice in there.

I must digress here for a moment to say this, never do I remember ever having carpet in any house we ever lived in and there certainly was no carpet on Strong Street for damn sure, so what that woman was doing with a vacuum cleaner is more than I can fathom.  I think she had it just as a large mouse trap, because that was the only time I ever recall it being in our home and why she opened it is definitely beyond my reasoning capabilities.  Back to the tale.

She handed the bag to me and some other sibling with the instructions to "Take those out on the front sidewalk and mash them with a brick."

I digress once more to interject that not only was the sidewalk in front of the house the front sidewalk, but it was also the only sidewalk any where around the house, or any of the neighbors houses.  For that matter it was the only concrete walkway on Strong Street at all!  It joined a flat concrete slab that was the front of the house that was cracked and falling away from the house, but it was, nonetheless, the front sidewalk.

I remember peering into the bag and seeing the tiny, pink, hairless mice in there.  Thier eyes were not open and they made a sort of squeaking sound.  As sure as there is a God in Heaven and a devil under the deep blue sea, I knew I was not going to mash them on the sidewalk.  I ran back into the house and pleaded with momma to let us keep them because they were so tiny and so cute.  I told her I would feed them and take care of them and they could sleep with me.  Needless to say, I was relieved of mouse mashing duty.

My house has a doggie door in the back door.  That is so the dogs can come and go.  It used to be big enough that I could crawl through  when I locked myself out, but over the years the size of my animals has diminished so that now it is about big enough for a cat.  Icarus has always been an indoor cat with out door habits which means I do not have the litter box to deal with at all.  What I do have to deal with is her eating habits.  Or her lack of eating habits.  I have been told that cats bring mice into the house to reward the owner for thier care and the cats know the owner is not smart enough to catch thier own food.  What ever the reason it seems that sometime during the course of any given day, I will be rewarded with fresh food.  Cat brings it in and bats it around until I notice that my dinner has arrived and then she stands back and waits for me to eat!

Ah, but I am wiser and faster then that damn cat!  I have 2 of those long handled pinchers that are used to pick something up off the floor that I have dropped.  I have become quite adroit at reaching down and snapping up the mouse, taking it to the back yard and flinging it over the fence into the field where it will be safe (broken ribs and all.)  If  I happen to look out my back window and see her coming across the yard with a treat for me, I slide the doggie door in place.  Cats are not very bright are they?

My doggies are getting old and I fear I will not have them too much longer.  I am getting a little older myself so I have decided when these animals are gone, they will not be replaced,  As it is, if I dropped dead tomorrow, they could never adjust to the real world.  But that cat is going to outlive me sure as the sun comes up in the morning.  When the dogs are gone, I think I will eliminate the doggie door and get Icarus a litter box.  Not sure how that will work, but I am getting too damned old to catch mice!

How many years ago was that?

I woke up this morning in a black 1949 Ford on my way to Jetmore, Kansas.  One kid in the front seat and 3 more in the back seat.  Going to go see Grandma Seeger.  Jesus!  How many years ago was that?  It must have been about 1968 or 1969.  I was newly separated  and it was my day off so I was trying to keep some sort of continuity in my life.  I had shaken the dust of Garden City, Kansas off my feet and was living in a 2 bedroom rented house near the Reformatory in Hutchinson.    Just off East Sherman but I do not remember the name of the street.  I doubt that it is still standing, because it was barely standing then.

The first thing that happened was when I called to have the gas turned on, they condemned the stove which was the sole heat source for the house.  That had to be fixed, of course.  Probably should have left the gas off as it turned out later to be a thorn in my side.  It was a constant battle to keep the kids from touching it and burning themselves.

I was working nights and sleeping very little.  I had done the laundry and not folded it yet so it was laying on my bed which was located on the back porch.  I set down in the front room for just a minute and fell sound asleep, only to be awoken to cries of "FIRE!"  Shit!  Debbie threw water on me and I was awake instantly!  Seems dear Sammy, turned the kitchen stove on and poked a piece of paper in the flame to see "What would happen?"  He did not want to burn his fingers so he threw the burning paper on my bed full of clothes.  Need I go into detail?  Of course I do.  I immediately began dousing the fire with water and finally had it out and no smoke was coming from it.  To be on the safe side, I drug the mattress into the back yard.  I called a friend of my brothers and he came and hauled it away.  I am not sure the landlord ever knew where his mattress went.

Smith!  That was the name of that street.  That was my baptism by fire into the world of single parent life.  The girl who lived across the street babysat for me.  She also babysat my only pair of jeans I liked. Remember that when I left my husband I weighed 92 pounds so I was considerably thinner than I am now.  Actually, there could be 2 of me now!  She also releived me of my class ring and my wedding rings.  That was also where the kids got ringworm.  Sam filled the gas tank on the Ford with sand.  The old $150 Chevy that I arrived in Hutchinson threw a rod and I bought a 1949 Ford from Jake's friend, Clell.

You must know that back in those days, child support was optional and my husband opted out.  Welfare was there to help single mothers, but if you worked, they did not help you because you had an income.  Since I worked and could see no way to feed us if I quit, I never drew welfare.  No welfare, no alimony, no child support.  I must say part of the child support not coming was my fault.  My husband explained to me, as if I were a couple bricks short of a load, "You wanted the divorce.  I did not.  You have the kids.  I have nothing.  You should be paying me because you took them away from me."  And in my befuddled, insecure little mind, that all made good sense.

After a time the roof began to leak and the landlord would not fix it so my mother let me move into her house over on 5th Street.  That also brought a change of employment and began my career as a cook at the Red Carpet Restuant.  The husband moved to Hutchinson and took a job at Cessna.  We reconciled for a week or so and then he left town because he "just could not do the boring existence thing."  Welcome child number 5 and a tubal ligation!

I dated a radio personality and learned to decorate wedding cakes.  The radio guy turned out to be a real jerk but the cake decorating turned into a fairly lucrative part time job.  I dated a guitar picker and learned how to sing country!  When Christmas time came, his mom gave me 3 pairs of cotton underwear.  Never really got over that and so much like Glen Campbell or Hank Williams, I moved on.  Then  I found out just how good booze could be and it could always be depended on to see me through the rough patches.

And now I dream about those days.  When I was there it was a constant battle and there were times I wondered if I would survive.  There were days and nights when putting one foot in front of the other was the only hope I had.  Just one more day.  One more night.

Got to end this here because I am starting to feel sorry for myself and I do not want to do that.  That is how life becomes unbearable.  Just gotta keep my shoulder to the wheel, my eye on the prize and take it one day at a time.

Click to play

If I could shut off my memory....

Morning seems to be when I remember best.  I woke up this morning  back in the late 60's.  I was working as a waitress in a restaurant in Hutchinson.  It was my first job in the real world with my kids dependent on me since I was newly seperated and had filed for divorce.  Back in those days child support was optional and welfare required that you not work to qualify for help from the state.  So there I was.  I had never waited tables as a means of support.  Many years before I had been a cook/waitress/dishwasher at a place out on 4th street called the Tiny Tear.  Course most of my life at that time was spent in an alcohol induced fog, so I remembered little of that experience.  But now it was   ten years later.

The people who ran this resturaunt took pity on me and were very patient and they needed help on the night shift really bad.  The logistics of the job are not important, just the people.  There were the two "real waitresses" and a young girl who was attending college and supporting her self.  There was also a cook,  cook's helper and a dishwasher.  We were closed one day a week and that was the only day off that we had.  To make a long story short, the cook and the young college girl fell in love.  Oh, it was so romantic.  They billed and cooed and carried on something fierce.  She, however, appeared a lot more enthralled with the relationship than he did.  The strange part was, they never dated.  Never.

 He would leave work on Sunday when we closed and not appear again until Tuesday afternoon.  Where did he go?  The young college girl did not know.  Nor did anyone else.  She cried and he gave her a ring.  But still they never dated.  He swore he loved her with his whole heart, and she believed him.  We all did.  And like all things in life and like mother always taught me, "It all comes out in the wash!"  He was going to Wichita.  Why?  Why not?

The young college girl gave up and returned the ring.  She moved on.  He quit cooking there, the two "real waitresses" moved to Texas, and I took a job cooking at the Red Carpet Resturant.  I saw the cook from time to time, but that friendship petered out as any friendship that has secrets will.

Many years later found me in Pueblo, Colorado.  A lot of water ran under this bridge and I finally found my niche in the construction industry.  The AIDS epidemic reared it's ugly head.  It was sad back then.  People were dying at an alarming rate.  I divorced again, got my degree in accounting and all my little acolades because I was so damn smart.  Then I married for the last time.  For whatever reason I began volunteering with the AIDS group in town and it was tied in tightly with the Gay community.  I have watched the face of AIDS and sexual orientation change from complete denial to total acceptance in my life time and I am proud to say I was in the forefront of most all of it!  but I digress.

I remained friends with only a few people back home, but one of them was a friend of the cook.  Remember him?  He was the one who ran away to Wichita every chance he got.  The one who left the college girl crying.  He became quite successful in his chosen profession, but he never married.  One day his friend called me and said "Do you remember 'the cook' "?  Sure I did.  She then told me he was rushed to the hospital and they had no idea what was wrong with him, but he was in a coma.  The next day he was dead.

Weeks would pass before the autopsy returned the results of his demise.  AIDS.  Not really AIDS, but disease associated with the syndrome.  At that time it was still a "gay disease."  At that time it was selective.  It was a scourge.  You were not even tested if you were not gay, and he was not gay!  Oh, wait a minute.  All the trips to Wichita began to creep in on the corners of my mind.  Could he have been leading a secret life?  Was that what that was all about?  The young college girl had become a quite successful architect and married very well, but he had not.  He lived all alone in a very nice house and had friends, but no romantic interests.  Or  so we thought.  It all comes out in the wash.

And why do I have this on my mind this morning?  I think it is because of the hatred that is being spewed through this election.  One governor struck down a bill passed by his state governing body that legalized discrimination.  Another is proposing legislation that legalizes it!  Contenders for the position of president are calling to criminalize birth control, homosexuallity, gay marriage, and about anything that has been passed in the last 20 years.  I may have to run for office myself.

My platform would be love and tolerance.  No discrimination.  A living wage and a chicken in every pot.  The only two things I would outlaw would be homelessness and poverty.  Everyone that wanted an education would get it and a few that did not want it would get it anyway.  Drugs would be illegal.  Gangs would be illegal.  Killing people because you are a jerk and can, would be illegal.  You get the picture?  Kind of a pollyanna world, so to speak.

But in the meantime, I send good thoughts to "the cook" and everyone who hides in the shadows because of fear or shame or whatever reason.  If the college student/architect or the "two real waitresses" or someone who knows them happens to read this, I wish you would contact me.  Just go google loumercer3, or Lou Mercer.  Or leave a comment below.  I would love to hear from anyone that knew me back then.

In the meantime remember:

 BLOOM WHERE YOU ARE PLANTED!

This is mine and I know how to use it.

From the time I was hatched back in Nickerson, Kansas, I knew right from wrong, up from down and which side of the road to walk on most of the time.  When it came time to ride a bike I knew which side of the road to do that on also.  When walking I walk on the left side of the road so I can see and avoid the oncoming traffic.  If it becomes necessary, I can step into the ditch.  

When I drive that is done on the right side of the road because that is where I belong.  When I ride my bike, I ride on the right side.  My bike is the same as a car or motorcycle.  It makes sense to me.  If a car comes up behind me, it can slow down if there is oncoming traffic or speed up and pass me. I bring this up for several reasons.  Last evening I went out to fill up the car so I did not have to do it in the blinding blizzard this morning which is neither here nor there.  On 25th Lane the inevitable occurred.  There was a car coming towards me on the left side of the road.  And there was a bike coming towards me on the right side of the road.  Neither one was going to give an inch so I just stopped.

And this brings me to the next part of the equation.  Our city fathers, in their infinite wisdom have spent tax money painting bike lanes all over our fair city.  I have yet to see a bike rider in those lanes and the bikers I talk to refuse to use them because they are not suicidal.  Bikers still ride on the sidewalks and dart across the street in the middle of the block.  On fifth street, which is one way going east.  They have 2 bike lanes, one going east and one going west. Parking is in the middle of the street.  And yet on Mark Hamal heading towards Santa Fe, the parking is against the curb and the bike lane is between the parking and the traffic lane.  I would not try that one, because a door is going to open right in front of me and there I go.  When you get to Santa Fe you will need to run over the cyclist if you want to turn because the bike lane abruptly ends there.

Now to my rant.  Wouldn't it have just been easier and a whole lot cheaper and less confusing to teach people how to ride a bike on a public road?  We have to have driving lessons and a drivers license, why couldn't they require the same for a bike?  Now I am getting pretty damned old here and I am sure at some point they are going to revoke my license, but I can ride a bike!  Or I could ride a bike except for that balance thing that seems to go south with age.  I do know one thing, sooner or later, if I keep driving in town and anyone is stupid enough to use the bike lane, I am probably going to run over them.  And since I said this, it will no doubt be pre-meditated!  

You know, I kind of hate this getting old because now I can see where the government is screwing up and I am just to tired to give a shit!  You have a good day!

Nothing I do is ever simple, or ever done only once!

When I went to Sam's Club the other day, I bought tuna.  Canned tuna.  10 cans of canned tuna with The Bumble Bee Lable.  I rarely buy 10 cans of tuna, but since this was in water, I thought it ought to be good for me.  150 calories in the whole can!  How could I go wrong?  Today I flipped to the news online and guess what!  My tuna is recalled!  Recalled!  So I get my tuna cans out and search for the recall lot #.  After due time I find it and I am saved only by the sell by date.  But, this process took 15 minutes out of my day.  See?

Just now I went down to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and then had to come back upstairs because I forgot my cup.  I searched for that cup and started a load of clothes and went back down to get a cup of coffee and remembered I left my cup upstairs so I came up and looked for it up here and finally remembered that I took it to the kitchen when I went to get the tuna.  See?

When I leave this morning to dash into town, I will forget my phone.  If I may hap remember the phone, I will forget what I am going to town for in the first place.  So I make a list and forget the list.  The first curve after 25th Lane on the way to town is known as the "oh, shit!" curve because that is where I always turn around and come back to the house to get whatever it is that I forgot.

Every day I promise I will do better, but those are empty words.  Today I do need to call and see when my doctor appointment is, because it is not in my calendar.  I put the card some where and wrote it some where, but God only knows where that might be. 

My mother always said that as long as I remember the daily things, like hygiene, eating, people I deal with daily, and things I do on a regular basis that I am alright, but I am not so sure.  I have stopped in the middle of a sentence and forgotten where I was going with that thread and launched off on something that popped in to replace the first thought.

My world is full of "Sorry, I forgot," and "Damn when did I say that?"  and, "Refresh my memory on that again."  So far I have not forgotten anything that was earth shattering, although I did get on 1 25 the other day and had to get off suddenly when I remembered that I was going to Canon City and not Colorado Springs!  Guess I just had the Springs on my mind.  I have not stepped out in front of a Mack Truck, but that is because I am rarely around Mack Trucks. 

So I have this to say...

If I see you some where and do not recognize you, refresh my memory.
If you are one of my kids and I do not recognize you, don't take it personally.
If we had an appointment and I stood you up, call me.
If I have something that belongs to you and I have not returned it, come and get it.
If you have something that belongs to me,  go ahead and keep it because I probably bought 3 more to replace what ever it was.
As it is I have forgotten why I even started this little spiel, so I guess I will just go down and get a cup of coffee!

Have a great day, because you deserve it!

A sad state of affairs.

I woke up early this morning and peeked out the bedroom window and there were a million stars twinkling in the sky.  It made me so happy to just be alive.  Since it was still before 5:00 AM I decided to just lay there and reflect.  You know, I have seen a lot of "firsts" in my lifetime.  Now, I do not mean in my personal life, but more in the political arena. 

1.  First President to serve 4 terms (also the last!)
2.  First President with only an initial for a middle name.
3.  First President that was a 5 star General.
4.  First President to publicly admit wrong doing and resign from the Presidency.
5.  First Catholic President.  And also my first public assassination.  And my first public     
     assassination of the assassinator. 
6.  First divorced President.
7.  First Black President.

As it now stands, the primaries are in full swing and we will have an election in November.  I will once more witness a first no matter who wins.
1.  Bernie Sanders, Jewish and of Polish descent. 
2.  Hillary Clinton, Former First Lady and a Woman. 
3.  Donald Trump, Racist, Bigot, married 3 times, divorced twice, bankrupt 4 times, not his fault.

Now, I ask you, is this any way to start my day?  How can I let go and let God with this mess on the news all day long?  Right there is reason enough to not even get out of bed in the morning!  And it is not just the political arena that has me dancing around on my back legs.  We are living in a world of the have's and the have not's.  While millions of dollars are being spent on this race for the white house people are starving.  Drive past the soup kitchen down town before 11:00 AM.  The lot is full of people with their worldly possessions in a box or sack or a shopping cart they have commandeered from some place.  Some do not have anything but the clothes on their back.  They have absolutely nothing.  We live in a world where you either have it or you don't.
   
If you have it; you have it.  If you don't; you aren't going to get it.  The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.  It was designed that way.  It is set up that way.  And it works that way.  Way back when I started school, I was taught if I worked hard and was honest, I would succeed in life.  Later in the Baptist church I was taught that if I gave my 10% God would reward me.  I did not even really need to go to church, just make sure I got the 10% there. 

Now many years later, with a lot of lessons well learned and deserved or undeserved hard knocks under my belt, I look back down the road that was my life.  I have a big house full of possessions.  I have a car.  I have bank accounts and bills and a social security check that helps me maintain a certain lifestyle.  Will I ever go on that cruise?  Probably not.  Will I ever have more money than I will ever need?  Probably not.  Do I thank the good Lord every night for getting me through the day and every morning for waking me up?  I sure do. 

Would I want to me the President?  No way in Hell.  That is one of those damned if you do and damned if you don't jobs.  I would rather set here on my little acre and listen to my geese honk, with a cat on my lap and dogs at my feet and watch the sun come up in the east and go down in the west and wonder what I can cook today that I haven't cooked before.  Sure was not the soufflé!

Just some of my ramblings that nobody really understands or cares about, but this keeps me sane!

Wait a minute! I thought I was supposed to vote.

What happened to the primary?  I thought I was supposed to go to the poll over at South Mesa where I always go and cast my vote for my chosen person for the big election in November?  Apparently not.  It now appears if I want a say in who is the Democratic nominee for President I have to go to County High and attend a caucus.  When I register out there and they see I am really a registered Democrat then I will get a black X on my hand.  Then apparently both sides will tell me who I should vote for.  Now, sorry, but this insults my intelligence.  Does it appear that I have been living in a bubble all this time that Hillary and Bernie have been slugging it out with the debates an all?  I would have to be pretty brain dead not to have made a decision by now.

It was certainly a lot easier when I had all day long to run by the school and show them my identification, step in the booth, and vote.  Then I could see my friends and I always ran into some one I knew. When I was done I always got a little round circle that said "I voted" in the center.  Wonder if I will get one of them tonight?

And speaking of tonight, do you think I will actually make it out there?  I have to be there at 5:30 and I also have chores that need done at 5:30.  That means the geese will have to be locked up early.  They do not like that.  It also means my dogs will be alone and I will miss Jeopardy.  I do realize it is my civic duty to vote and like President Obama said "If everyone votes, it will not matter what the 1% want."  It was just so much easier when I had the whole day to take care of a 3 minute job.

This is what confuses me... I now receive a ballot in the mail.  No more going over to the school and doing that either.  I then have that mess to figure out and be sure I sign it and put proper postage on it, or load up and drive into town to one of the convenient drop off locations which I have yet to find one bit convenient and have had to park and go up to the second floor where I am once more questioned about whether I am a legal voter.  That in itself is amazing because had I put it in the mail they would not be able to confront me and make me feel like the criminal for exercising due diligence in voting.  Course when I mail it in I have to go to the postoffice and buy the stamps required.

So my question here is this, who decided to change the whole system?  Seemed like it was working pretty well before they fixed it.  And on what level of government was this decided?  Is the whole state this way?  Will we ever get back to being a civilized society, or is this the best I can hope for in my remaining time here on this little blue and green ball?  And how much longer is this little ball going to be spinning?  I love the advertisement where goat girl says "We have been fracking saftely for 65 years."  No we have not!  I remember an unexplained explosion near where I worked in Hutchinson  40 years ago.  I also remember the furniture store going skyward "for no apparent reason."  I remember sink holes opeing up in the streets.  That one may have had more to do with the salt mines that run under the city, but come on people!

Once more I have digressed, but old age does that to you or at least to me.  Makes me long for the good old days when a man's word was his bond.  When credit was extended at the grocery store on the corner because the owner knew who you were and knew you worked hard.  When mother stayed up late ironing clothes for the rich people in town and dad made a hot toddy because he did not want to get a cold.  And when President Roosevelt talked to us on the radio and all of us kids listened, because he was the President.  Then Harry Truman came and he said "damn!" and we were all amazed that he was elected when he used "dirty words."  And the words that I lived by then were words that I live by today.

And the world keeps turning and people keep killing each other, drugs are rampant, and the news is filled with what some movie star wore to some big deal in Hollywood.  And I really do not give a shit!

What are those things with big black wings?

I was talking to my daughter Debbie, for her happy birthday this morning and I got to tell you, I am getting damned old here.  I know this because she is now officially almost old and I am her mother so that makes me 20 years older than her.  Now in all fairness, I knew I was old before she brought it up.  I had reason to face my aging body head on earlier this week.  I had mentioned it on facebook, but since she is not on facebook she had to hear it second or third hand and was a tad bit upset by that.  So for her sake I shall once more relive the humiliating episode.  I do want to say up front, this was not due to anything on my part and I am still capable of living alone most of the time.
So, I have a deadbolt and a locking knob on my back door.  Now, I should tell you that the locking knob tricks you.  You can lock it and then open it up and go outside.  Most knobs of that ilk will not turn when locked, but this sucker does.  After several times of locking myself outside, I got my shipping tape and covered the knob so it could not be turned.  This worked very well for a year or so.  I have a coded lock on my front door and the last thing I do before going to bed is lock the deadbolt on the back and the screen door on the front.   If someone  needs to get inside after I am bolted, locked and safely secured inside, they are SOL (Sadly Out of Luck.)
When I get up in the morning I get on the computer, talk on the phone, drink coffee, and just hang out in my pajama's.  About 7:30 or so I wander out in my pajams's to let the geese out.  If I think about it, I take my phone, but rarely do I carry it with me.  Such was my journey on Monday morning.  Since I am in the boonies out here I can wander all day and never see a soul.  Neighbors leave for work about 5:30 AM.  So after checking this and that I decided to come inside.  Whoops!  The knob did not turn.  I was locked out.  I hurried to the front door hoping I had forgotten to lock the screen.  Nope!  I am a creature of habit.  Damn the luck!
So I set on the deck and assessed my options.  I could walk up the road to a friends house in my pajama's and house shoes and hope she was home.That was iffy.  I could get the drill and drill out the center of the knob, but the drill was inside.  I even eyeballed the doggie door, but I was pretty sure I did not want to be stuck in that for any length of time.  Then I remembered that I had ran an antenna wire out the window in Susie/Sam/Bret's old room.  I would simply pop the screen open the window and crawl through.  That seemed like a really good plan, but thinking was a hellofalot easier then the completion of the task.  So with trusty screwdriver in hand I began my task.
The screen popped right out and I think I can have it rebuilt for $15 or so.  The window slid open very easily.  I put my right leg in and set down on the sill.  So far so good.  I could see the floor down below me about 6 1/2 feet.  I knew where the ceiling was cause I kept hitting it with my head.  I do not know how burglars do it.  There was absolutely nothing to hang on to and nothing to cushion my fall assuming I could get my left leg to bend in three places so it would be on the side of the window that the other 3/4 of my body was on.  I would have given all my worldly possessions for a chance at the throat of whoever locked the door.  ( I have since forgiven her.)
In a moment of clarity I seen my right leg sliding down to the floor and pictured my left leg scraping across the sill and catching on the cross bar.  I envisioned being split down the middle and I was pretty sure I better think fast.  So I then seen that if I could hang on to center post and move to my right my left leg might follow my lead.  That worked and by clinging to the center post and hoping it did not come loose I could then take that left leg and flail around enough to catch my toe on the tv table.  It was a good plan as long as everything went very slowly.  One slip and I was nursing home bound.  It went smooth as silk and soon I was inside my house with one foot on the tv table and the other in a wire laundry basket.  Hell, I felt like Spartacus!!!
So, dear Debbie, there you have my saga.  My arm is almost healed  and my hip will probably go back in it's socket soon.  The first item on my agenda was to unlock the storm door.  Then I took the knob off the back door and removed the innards so it could not lock.  I have a step ladder under the window now, just in case, but I really think I am probably good to go.  Who knows!

Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Oh, the hell you say?

Birth and death are both amazing things that everyone of us will encounter at some time.  And it is utterly fascinating that at both those events we will be seeking the light!  I have had the pleasure of being present at both ends of the spectrum and I must say it was an honor every time!

First think about the birth.  What starts out as a little seed grows into a tiny human being in the space of 9 months give or take a few days one way or the other.  When the time comes it comes.  The mother does not have a choice as to what day and time this will occur in most cases.  Baby starts positioning itself for the downward journey and if mother is not ready, she better get ready.  I wonder if babies think on this trip?  I doubt it.  Birth seems to be one of the miracles of life.  And then here is baby!  In a well run clinical setting, baby pops out into a room full of medical people ready to catch baby and clear it's breathing passages, weigh the little bundle, measure, probe, prod, and so on as mommy and daddy, grandma and grandpa, aunts and uncles, beam with pride.  That is a perfect world.

We are all born, there is no disputing that fact and as sure as the world turns, we will all die.  In a lonely room some where we will face out destiny.  We will be the mother or father, the grandma or grandpa, the aunt or uncle, son or daughter.  We know what happens after birth when we have followed the light into this world, but we have no manual to follow when we follow the light at the end.

I am a simple minded woman.  I believe in God and I beleive his name is God.  I beleive in the Holy Bible and I beleive that Jesus is the son of God.  I beleive that when I follow the light out of this world I will be swept up in the arms of Jesus and carried to a place in Heaven,  wherever that might be, where I will never be hungry or cold and will walk on streets that are paved in gold.

Those are my thoughts for this day as I set here thinking of my sisters that have gone before me and the babies that have come since.  My God is good.

Thursday, January 28, 5:15 PM So now what do I do?

I have calendars all over the place.  I even have one on my desk top computer that dings to remind me I have something to do.  Usually I have a vague idea anyway, but a little reminder is always nice in case I get a tad bit forgetful.  I know I am supposed to meet up with Kenna this morning.  She will give me a call at some point after her doctor's appointment.  Wednesday is open for the time being, but Thursday is a mystery.  Written on the back of the ONA paper is a notation  "Thursday, January 28, 5:15 PM".   That is all I have written and that meeting was last night.  No name.  No place.  No dress code.  Nada.

I have asked everyone I can think of if they have any idea what that is about and of course there is more blank looks then I can tell you.  They are actually all blank looks.  I look at them with a blank look and they return a blank look.   So, I am appealing to anyone who reads this to call me immediately if I am meeting you on Thursday.

Oh, crap!  I remember seeing an advertisement that shows an appointment like that only it said "Fred's heart attack will happen tomorrow at 3:15."  Wonder if that is my wake up call and I wonder if I better go get some of that medicine?

I have a dentist appointment someday, but that is not it.  Doctor is once a year and always the first one of the day.  I do not usually go anywhere after 4:00 cause I have chores to do.  All I can say is "Damn it all to hell!!"

I had a lady friend tell me the other day that she thought she needed a keeper.  I told her I could be her keeper and that would be like the blind leading the blind.  Maybe I need a keeper or at least some sort of an overseer.

So here is the deal...If you are reading this and plan on seeing me at 5:15 on Thursday, call me so I know where I am going.  Ask your friends also.  If we all put our heads together maybe we can come up with something.  In the meantime, I shall go look at that piece of paper some more.  I may take a nap!  Oh, maybe I will bake a pie.  Or cookies!  Oh, look...a butterfly.

Hand washing dishes may be an art!

I like to fill the sink with dirty dishes and then run it full of warm/hot water and put in a squirt of Ivory .  I can then plunge my hands into that and look out my back window at my domain while I wash the dishes, rinse them and put them in the drainer.  But my mind is never still and this morning it flashed back to Plevna and I heard Mrs. Crawford explaining the fine art of washing dishes correctly.

"Be sure that all the dishes are scraped and piled before you begin.  You will pile them in the order they are to be washed.  Glassware first, then silver, then plates, followed by the cooking utensils.  Each item will be rinsed in your tub of very hot water."

"Some times a bit of food will be stubborn and not come off when you whisk it with your dish cloth.  Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to remove it with your finger nail.  Your hands are in the water and the nail is soft and you do not want to do damage to the nail. There is a wire scratcher that comes in handy for removal of stubborn things that do not want to be removed.  You will want to keep your hands lovely and soft for your husband, so when you are finished with the dishes and the sink is clean and dry, apply a little lotion and rub in in well."

Do I need to interject here that I failed Home Economics under the able tuteledge of Mrs. Crawford?  Now when I say failed I do not mean C or D but a big Red F.

I can still see her in my minds eye standing in the home economics room in her skirt and jacket with every hair in place pointing to the sink and the dish drainer as if they were the most important items on earth.  I actually grew up believing that man was superior and I must do all I could to please one of these creatures if I ever was lucky enough to catch one.  I had a helluva lot to learn back in those days!

At the end of the semester my grandma passed away and I was returned to Nickerson and enrolled in Home Economics where Miss Irvin was my teacher.  Here I attempted to learn how to make a simple dress.  As I recall mother bought me the required pattern in the size I needed and cotton fabric that was white with small blue flowers.  And thus that exercise I futility began.  We measured each other to get the proper measurements.  And then it was time to cut the pattern and pin the darts for the chest area.  Well, until I was 16 years old, I never had a sign of a boob, so darts were pretty well wasted on me, but nonetheless, there would be darts because as sure as there was a God in heaven, I would develop before that dress wore out!  Not sure that happened though.

After 4 1/2 months of cutting, ripping, stitching, and crying, the dress was finished.  The darts in the chest were perfect, but there was nothing there to hold them out for the world to see.  My sewing career was finished and Miss Irvin gave me a final grade.  Seems I had been a very difficult student.  I had not listened and I was disrespectful with all that crying.  You guessed it.  A big RED F.

Now, after a full year of schooling on how to cook, clean and sew for my man, I walked away empty handed!  My life was over as far as my mother was concerned.  I would never catch a man.  Even grandma kept telling me things like "Where spider webs grow, no beau ever goes."  The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."  And more crap like that. 

So I finished high school and began life in the real world.  My first marriage lasted 10 years and produced 5 kids.  After a string of husbands I finally found one that understood all I needed was stability.  I do not think my cleaning and cooking skills were ever on any of the divorce papers. 

What is the most amazing part of this whole thing is that I am now an excellent seamstress.  I have a sewing room to die for and am the proud owner of 5 sergers,  5 sewing machines, a machine quilter and a 6 needle embroidery machine, all of which make me money. 

I raised my kids on money I made as a short order cook, a dinner cook, a caterer, and personal orders as needed.  I baked and  decorated wedding cakes while I was at the Red Carpet.

Sorry, Mrs. Crawford and Miss Irvin!  I know you tried, but I am just one of those people that have to learn the hard way.

Isn't it amazing how I can get off track?  Guess I was not meant to be a writer.  Oh, wait a minute!  I am a writer!!

Damned old age!

So when bedtime comes around here I start turning out lights and then head into the bathroom to hop into my jammies.  Elvira always manages to get in before I close the door. Elvira is the little furry cream colored one.  She waits patiently while I change clothes and then we go into the bedroom.  Icarus gets her treat up on the dresser.  She gets 5 pieces cause they are small.

Then I give Daisy her milk bone and then Elvira.  This is the order of the pack.  There always has to be an alpha and that is me, whether they like it or not.  Then comes Daisy because she was the first dog.  Elvira is the baby, but she may be the oldest.  But the pecking order remains the same.  It never varies.  At no time am I ever left alone.  When I am on the computer I have a cat on my lap and a dog at my feet.  If I nap in my recliner I have a cat on one side, a dog on the other and the other dog is under my foot rest.  When I go to close the geese up at night, I am accompanied my my trio.  Some times Elvira is tired and waits in the house.  Are you getting the picture?  My animals love me and I in turn, love them.

Of course there are times I need to go do errands and they can not go.  At those times they set in a row and watch me go out the door.  They know I will be back and I know they will be there.  And homecoming is always the same.  They are so happy to see me that I feel guilty for leaving them.  Daisy is the most insecure as she is always first to greet me and there are not enough pets to calm her.

As I was driving in to town yesterday, I was thinking about my menagerie.  And then I was jolted to reality by the memory of a stray dog on South Road.  I thought how many people get dogs and tie them outside.  I pictured myself as a dog in that postition.  

I could see my humans inside the warm house.  I could see them eating and drinking and laughing, and I could see myself alone.  Alone and cold.  No warm food for me.  No one to hold me close.  The ground is cold and my water is frozen.  Maybe they forgot about me.  I barked to remind them I was there and the man just opened the door and threw something at me.  All I wanted was a little attention.  Why did they bring me here?  If they did not want me to be part of the family, why didn't they just leave me at the pound?  At least there I had hope.  Here I have nothing.  There is nothing I can do.  I have an old rug, but no house.  I can not even run away because I have a chain holding me to a tree.

Of course I had to  set there and bawl about it, but what can I do?  I am not sure that it was even about dogs.  It rather parallels life, doesn't it?  Once I was young and vital and active, but now I am slowing down, much like the old dog in the yard.  But whatever it is , I do hope if you are reading this and you have a dog and he is tied outside that you will bring him inside.  It is cold and why do you want an animal if you aren't going to love it and keep it warm.? Take it back to the pound.  Of course it will no doubt end up being euthanized, but at least that is quicker than the slow painful reality of living on the end of a chain.

Don't know why I am on this trip tonight.  I suppose we all go through this when we get older and lose someone.  It makes us face out own mortality and I face mine in the guise of a dog.  So guess I will go to bed.  Tomorrow is another day.

15 degrees below zero.

32 years ago today it was 15 degrees below zero.  Bet you wonder how I can remember that and still not remember where I put those car keys 30 minutes ago!  Very simple.  32 years ago I was living with a man named Kenneth Mercer.  We had discussed marriage, but this time I really wanted to be sure, as did he, that it was meant to be.  He was replacing the drive line in one of the tandem dump trucks we owned.  When he went to Pueblo Brake and Clutch to pick up the repaired part they were closed.  It was thier Christmas party as I recall.  So he came home.

He told me he could not finish the truck and so we might as well go to Canon City and "get this shittin' mess over with.".  Now what woman in her right mind could turn down a proposal like that?  So off we went and to make a long story short, we got our license and then sought a minister or someone who could do the deed.  I do not recall his name, but he and his wife were in the senior housing close to the court house.  He mumbled a few words, caught a woman in the hall to be  a witness and then had his wife, who was in the bed in the next room, sign as the second witness.  Kenneth paid him $20.00 and we left to go have our wedding supper which was a donut at the donut house since neither of us were very hungry.

And thus began a friendship that would span 20 years until his death in 2003.  Funny how life leads us in one direction and then another, isn't it?  We were a very unlikely couple, but our wants and needs seemed compatible.  His kids were grown and gone and I had 2 still at home.  Mine did not need a father, but he filled the position as an adult male companion.  It worked well.

I will not attempt to describe our life together.  Suffice it to say when I became a widow at the tender age of 62,  I thought about returning to Kansas.  But, by that time Colorado was my home.  I do entertain ideas of "going back" especially when things happen like losing my sister this week.  Someday I may, but not now.  For now Pueblo is my refuge.  My port in the storm.  My anchor in life's ocean.

One of my friends was by today, but  I never mentioned the anniversary.  An anniversary just marks a point in time that something happened.  Like a dot on the timeline of life.  So as I pack to go bury my sister, I just note that the temperature right now is 43 degrees.  That is a difference of 58 degrees.

And life goes on.

Nickerson revisited.

Here you have it.  Strong Street.  Unfortunately 709 North Strong Street no longer exists.  The fences, barn and out buildings are not there.  Neither is the cactus in the front yard, or the Catalpa trees we climbed or the shed where my Dennis calf died or the chicken house.  The out house collapsed years ago.  What is there now is a double wide trailer house.  Reinke's house is gone as is Jake Smith's the Ayer's and Goodricks.  Hank Windiate's house is there but it has been added on to and painted.  All vestiges of my growing up years are turned to dust and blown away.  So on to the cemetery.

Even the sign out here is new.  I could not see which tree my kite was tangled in so we headed over towards the Ailmore place.  That was not there either.  Just more trailers.  I did not know there were that many trailers in Reno County.  Main Street was deserted and looked like a ghost town with the empty, decaying buildings.  Berridge Grocery seemed to be doing a thriving businesss, but nothing else.  I forgot the card for my camera so I was at the mercy of Karen and Donna and nothing I saw was really worth the effort.  We did get to the Stroh place though. I think the house has been updated and I do not remember so many trees.

This is the drive going up and the house is tucked in the trees.  The barn is off to the right.  It is much as I remembered it, but sadly it is not going to be standing much longer if you look at this close up.

That is sad because it was very majestic in it's hay day!  I know we had a big yellow tomcat when we lived there because it ate one of momma's baby chicks.

Well, my friends, it has been a long 3 days and I am very tired tonight.  I need to get some stuff done so I can take the drive to Hutchinson again next weekend.  December is a sad time of year for me, but Christmas is coming.  If I do not see you between now and then, Merry Christmas and a very Happy and Prosperous New Year.

NAMASTE!

Family ties.

And here I am in Kansas.   Right now I am in the room with my sister,  Dorothy at the Hospice House.  We are awaiting the inevitable harbinger.  Then there will be 2 of us.  This is not something I am looking forward to, but it is what it is, nonetheless.
There are a few places I want to visit while I am here, if time permits.  I want to go back to Strong Street.  Donna tells me the only house left standing there is Hank Wingates.  That is hard to imagine as his was the one I would have placed bets on being the first to fall.
 I want to drive to the cemetary which was located about half a mile from our house.  I remember when I was very young having a kite and the wind pulled the string from my hand and the kite ended up caught in a tree.  How sad I was to see it bucking on the end of the string trying to escape.  I slept very little that night and when morning came, I raced to the cemetery to find it crushed and broken in the field with the string held tightly by the relentless tree.
I want to go out the highway to Bull Creek.  That us past Athey's Sandpit.  It used to be a bridge over it, but now I think it is just a trickle.  I want to walk through the field and see if the old swimming hole is still there where Jake and his pals used to swim while I fished for turtles up on the road.  I think they might have swum nekkid!
I want to go see if the Stroh place is still standing.  That is where my memories of life began.  That was where Donna had the turtle stuck on her finger.  That is where we played in the mud holes and Josephine almost beat us to death.  That is where mother pumped cold water over our heads as she washed our hair under the pump in the kitchen.  I swear that woman had 6 arms since she would tuck me under her arm, hold me with her other hand,  wash and rinse my hair with a hand while pumping furiously with yet another hand.
It was also where Dorothy was born.  I must have been about 6.  As I recall, I did not much like her and I was pretty sure we did not need a baby and yet there she was.  I am kind of anxious to see if I really remember accurately or not.
Since I began writing thiis  earlier today my little sister has passed.   So now there are 2 of us left out of 6.  Tomorrow Donna and I will take a trip to Nickerson.   A walk down memory.  I will let you know how that goes, but for now I am just very tired.

DOROTHY ANDERSON
August 20, 1947
December 19, 2015

Once upon a time....

 Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman, who married a very handsome man.  They planned on living happily ever after.  The beautiful woman had already been married once and brought a daughter to the union.  Her name was Josephine Ann Walden.

                                             

After a time they had a son.  That would be Delbert Leroy (Jake ) Bartholomew.  Jake would grow up to be my best friend.

In 1941 a beautiful daughter was born.  Her name was Louella Beth Bartholomew.  She was named after the mother of the handsome man and the sister in law of the beautiful woman.  She would grow up to be ME!!!

Years would pass and more children were born, all girls.  The man died.  The son died.  And this is who was left.

Top row from left.  Louella, Mother Christine, Josephine

Bottom row: Mary, Donna, Dorothy.

And since this picture was taken, Mother (Christine Josephine Haas) has passed.  Also Josephine Ann Flora, and Mary Belle Shea.  Dorothy Mae Anderson, is transitioning as I write.  That will just leave Donna Faye Bartholomew , and me Louella Beth Mercer.  And that is why I am putting my thoughts together today. 

To anyone I wronged, I apologize.  To the people I never got around to helping, I am sorry;  for those that I did help, pay it forward.

I want to tell all my friends that I love them, in case I do not remember to say it next time. To those who loved me and forgot to tell me or meant to come for a visit, but didn't get around to it, I realize life got in the way as it did from my side of town. 

I want to tell my family, that while I may be far away, you are never far from my mind and I love you all from the bosom of my mother to the three times removed nieces and cousins. 

I am sorry I never knew my fathers family. 

As for my immortal soul, I am good to go and rather looking forward to the trip!  This world was not  my home, I was only passing through, to coin an old country western hymn.  I hope you are all better for having known me, and I know I learned from you.  I am pretty sure God is going to let me peek in on you from time to time and I hope you are as happy about this as I will be.  And when your time comes I will meet you at the gate and show you around!  Until then.......

Once upon a time there was a little girl.