Where do I stand on the presence of a nut in the white house?

Let me be very clear on this one.  This is MY country too.  As a christian I am pretty sure the devil incarnate is holding sway in our nations capitol.  At no point in time have I thought for one minute that he and all his cohorts are doing anything that is going to help me or my causes one bit.  Not one iota.  There was a time when I would have researched all the candidates and made an informed choice, but after seeing the way the Republicans in both the Senate and the House have sucked up to the big orange orangutan that is called our leader I would not vote for a Republican if he were handing out million dollar bags of money on the corner by my house.  Not only would I not vote for one, if my "friends" profess to be followers of the current administration they are out the door.  I refuse to break bread or sip the cup with anyone who finds humor and justice in what this administration is doing to immigrants, poor, homeless, gay, bisexual, black, Hispanic,  women, medicaid recipients, food stamp recipients, and the list goes on and on and on.

Further let me state that the idiot in Washington who brags about "grabbing a woman by the pussy," would be well advised to not try grabbing this woman by anything because it would be the last thing he ever grabbed.  It turns my stomach when I see the women standing around him as he signs into law an edict that takes away their rights as women.  There seems to be no middle ground with this government.  Try to remember that I lived through the time period where women went from being chattel to being productive members of society.  I was there for integration.  I saw the assassination of Martin Luther King, JFK, Robert Kennedy.  I missed the part where our government seized the land and sent the Indians to reservations in the middle of nowhere, but I did work in a bar where it was illegal to sell liquor to Indians and I was there when they were no longer "Indians", but became Indigenous People.  Discrimination by any other name is still discrimination!

At his point in time my news feeds are flooded with pictures of babies being ripped from their parents arms and warehoused in Walmart warehouses.  Of course, those people have no maternal or paternal feelings and the babies are not really human like the babies of the lily white guards ripping them from the only security they have known.  Your president, because he sure as hell is not mine, is snuggled up with the North Korean dictator and throwing kisses at the despot that is in control of Russia.  We march.  We wave our flags.  We write letters and we might as well be wiping our asses on them.  Where is America's outrage?  I have signed so many calls to "Impeach Trump NOW!" that those keys on my keyboard will no longer work.

The only hope we have is with our vote.  If you are going to the polls and vote in the same ilk that made this maniac what he is today then I would wish you would just stay home.  If your goal is to "split the vote" or vote for one of the yoyo's that follows this joke of a president, I would wish you would just stay home.  Of course if you are unemployed, you might want to vote for him because, and trust me when I say this, the federal government will soon be hiring for devoted people to man their ovens.

Come on, Walmart! Work with us here!

I have been seeing  on facebook that we should not use the self check kiosk, at Walmart, but rather make them call up more checkers from the back.  This makes sense because Walmart is a retail business and their job is to sell stuff to us.  Isn't ringing us up part of the sales process?  So I went to google for answers.  I typed in Walmart self check.  I immediately got pages of how to screw Walmart out of a sale and also how to watch to make sure the little scanner is not screwing you and how much longer it takes to checkout through the kiosk than through the line.  Having done it both ways, I have some thoughts and it all boils down to how we are screwing ourselves.

I recall when the self checkouts first started popping up.  I think there were 2 or 3.  Then there were 5 or 6 and I think when I was in the North-side Walmart the other day I counted 16 or more.  I also noticed at that time that there were only a couple people using them and the lines at the cashiers were very long.  I know Jerome had his cart full and it took a bit of time to get cashed out.  The cashier was a little harried as it was time for her break and her line was  backed up into the aisle.  I heard her say to someone "This lane is closed."  I thought she was talking to Jerome and my hackles immediately went into "protect Jerome mode."  She quickly told me that Jerome was fine, but no one after him would be checked out there.  (Simmer down, chickie do!)

So, I have come to a conclusion that the kiosk is fine for 2 or 3, maybe 4 items.  When the basket is full, go for the cash register with a human.  Now I want to say that it rather boggles my mind to see 25 cash registers setting in the middle of the store and only 5 or 6 of them being stocked with a human checker.  That just does not look like a good business practice to me.  It would make better sense to man the torpedo (so to speak) and get the paying customer out of the store and into their vehicle and on their way.  The cashier can even hand them their receipt and tell them "Thank you.  Have a nice rest of your day."  I realize the cashier is tired and the customers are frustrated, but aren't we all?  Life gets hectic on the best of days and maybe one smile on either side of the cash register could make a difference.  Just maybe.

For some reason my mother instilled in me a little voice that says "You never know someone and you never know what they are dealing with so always be kind."  I try to do that, but sometimes I just want to grab someone by their collar and scream, "Listen bitch!  I have feelings here and if you think standing in your line is high on my list of priorities, you got another think coming.  Wipe that look off your face and smile at me or I will give you something to cry about!"  But that pretty much goes on in my head while I stand in line with a stupid look on my face.  Lambs to the slaughter, I think.

I am resigned to my fate.  I will continue to shop at Walmart because they have what I need and the last time I went to Joanne's for fabric, I had to wait until the girl finished her text before she could call my number.  When I asked if they had any Betty Boop fabric she was quick to answer, "I dunno."  So you tell me, is there some one out there in this big world who really wants my business and not just my dollars?  If so, let me know.

Some words just do not go together.

There are some words that should not be uttered and some that should never be said out loud and then there are the ones that when linked together strike fear in my heart.  Son.  That is a good word.    Pueblo County Sheriff alone is descriptive.  Now link those all in one sentence and it becomes a very scary sentcnce to a mother at home alone especially when I have caller ID  which comes up "Pueblo County" at 6:30 PM.  Got to be a solicitation call or...
Ring! Ring!
"Hullo?"
"Lou Mercer?"
"Yes."
"Ms. Mercer, this is deputy Lile with the Pueblo County Sheriffs office and I am here with your son."
Now being a mother who has managed to raise 6 kids alone and not have any of them incarcerated for a felony, been the instigator of a stand off,  jailed for DUI, or any of the other things you read about or hear on the news I consider myself beyond blessed.  But far in the back of my mind is always that I am one phone call away.  Thank God this woman kept talking because my heart had already stopped.
"He is fine, but his car has quit working.  He was going to walk to the Walmart and call you, but I am giving him a ride as it is a long walk.  He wants to talk to you.  Here."
And I talked to him and I hopped in the car to pick him up and deliver him to Florence.

Now, to get to the irony of this little story I must back up to a few days prior to this phone call.  I hopped in my car to run up to the highway to Jackie's shop where I do seamstress work.  Every other corner out here in the county is a 4 way stop.  I was turning right on 25th Lane so I made what is known as a "California stop".  Now you all know what that is and how it works.  You can see for miles.  No one is coming so you just apply the brake and before you actually stop, you are around the corner.  There is a stop, but if one blinks an eye, they might miss it.  Apparently the deputy watching from wherever blinked.

To make a long story short very soon I had red lights in my mirror.  As luck would have it I found both the registration and insurance card along with my drivers license.  I am sure that surprised her! I know it surprised hell out of me.  She was very polite and nice and I am sure that she did not know I had NEVER been stopped before.  She made it very easy and when she brought back my papers she gave me her card.  She was Officer Lile with the Pueblo County Sheriff.

I found Bret right where he said he would be outside of Walmart.  I explained to him how the county sheriff calling me gave me a start.  At that point he informed me he was no longer a child and if he was doing something wrong they would just cuff him and put him in the back seat and he would have to make his own bail.  But mother's minds work in a strange way.

Back to the coincidence of Officer Lile being in two places with Mercers just a few days apart.  When I saw how far Bret would have had to walk to get to a phone I was even more grateful to Officer Lile for giving him a ride.  He works in a grow, so I am sure he smelled to high heaven of weed.  I know he was tired and the last thing he wanted to do was a death march to a phone and then deal with the car that night.  I am sure there are officers who would not have let him in the car, but she did and I have got to give a big Lou Mercer shout out to her.

I know police work is hard, dangerous and at times not very rewarding, but if anyone out there knows this woman I would like you to tell her how much my son and I appreciate her taking the time out of her day to do a good deed.  I am sure I will see her again some day because that is how angels are.

If you see me on the 10 most wanted list, don't be surprised.

It seems if I get out of bed in the morning, it is invariably on the wrong side.  Or is it?  Could it be that all the news stations are geared to everyone except me and I feel that maybe I have outlived my usefulness?  I love the news.  I must confess I tend to watch one of the more liberal stations, but to each his own.  For the most part the news is geared for some one way younger than me.  The white headed old farts that I grew up watching and trusting are no longer with us and have been replaced by some young stud or studdette who stands in the middle of the empty stage clutching his/her tablet, which they never bother to look at.  Apparently the message here is that they have one and I do not so ha! ha!

They think the fact that Kim Kardashian went to visit trump is big news, but sadly I do not give a shit.  Wrecks, wars, catching a murderer, the scam going on that affects me is way more important to me than the fact that some young chickadee appeared on the red carpet in a see through dress immediately followed by the news that some lecherous old man looked at her and is now being charged with inappropriate sexual comments.  But I am not going there and it is really not the news that ticks me off, but rather the weather.

I watch Jeopardy! every afternoon at 3:00 and again at 6:30 PM and that is when weather happens.  I am treated to a little gal in her pretty little dress walking back and forth across a bare stage and pointing at a little red cloud with blue edges.  Sometimes it is even in my neck of the woods.  Now I heard her the first time.  And then again 2 minutes later and again when I thought I might catch a glimpse of final Jeopardy!  The bulletins are second only to her giving the regular weather when we are not in danger of blowing away.  This is the time she tells me the "out the door temperature" and what I should wear for that.  This is followed by my "drive home" time.  Apparently this is not my weather station because I do not do the "Out the door nor the drive home" times she is talking about.  My times are crawl out of bed time, Metamucil time, and Late night with David Letterman.

I used to be able to turn on the weather and they showed me a very clear picture of the jet stream and high and low fronts and I could pretty much figure it out, but now I have none of those things.  Just the little woman walking back and forth with her tablet pointing at things that mean absolutely nothing to me and telling me the times this will happen in terms that imply I must work a 9-5 job or I really do not need to know what the weather is doing.  So I have found me a weather site that gives me the jet stream, high pressure and low pressure and throws in a temperature or kind of a guess at it and does not force me to go "out the door" or commute back home from God only knows where.  Like right now, I should be slowly creeping along on the interstate, but I am setting at the computer contemplating whether I should puree my food tonight or put in the dentures and live dangerously.

Thus ends my little rant for today.  Hopefully I will be able to watch Jeopardy! tonight.

Time to settle back into my mundane life.

The trip to Dallas is over and becoming a soft glow in my "been there, done that" memory.  The High Tea at the church is over and done.  The tea cups are clean and packed away down in the church basement.  I have bought "crumpet rings"  for the next endeavor.  First Church Preschool had graduation last night and I cooked 18 pounds of pasta for them.  All my company has departed and Patty is back in Lakin.  Last night I went to bed at 9:00 and did not turn over until 5:30 this morning.  Sadly the worlds smartest mouse is still alive and well in my kitchen.  Thank you Icarus!  Life is returning to mundane here on South Road, which means I must return to my blogging.  That is a chore I really look forward to and enjoy most of the time.

So welcome to my world, writers block!  Normally I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about something and it winds up being on my blog the next morning, but when life is too full, my writing takes a back seat.  I have not had an original thought that did not involve a scone, a pot of tea, or a room full of ladies in their finery for a few weeks.  A time or two I flashed on something, but it was quickly replaced by thoughts of a hot stove, a full oven and jars of lemon curd and clotted cream.

Life goes on.

This blog has suffered and The World is not My Home and my mossy little room over on that blog has really suffered.  I need to reread that so I can carry on where that one left off if I find my notes on that.  In the meantime, I did start the tiller yesterday and made a few passes in the garden spot.  The ground was too dry to do much good, so I watered and will try it again today.  Hopefully, I will wake up in the middle of the night thinking about where I left off and carry on from there.  I can only hope.  In the meantime, send me good thoughts and I will get something done today, even if it is wrong!

PEACE!

What is in that bush?!

I am setting here in Dallas in my bedroom (but I think if I am not here it could be anyone's bedroom, not just mine.) and outside the window is a bush and in the bush is a mother bird and at least 2 babies.  The babies are fully feathered and hopping around from twig to twig.  Mother just flew in and crammed something down the little birds throat.  He does not look very happy about it, but mother knows best!  I am afraid to get my camera because if the flash scares the little fellow he may lose his grip and fall to the ground.  Sam told he there is a cat that hangs out around here and we all know what cats are good for don't we?  Well actually, they are good for several things, but I am talking here about their eating of the birds and such.

(Side note here.  Right now at my house there us a mouse running loose that my Icarus brought in and turned loose for  me to catch.  See, she loves me and knows I am incapable of catching my own mouse so she is trying to make it easier for me.  I am hoping that by being gone for almost 2 weeks, she will be mad enough at me that she will will not care if I starve.  We will see how that goes!)

It is amazing to think that probably 30 days ago this little bird was just popping out of an egg maybe an inch in diameter or less.  And now he has all is feathers and a very big beak for the mother to cram food into.  She just came and did it again.  I am sorry, but if that was my baby I would not feed it!  It actually tries to fight her off when she comes.  I do not see the other bird, so either it flew away or the cat carried it off for breakfast.  Oh, never mind!  They are right there side by side so mother is feeding them at the same time.

It is amazing how nature works, isn't it?  Birds do not appear to be very smart, but this bird has managed to hatch out at least 2 babies and kept them out of the cat's mouth long enough that soon they will fly away and start their own nest somewhere.  If they do not fly away today it is going to surprise me.

Oh, oh!  Sam is home.  I better go clean up my mess before he sees it!

Hello, Dallas!

Well, this morning bright and early, I crawled on a Boeing 737-800 Jet and less than 2 hours later, I was landing in Dallas, Texas and Pueblo, Colorado was back in the rear view mirror.  I have lived 76 years and never even been tempted to leave the ground, but here I am!  When I got off the airplane, I still had no idea where I was and yet Sam found me before I could figure it out.  And then he scooped my suitcase off the carousel and we were headed across Dallas to his house.  7 1/2 hours after I left the house, I have traveled what would have taken me 14 hours to drive, ate a granola bar, had a nap and am on my second glass of water.

So what I have dreaded for all of my life has turned out to be a really cool adventure.  There is something about soaring way high above the earth that is very humbling.  To just be able to look out the window and see the tiny little world down below, is an adventure that can not be told, but has to be experienced.  Something about looking down on the clouds makes one feel infinitesimal.  I had made up my mind that I would just do it and that is what I did.  I had many people give me pointers on flying, but I knew it would have to be done to know for myself.

Oh, when the plane was taxing down the runway and it began to shudder a little and the guy in the seat next to me said, "No, that is not normal" I did know a little moment of panic, but then I remembered what Gayle's husband said about it being much like a car ride only way bigger and there would be some turbulence, I relaxed.  I figured about the worst that could happen was a fiery crash, but hell, when you are my age something is going to get  me and it might as well be a newsworthy event.   But here I am.  Sam had all the work of booking it, and paying for it, all I had to do was get on board and I am very glad I did.  For that I thank him.

I have a book at home by a photographer named Wark that is all aerial photos and I now know what they look like in real time.  There are many circles in Colorado and Oklahoma that I have no idea what they are.  I saw dried up rivers and lakes and reservoirs that I never knew existed.  Lot of farmland all green and growing.  So tonight I shall go to bed in Texas and instead of visions of sugar plums, I shall have vistas of clouds and mountains.  As for flying, I wish I had tried this back when I was young.  I might have been a bird! 

An exercise in futility.

Mother called a lot of the things I did "an exercise in futility" and she was right on things like holding a marriage together, hoping for a raise, cleaning house with 5 kids under the age of 6, and she was usually right.  Now let me tell you what the biggest "exercise in futility" is in my world today.  It is that damned email.

When I open AOL a cheerful voice announces "You've got mail!"  It is such a cheerful voice and I never cease to open said mail box.  I run the cursor down the list and click on the first one that is an actual email from someone I know.  Early in the morning it is not unusual to have 45 or 50 emails and maybe 2 will be real communications from a real person.  I deal with those and then go to any that says  "Paypal", "Etsy" or "ebay".  Paypal will be an order and Etsy is usually a question and ebay requires some sort of action.  These days orders are a rarity.  AOL sorts my email and puts a lot of it in the spam folder.  I look at that list and click the "delete all" button.  Then comes the part that pisses me off.

I go back to the original mail list and look at the first one.  I open it and it is from some vitamin company.  Now if I simply delete it, they think I like to read their crap and the send me more.  Learned my lesson the hard way on that!  So I go to the bottom of their spiel and click the "unsubscribe" button.  It pisses me off that I have to unsubscribe to something that I never subscribed to in the first place, but that is beside the point.  I click on "unsubscribe" and if the gods are smiling on me I get the "sorry to see you go your name has been removed."  That is in an ideal world.  More often than not I get one of the following:

"We are sorry to lose you.  Please update the reason you are leaving." which is a pain in my keester.

Or a simple "you are unsubscribe ."  That is good.

But the one that sends me through the roof is the one that pops up and says: "You must prove you are not a robot."  Then there is a set of pictures. "Choose the pictures with cars."  I do that.  "Choose the pictures with street signs."  I do that.  "Chose the pictures with store fronts."  It is at this point that I loose it.

I have been know to write scathing letters telling them that no way in hell do I need Viagra or whatever they are wanting to sell me and hit the send button.  On those occasions I immediately hear the click on AOL that means I have mail and it is to say that my missive has been returned because that mail box is not a reply address.  Grrrrrrrrrrrr!

So now here I set wasting time telling you things you already know.  The cat is on my lap digging her claws in the tender part of my legs and bumping my chin with her head and the mailbox is continuing to open and close over on the open screen under this one.

So there you go.  My bitching for the day.  A definite exercise in futility if I ever saw one!

It must be spring.

I was setting at the computer today and I felt something brush my hair.  Now since I live alone here with a cat and a dog, something brushing past my head is cause to make me become alert.  Sure enough, a little Sparrow landed on the shadowbox on the wall by my desk.  I opened the front door and tried to shoo him that way, but he did not understand.  Of course Icarus was helping me since she had brought him in with hopes of him being supper for her.  I finally got him herded into a place where I could drop a dish towel over him and carry him outside.  I found him a nice place inside an evergreen where he could safely get his bearings before flying back to his family.  

I do not know why that silly cat becomes a hunter in the Spring of the year or maybe it is the birds are young and not wise to the ways of cats and are more easily caught.  Now the wind is whistling through a window that is not quite shut and scaring me.  I guess maybe I am a little paranoid because I went out to Los Pobres for lunch with my friends out there and on the way home I got to thinking about that little white line in the middle of the road.  Life is sort of like that line.  As long as I stay on my side and the car coming towards me stays on the other side, we are both good to go and will pass by never really seeing each other at all.  But if one of us were to cross that line we would both suffer.  Life is like that.  As long as I do the things expected of me and you do the things expected of you, we will never have a problem.  We drift through life never really knowing the people we see on a daily basis and then one day, we are gone.  

Some times I think maybe I am lonely, but I do not want to change my life to incorporate another human into it.  I go to bed when I am tired and get up when I am through sleeping.  If there were another person here, I would need to take their needs into consideration.  I eat what I want, when I want and rarely close the door when I shower.  I may get up at 3:30 AM or sleep till 6:00.  I have been known to eat lunch in my pajamas's and sometimes the sink is full of dirty dishes and the laundry covers the floor in the bathroom.  I do not always answer the phone just because it rings.

So, this is my mood tonight.  Needless to say, I do not like the wind.  I have never really seen a use for it,  but then nobody really asked me, did they?

My bleeding heart.

There was one thing my mother always had growing in a shady part of her yard and that was a Bleeding Heart plant.  I never quite figured out how that worked, but I know I bought her several over the years.  Every time I wanted to get her something she expressed a desire for a Bleeding Heart.  The preschool at our church was having a plant sale a couple weeks back and I just could not resist.  One Bleeding Heart.  Right now it is residing in the refrigerator because it is not quite planting time.  Over  the years I have planted a couple in my yard, but they are no longer there whether it is because I neglected to water them or mowed them off or what, but I shall try again.  I seem to have the same luck as my mother on keeping things alive!

I do not know how many years my mother has been gone, but I never see a Bleeding Heart that I do not think of her.   I know my fascination with the plant is tied to her, but what was it that drew her to the plant?  I do not remember grandma having one in her yard.  She had Spearmint.  Lots of Spearmint.  I remember that because it was right under the window of the room where they slept and there were big spiders that lived in the Spearmint patch.  I used to live in fear of the spiders coming in, walking across the grandma's and coming into the room where I slept.

I had Catnip growing here over the septic tank.  That stuff really spreads.  I never really seen the cat in it, but some times Charmin or Boots would act very weird.  I planted Poppy's there once.  They were double and they were lavender.  Those were nice, but when they reseeded themselves they came back as single red Poppy's and then they died out.  Once when we were in Grand Junction Joe Fisher picked me a bread sack full of Apricots from a tree up on the BLM land.  I made jam out of them and threw the seeds out over the septic tank and they all came up next Spring.  I planted several in the yard and planted 12 over at Kenny's  mom's house.  Now 25 years later those are all died out except one behind my house.  It has bores and I have to trim it on the side closest to the house every summer so it does not rub the roof.  I am thinking at the rate I am trimming this side that soon it will be hanging over in the field next door and I will not have a tree anymore.  I am hoping I can get one more harvest so I can grow more trees and next time plant them away from the house.

Of course there was a time when I had 68 Hybrid Tea Roses growing in my yard.  The kids used to give me a bush every Mother's Day and when I had 10 kids total it did not take long to fill up the yard.  Course roses need fed every month and pruned every time they bloom and I am basically lazy, so here I now set with 5 that I do nothing with and they just refuse to die.  So I am going to plant a Bleeding Heart.  Not sure if I will do that before I go to Texas or wait.  I can hear the weather lady down on the television yapping about a coming snow storm.  I hate to pay $14.00 for something just to let it freeze.

Well, the sun is up now and it is time to get around and do something constructive.  Or not.

My information has been compromised!

What a friggin' surprise!  For the record, my facebook info in nominal at best.  They have my name and they know I am a Liberal.  Now stop and think about this for a moment.  When I had my gas turned on, I gave them my name, address, phone number, my next of kin, an emergency contact and my SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER.  Same with the electric, phone, kids info at school, any job I applied for, my drivers license, bank accounts, credit apps, prescriptions, doctors office, insurance policies,  and any one else who comes in contact with me.  And I am supposed to be worried because facebook knows I am a liberal!  Come on people!

Zuckerberg is in session now being quizzed and drug through the wringer to see if he knows something about me that they don't.  Let her rip, Mark!  Throw me under the bus.  You do not need to waste time protecting me because the Government is burrowed into our daily lives up to their eyebrows.  They do not give a rats ass about anything except that they can keep track of us.  Oh, I am sure by now they know I am a born and bred liberal democrat, and if not it is because they really don't care about us peons that live a day to day existence, trying to make ends meet and keep a potato in the pot for later in the day.  Their big deal is to try to figure out a way to get that $.47 interest on my savings account that I made last year.

The thing about Facebook or any other social media is people get on there to tell anyone who will listen all about themselves and then if some one reads it they have an idea what their political leanings are.  Every day I get calls from insurance company's and car warranty places, and credit card offers.  Now they all know what kind of car and the year of said car and have a price quote at the ready.  Did I call them and tell them what I drove and give them my phone number?  No I did not, and yet they have all that at their fingertips.  Who sold me down the river?  Not facebook that is for sure.

And here is something that really upsets me.  My husband has been dead for 18 years and yet he gets phone calls from salesmen who are shocked to learn of his demise.  How old are these contact lists that are being sold to someone for a price?  I tried to get his name off the bank account, but that is not happening either.    I guess the point I am making is what does it matter that someone stole my info from facebook?  It has been out there for years  and will no doubt still be out there when I am pushing up the daisies in some distant future.

I did not panic and quit facebook and probably will not change anything I do.  So, relax, Mark Zuckerberg, I am not leaving you and you do not need to tell me you are sorry.  You are just another human that is going to be chastised so we forget for a few days what an asshole we elected to the oval office.

Corky was a dancing fool!

I woke up this morning with Corky on my mind.  First let me go on record as saying it is always both a surprise and a pleasure to actually wake up.  It becomes more of a surprise as each year goes by.  But this morning I was thinking about Corky.  Must have dreamt about him, because he was very vivid.  Corky dates back to when I was 16 or 17 and still in high school.  I do not remember how I met him because I lived in Nickerson and he lived in Hutchinson which was 11 miles away and I had no car.  Now I can set here and try to guess how he came into my life or I can tell you about him. 

Corky was the coolest guy in the world.  He came with lots of friends and while he did not have a car, his friends did.  And he loved to dance.  And I loved to dance.  At that time there was a dance every Saturday night at the convention hall.  If you know your history, you have surely heard of Dick Clark and his "American Bandstand". (Now my facts and names and such may not be completely correct, but this is what I seem to recall.)  It was held back east in some big city and it was all the rage.  It was on television and all that.  So ours was held at the convention hall with some disc Jockey and to save the floor we all checked our shoes at the door and it was called a "sock hop".

Corky was always my dance partner and we were good.  One of his tricks was to face me and at the precise moment  he would cross his arms,  I would squat, he would step over me and some how I ended up behind him and we never missed a beat.  Another was to put our backs together and link elbows and he would lean forward which flipped me across his back and I lit on my feet facing him.  We did the stroll, and all kinds of things he learned on watching bandstand.  Several times we ended up winning for the evening.  It meant nothing, just that we were the winners.

Corky and I were a "couple".  Back then being a couple meant absolutely nothing, just that we danced together.  Then we decided to take it to the next level.  He borrowed his brothers car, we skipped school and went to Wichita to Joyland Amusement Park.  Being a school day, the place was deserted with us and a few other kids skipping school being the only ones there.  We rode the roller coaster.  We rode the Ferris wheel.  We walked in the hot sun.  We made a recording in a booth.  Then we rode the roller coaster and the Ferris wheel again.  The only thing left was the Roundup.  That is the round thing where you are strapped in standing up, spun around, and tilted on its side and that is when I threw up!  Luckily the operator saw what was happening and leveled the ride out quickly so the only one was lucky enough to have my vomit hit them in the face was me.  Corky was very caring and compassionate to me and decided maybe it was because we had not eaten, so he bought me a hot dog and we left Joyland, never to return.

Of course he got in trouble for skipping school as did I.  When the whole truth about our day came out, as the truth always will, we were both grounded.  Since we had no real emotional connection, and mileage being a detriment, we drifted apart.  We both found new friends.  Our dancing days were over, but I still have not forgotten Corky, or Joyland, or the sock hop at Convention Hall.

Hutchinson, Kansas is actually a very small town at heart.  Idle curiosity made me wonder what had become of Corky.  And Jimmy and other friends.  Most of my friends had married and led rather mundane lives, but some of my dance partners had remained single.  I had married and moved away, but moved back in 1967 with a string of children in tow.  I left Hutchinson again 10 years later for the fertile fields of Colorado and have been here ever since.

In 1980 the AIDS epidemic began.  It was known in the early years as "The Gay disease."  My very dear friend, Gibby, was one of the first to fall.  I took up the banner and became involved in the fight very early in the game.  I was to learn many years later that both Corky and Jimmy had been lost to that disease.  Such a waste of life.  The hate back then was palpable.  There was talk of "rounding up all the queers and locking them up" so they could not spread the disease.  What a lack of compassion! It took people like Rock Hudson dying and Elizabeth Taylor standing up in his memory to finally wake up our country. 

When December 1 was declared a day of remembrance for all the artists and actors lost to the disease, it was a giant step forward.  The first one held in Pueblo was attended by one man with AIDS and a woman who had lost her brother to AIDS.  It was at the Arts Center.  The next year I was there with 2 friends.  Now it is a very open celebration and is held at Rawlings Library on December 1.  Our little Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt hangs in the 4th floor for the month of December.  Quite a step from huddling in the shadows to this.  The quilt has been featured in the newspaper with full page coverage 2 times.  

I never made a panel for Corky or Jimmy.  I made one for Gibby.  

And there you have the workings of my mind this morning.  Damn!  I sure hope it rains soon.

709 North Strong Street and the midnight dash.

I know I speak of my formative years in Nickerson as mostly happy, but there was something lacking.  While the majority of the homes in town contained running water and indoor "facilities" the sewer system and the running water had not yet reached our little street.  The running water consisted of a pump in the kitchen, a pipe that led from the sink to the wall where there was a hole that let the water run onto the ground out back.  We had Muscovy ducks which were very happy with this method of ridding our selves of waste water.  Ducks like water and they could always be found in the middle of the mess.  That is what ducks do.  Interesting note here; to my knowledge Muscovy is the only domesticated duck that is able to fly.  At least I think that is right.  I had 37 ducks of different breeds here on South Road several years back and only the Muscovy could fly, which they did with amazing regularity right up to roost on my air conditioning unit.  Nasty damn things.

Any way, that was the set up for the running water in our house.  Bathroom facilities were an entirely different matter.  That little job was taken care of out the back door and down the path to the little wooden shack that was perched over a deep hole.  The cool porcelain of city bathrooms was replaced by a wooden bench with a hole cut in it and the white roll of "toilet tissue" gave way to the Sears catalog.  Sometimes it was a Montgomery Ward.  Sears was favored for it's absorption, well all the pages except the ones which were colored because they were slick.   Oh, and sometimes we were real lucky and had a corn harvest that produced soft corn cobs, but that was never.  And there was always the danger of  "picking up a sliver " if one moved the wrong way while on "the throne."  That combined with my fear of dark places and black widow spiders was enough to keep me in a paranoid state most of the time and my bowels in a locked state. Those are just some of the hazards of life in poverty Ville.

Using of the facilities in the daylight was one thing, but at night it was an entirely different matter.  Living in the country brings a whole new set of problems.  First, there were no street lights on Strong Street, or the next street over, or the highway either.  Flashlights were unheard of at our house.  There was a kerosene lantern which we could use if we could find matches.  Now I want you to know that no way in hell was I going out to that God forsaken place alone, and neither would any of the other kids.  The river was not far away and sometimes we could hear a cougar or mountain lion calling.  I think there might have been a panther at one time or maybe a panther was a cougar.  Coyotes yipping in the field behind the outhouse was a regular occurrence.  Mother assured us that coyotes were more afraid of us then we were of them, but I was not sure about that!

So I learned early to not drink a bunch of water before I went to bed and thus maybe avoid that trip in the middle of the night.  I think the sisters found it easier to wet the bed than walk that lonely walk.  It seemed like it was a very long ways to the bathroom, but reflecting back, I do not think it was that far.  I think it might have been 60 feet, but it sure seemed a lot farther to my little body.  If there was a moon then the shadows scared me, and if I had the lantern the shadows scared me.  If an owl hooted then right there was the end of the trip!  If I could stay on the path it was alright, but if I veered to the left just a tad I was in a cactus.  If I strayed to the right I was in the chicken fence.  I do recall how bright the moon used to be out there in the middle of the night.  And the stars!  There were millions of them.  I could pick out the big dipper and the little dipper.  I look at the sky at night now and it is very pale.  I am glad I have those memories.  Kenny and I were in Utah once and lived in a campground.  I could see the stars then.  I wish I could go back there and appreciate it.  The Utah sky is bigger than the Kansas sky.

So, anyway, there you have the drawback to the Strong Street life.  But, I survived.  I know there are some of you that are reading this that think how horrible that was, but it really wasn't that bad.  It was an inconvenience for sure, but it was what it was.  I am very glad that I have indoor plumbing now because I am terrified of the dark.  I have a night light in the bathroom and if I leave something in the car, it will have to keep until morning.  I do not think there is anywhere left in this world where there is not indoor plumbing, but if there is, I do not want to go there.

As I write this, I can see that path in my mind.  I remember the neighbors had a concrete floor in their outhouse.  Hank Windgate did not have a door.  The Ayers family just had a tin tub with a hole in it over a bigger hole.  So all things considered, I guess we had it pretty good.  My daughter, Debbie, has a saying that seems apropos here:  "What doesn't kill you or make you bleed, will make you strong."  So there you go!

Until death us do part.

That used to be in the wedding vows.  Let me see if I can actually remember those vows.  "I, Louella Beth (insert last name here) do take thee, so and so, to be my wedded husband, to love, honor, cherish  and OBEY, in sickness and in health , forsaking all others and cleaving only unto thee till death us do part."  Or something like that.  Now you should know that every time I took those vows, I really meant them.  At least at the time.  As I recall, the vows kind of changed over the years and when I married Kenny, the ceremony consisted of a retired minister in an assisted living, his wife in the next room asleep and Kenny and myself.  Oh, yeah and the handing of a $20 bill which he quickly pocketed.

He signed the license and said, "Well, for all intents and purposes you are married unless you want me to say something more?"

"Well, yeah.  but leave out that obey part and just say about him loving and cherishing me.  Oh, and bringing home the paycheck.  Leave out the part about me having to clean house and all that,  I'll cook but that is about it."  So he laughed and said that and then had  us sign .

The whole time spent with him was about six minutes, after which we stopped at the donut shop and had a donut for our wedding supper.  It was 15 degrees below zero when we passed the bank in Canon City that day.  But you know what?  That marriage worked!

It is now 35 years later and here I set.  Kenny has been gone 17 years. and it is like he is still here.  To put this in perspective, he occupied almost half of my life.  No other man can make that claim.   We thought alike.  We liked the same foods.  We both liked the same music.  We went fishing and I baited my own hook.  We had one serious disagreement (which was of course his fault.).  I did not have to wear makeup and whatever I made for supper was fine and if not, we went out to eat.  Time flies!

So anyway, I woke up this morning thinking on my life.  I think I am turning into a hermit.  I get up and kill time until bedtime.  Then I sleep until it is time to get up and do the whole thing again.  Ever once in a while I think I should start dating, but then I have a second thought that beats hell out of that first thought.  I dated one guy for a while, but sadly he succumbed to cancer.  Then there was a guy that was way younger than me, but he loved himself enough for both of us, so that one fizzled out.

Well, to get to the point of this missive, there is no point.  I am just kind of putting things in perspective in my life and I do that by poking the keys and reading what I wrote.  Life is good, and most importantly, the world is still turning.  I should, no doubt, go on a cruise or something, but I do not want to leave home.  I am going to crawl on an airplane on April 28th and fly to Dallas.  Getting on an airplane is something I swore I would never do, but here I am with my ticket in hand and the day approaching.  Sometimes we just have to do stuff because.  I guess that is what is known as making a bucket list.  So far, it is the only thing on my bucket list.  Perhaps if I make it to Dallas and back, I shall make a bucket list.  We will see.

Just a minute to vent.

My life is pretty cut and dried.  I do this and I do that and most of the time I am at home with the television on and it is always on channel 11.  It is on that channel for a reason.  Millionaire comes on in the morning, the news at noon, Jeopardy! at 3:00, and again at 6:30.  Well it seems that what I watch is not important, because for the past week I have been watching basketball.  Come on, people!

Now if I actually watched basketball, I would be thrilled, but I just gave you my list of what I watch.  If I wanted to watch basketball, I would buy into a cable company and do just that.  Now granted the little fellows hopping around out there on the court in their little shorts is a sight for these old eyes, but these eyes would much prefer to see Alex Trebec in his suit and tie!  I thrill to the intelligence shown in all those segment's and categories!  I am exposed to very little intelligent conversation here all alone, or at the grocery store, so Jeopardy! is my salvation.

Now if I were the only one who resents this, it might be different, but I am not.  Yesterday I set with my friends mom so he could do errands and I asked him if he watched basketball.  Nope.  I asked my friend Linda and she said nope.  It seems I do not have any friends in my circle who have to hurry home to watch basketball.  A few of them watch the Bronco's, but that is football and it is on Sunday afternoon usually.  I have been known to sleep through a few of those games.  Well, actually, I have been known to nap through Jeopardy! , but that is what I do.

So it is my television.  I bought it.  I pay the electric.  The waves come through the air to the little antennae in my window that I bought and taped up there, so why can't I just watch my little game show and not have to have hours of my time blocked off to basketball?  Or here is an idea.  The actual play time for a basketball game copied from a google site is...( 40 minutes of actual playing time, with 3 full time outs and 2-30 second time outs per team. This amounts to 48 minutes when added to playing time. most college games have 2 slated "tv timeouts" per half,...which can be several minutes each. that's another 8 minutes, totaling 56 minutes. )  I think they set aside 2 hours or more for each game.  Of course I realize that the sponsors need time to advertise the same thing over and over and over............

So if they would just cut to the meat of the game, I would not have to miss programs that I really like and I do not know if you have noticed or not, but you can always hear their shoes squeaking on the floor when they are running and stopping fast.  This makes napping a real pain in the ass as opposed to the sedate conversations on Jeopardy!

The point here is this, I am a consumer when I am awake.  I like to watch my game shows and resent having my day turned upside down because, well, just because.  Here is an idea.  Put the games on an alternate channel and leave my schedule alone.  I do not like basketball, nor football, and watching some guy whack a golf ball around for 3 or 4 hours is right up there with watching paint dry and definitely on my list of things not to do in this life.  

So there you go.  Fat chance I am going to see my Jeopardy! today and Lord only knows, I need that nap! 

A water pan? Are you kidding me?

A week or so I manage to disembowel the front of my car while driving down the road on my way home.  I had taken 20th Lane because the speed demons were on the highway I usually travel.  I suddenly found myself airborne and then slammed down onto the pavement.  I continued on my merry way home and when I parked, still wondering what in the hell that was all about.  A quick check of my car showed the front bottom part of my grill (I think it is a faring) was no longer attached.  So, it was not my imagination after all.  I looked up a number for a county office that I thought would perhaps tell me what that was I hit.  A very nice lady asked to help me.  I explained that I had no idea how she could, but this was the situation as I saw it.

"I do not know what in the hell I hit over on 20th and County Farm, but it caused me to become airborne and ripped the faring off my front end as well as scaring hell out of me. "  She took my contact information and apologized, but assured me someone would contact me.  Sure.  Been there, done that.

To my surprise, a very nice man named Dale called me the next day to say he found nothing and when I told him I was not on County Farm, but was crossing it, he went back to investigate that info.  Then to my surprise he called me back to explain that it was a water pan I had hit.  What?  A water pan is where there is a dip for the water that overflows the ditch to run across the intersection and into the ditch on the other side.  A culvert came to mind, but that was too simple.  Out here in the county where there is a big ditch and lots of watering of the produce in the fields, it is apparently easier then culverts.  The end result is we have lots of these "water pan dips" and they are not nice.  Some of them are called widow makers for a reason.  Having lived out here half of my life I have learned to slow down and I had crossed that particular dip many occasions with no problems.  So what had happened this time that made it different?  I did not know.

I had the car put back together.  Dale called a couple more times to just check in. (?)  I thanked him each time for his caring attitude.  Then came his final phone call.  They were not happy with that "water pan"  so they dug it up.  They found a broken pipe which had been leaking and patched several times creating a crater under the water pan, which I discovered quite by accident.  He assured me that it was now repaired and covered with gravel and that would be concreted in as soon as they could get a delivery.   He thanked me for calling it to his attention and I say "Thank you Pueblo County for actually listening to an old lady!"  He even asked about whether I had my car fixed or not.  A public servant with a heart!

I drove over that way today and checked it out.  Yep, it is something I can cross now without losing the front of my car.  Usually when a problem comes up out here and I report it, there is no action and I am sure my complaint goes in a big pile with a whole lot of other ones, but I have to say a big Thank You to Pueblo County Roads and a guy named Dale for following through on my concerns.

Well, hello guardian angel.

Yesterday about noon I was on my way home from town and decided to pop into Lagree's for a few items.  I had cataract surgery planned for this morning so I was a little preoccupied.  I got my groceries and came home.  I finished up a sewing job and thought I would just deliver it right quick.  The car keys were in my pocket and I began the search for the purse.  Nowhere to be found.  I checked the car.  Downstairs.  Trash can.  Back porch.  By this time I was in a panic.  I knew I had it at Lagrees and hoped I had left it there.  I called and sure enough it was in their office and I could come pick it up.  So off I flew.  It is just a mile up the road so it did not take long.

Upon my arrival they determined that it was indeed mine and handed it to me.  Seems I had left it in the cart in the parking lot when I loaded my groceries into the car.  Some person had seen it forgotten there and contacted them so they could go retrieve it which they did straightaway.  And there it set in the office for 3 hours waiting for someone to miss it.  Now this tells me how honest the workers at that store are.  They could have gone through it and found some identification, but they chose not to violate the privacy of the owner.  I can not tell you how stupid I felt, but they were very understanding.  The consoled me with words that I was not the first, nor would I be the last to do something like this.  I came away from that store feeling like I really was a worthwhile being who had just gotten careless.

I knew without even looking that the money I had in that purse when I deserted it would still be there and it was.  I love the mesa out here and I love the fact that we have honest people in our neighborhood store.  Sometimes the stores in town have sales that make my little Lagree's look pricey, but when it is all said and done I love to shop there.  I love the people who work there and run the store.  Kenneth was always a firm believer that we needed to support our local businesses because if we did not they would fail.  The store had already failed once when it was Chet's and we had been without a store until Lagree's opened it.

So I want you all to know that Lagree's is located at 27050 US Hwy 50 out here in Blende.  The hours are 7-9 and you can always find a bargain.  For sure you can find honest hard working people here who want to help you find just what you need at a reasonable price.  And best of all, if you need help they are all over that.  And if you leave your purse in the shopping cart in the parking lot, damn good chance it will still be there!  And tell the cashier Lou Mercer said "hey".  You may just find one who knows me.

My medical portal lacks a door!

I spent most of yesterday afternoon trying to get a message from the eye center.  The message popped up on my email, "You have a very important message from @#%^&*(*& Eye Center!"  Now I had already been through this with my doctors office and their little portal means of communication, so I cringed inwardly.  Since I have surgery scheduled for tomorrow, I thought I better try to retrieve it.  I am so friggin' naïve it amazes me most of the time.  The episode with the doctors portal, had taken me 3 days to complete and it was after they sent me the correct link that I was able to retrieve my message there.

So when I received this one, I had my usual sinking feeling when I know I am on a dead end trail and a cliff awaits me at the end.  But it had 2 pages very detailed telling me how to reach the portal door and all the secret codes I needed to step through.  HA!  But nonetheless, I persevered.  User name.  User password.  Incorrect user name or password.  Try again.  Ok.  Put on my glasses and make sure I am doing it right.  Check every letter and number.  Incorrect user name or password.  Try again. Ok.  Once more with feeling!  Incorrect user name or password.  Your computer is now locked for your safety.  It will automatically unlock in 20 minutes. Try again then.

20 minutes later I tried again.  Once more I was wrong 3 times was locked out.  So I called the office.  Of course by this time I was in tears.  The automatic man that answered told me all circuits were busy and to stay on the line.  After several more minutes I heard a human voice.!  Name.  Birthday.  I know this.  Oh, ok, she will transfer me to the surgery center nurse.  This is going good!
Oh, she is not in, but will return my call in just few minutes.  It is now the next day!

Here is my question, why do I have to fight this system to get a message from the medical profession?  She is going to ask me if I started my eye drops.  It would have been much simpler to pick up the phone and dial my number and ask me.  30 second job at the most.  As it is, she had to look up my info for the portal, type in the question, hit the send button,  hit the button to send me a notice that I have a message (that I am not going to get), back out of my file and go to the next one.  All that is going to take way more than 30 seconds.

So, by the time I went to bed last night, I was wound up tight enough to rip the throat out of a charging Rhino.  If I have one more place making my life easier, I am going to go completely nuts!
I have 2 telephones.  One hangs on the wall and has a home number.  The other rides in my purse wherever I go, so I am always within easy reach of every telemarketer in India and beyond, but not able to be reached by the medical community who in in charge of my health and well being.  I do not have a smart phone, because the word "smart" denotes to me that it is smarter than me.

I can remember the time when I had a doctor and he had a nurse.  They both knew my name.  If I went in for a problem, one of them would call me the next day to ask how I was feeling.  A human voice!  Not a damn portal that I can not open.  I am going to remove my email address from all my medical records.  I may even close my email, so no one knows I have a computer.  I got this thing for my convenience, but I am beginning to hate the damn thing because other people do not respect the fact that I do not want them in my world.  This goes for all the yahoos who try to send me Viagra because my name is Lou.  I do not want to go on a cruise.  I do not need vitamins or wrinkle remover and I sure as hell do not want to lose 22 pounds overnight.  If I needed that stuff, I would google it.  I know how to do that.

I know my medical providers will not read this and if they did they would think I was nuts.  I may very well be, but I am happy  to inform them, that my contact information is about to change and they can either pick up the phone, or not.  Their choice.  As for me, I know how to dial!

A cow named Bossy.

I am not sure her name was Bossy, but I think it was and that is what counts.  She was brown, but back in those days most of the milk cows were.  I want to say she was a Guernsey, but you are not going to catch me lying at this stage of the game.  She was brown.  A soft brown.  We had several cows when we left the Ailmore place, along with the horses dad used for plowing. We also had Star, the Shetland from hell that no one could ride.  You would have thought he was a sweetheart if you just looked at him, but try to get on his back and that was not happening.  He is the one that left the scar on my brothers face.  But back to the cow.

 The reason I am telling you about Bossy is because that cow knew how to give milk.  But the best part of the milk was the cream.  We had a separator which separated the milk from the cream (hence the name separator).  We would toast a piece of bread and then put cream on it and sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar and put it under the broiler for just a few seconds.  That was heaven!  The cream was so thick it stayed standing on the toast.  I go to the store now and buy "heavy whipping cream" and it pours out of the carton.  I have not even seen cream like we used to eat.

The same cream was churned into butter.  The butter was bright yellow when it was rinsed and put in the refrigerator.  It was also very delicious.  After Bossy died in cowbirth, (the baby also died) we were without a cow and thus without butter.  The neighbor girls lived with their father right next door.  Their mother had passed many years before and he raised the girls  alone.  They also had a cow and made butter.  With no cow we had to resort to eating margarine.  Now in those days margarine was white.  I think it was actually lard, but it came with a little yellow dye button that you could work into the white mass so it looked like butter.  We used to trade margarine for butter because the neighbor girls did not like butter. 

Another thing was they made doughnuts every Saturday morning.  Their father was diabetic, but he sure liked those doughnuts and he thought if he only ate them once a week he would be alright.  Another daughter came from Plevna to visit them every Sunday so they managed to eat all the doughnuts.  None for me!

One time mother had fried up a bunch of small carp that she had seined and Dorothy got a bone caught in her throat.  Mother had picked the meat off, but apparently missed a small bone.  As she was choking one of us ran next door and told Mr. Reinke.  He had experience at such things, you know.  He grabbed a piece of bread from the cupboard (in case we didn't have any and of course we didn't).  He made Dorothy eat the bread, which dislodged the bone and sent it into her stomach where the acids would dissolve it.  He was a hero!

Mostly Mr. Reinke just did handy man work around town and then did his chores when he came home.  We could here him singing songs in German while he did his chores.  Since he sang in German, my dad was sure he was a Nazi, but we never knew that for sure.  I just thought he was a very nice man to save my sisters life. 

I was always envious of their "outhouse" because it had a concrete floor and a lid on the potty part.  Ours had a floor that was pretty well shot and a bench with 2 holes.  I never understood that part, because we never went in there with anyone.  I just could not picture that!  Thiers also had a door and a latch from the inside for privacy.  Ours had a door at one time, but not by the time we inherited it.

The point of this entry when I started it was about cream.  The point I wanted to make was, back in those days we ate thick cream.  We used real butter.  We ate potatoes, and bacon, and gravy and we were all skinny.  When I married my first husband I stood 5'1" and weighed 92 pounds.  I am convinced that all the additives in our food are still in our bodies.  I have given up trying to read the ingredient list on anything I pull off the shelf or out of the freezer.

And I am sure I will never live long enough to ever be able to toast a piece of bread and pile cream on it with cinnamon and sugar.  Sure would like to see old Bossy again, but those days are long gone.  I would not eat a Carp now if I was starving.  I am beginning to look forward to the day when I can once more run barefooted down Strong Street see all my family and friends.  Seems like that list gets
shorter every day.

(After thought) I do need to tell you, that when the separator quit working at one point and mother strained the milk it was not the same.  She would leave it set and the cream would raise to the top.  I could not stand the bits of cream that were floating in the milk  to touch my lips.  I would try to pick them all out with my finger, but it was an exercise in futility.  I could eat straight cream, but not swallow a fleck.  I was so happy when we had to buy milk from town because it was homogenized.

Inside my head is a scary place.

Some times I wake up in the middle of the night and just wonder what is going on anyway.  You should know that in the middle of the night I come up with some brilliant ideas.  I even amaze myself at the simple solutions I find to the world problems.  I have written several best seller books in the wee wee hours and blog ideas are so easy at 2:30 in the morning.  My mind is clear and alert and my fingers itch to start typing, but I control myself.  I know if I start my day at 2:30 AM I am going to be dozing off at 1:30 PM and I will be headed for bed about 6 which is not acceptable to the real world.

And isn't it then amazing that when I do click on the writing page, my mind is just as blank as that sheet of paper.  What happened to all the things I came up with when I should have been sleeping?  Now I know that I am supposed to jot down notes when I wake up like that, but I have tried that.  The next morning I read something I have written and wonder what in the hell I was smoking.  "Rodeo, mules, ostrich, breakfast."  I am sure in my sleep induced stupor that made good sense, but in the clear light of morning, it is sheer jibberish.  I even tried the voice activated tape recorder, but by the time I had a brilliant thought, the batteries were dead.  So I have come to this conclusion:  My batteries may be dead.

If I could be the witty, animated person that I am in the middle of the night in the cold hard light of day, I would be a millionaire and everything I wrote would fly off the shelves.  I have come to one conclusion;  there is someone else living in my head along with me.  I know this because I can be talking to someone and looking them right in the eye and listen as they reply, but my mind has gone off to what I need to get at the store, or something that needs done across town.  This scares me.  Today I was reading the Bible reading at church and at the same time I was trimming the tree by the goose house.  Planned every cut, ended the reading, went and set down and baked banana bread in my head.

Before you laugh, I want to tell you that it is scary being me.  I just wonder if any one else has this problem.  You can tell me, because I won't remember it when I blink my eyes.  

A place for every plant and every plant in its place.

Living with Grandma Haas and Great Grandma Hatfield was definitely challenging.  They had a place for everything and everything was in it's place, especially in the summer.  All year long the little house plants set in there place in the house where ever it was they belonged.  The Oleandars lived in the basement and were not watered from fall until they were brought out in the spring.  Always surprised me that they survived.  One was white and one was pink.  They had the sweetest aroma rather like vanilla only sweeter.  Maybe with a tinge of almond.  What ever.  It was hard to believe that they were deadly poison.  But I digress.

When Spring arrived which was usually late April in Kansas, the basement door was opened and the Oleandars were drug up the steps by what ever hapless  cousin was around.  It was usually cousin Carl.  He was the farmer boy and lived just outside of Plevna so he was handy.  And Aunt Lola usually came and picked up the laundry to take it home and wash and return.  We did not go through the clothes back then like we do now.  Now I wear something a day and throw it in the hamper.  Back then the same outfit was good for a week.  Back to the house plants.

The Oleandars were placed on either side of the steps in the front of the house.  We never used that door.  It was the front door and that was its job.  We used the side door which opened into the dining room for most of our comings and goings.  The only exception was when one of us needed to make a trip to the "outhouse" or the trash needed carried to the burning barrel.  Then we used the back door.  The trash was kept in a wooden hamper by the back door and there was a damn good chance that there was a mouse in it when I dumped it so I would carry it very carefully, slowly to the barrel.  I would gently place the edge on top of the barrel and then quickly push it over and wait for the mouse and the trash to empty and then grab it and run for the house.

After the Oleandars were in place the other house plants were carried out one by one and the first was placed by the front sidewalk and then each next one got a little closer to the house until all of them were setting outside and then I could begin watering.  And I watered them every day because the Kansas sun is very hot and dry.  This ritual continued until Grandma Hatfield saw signs  of  an  early frost.  Then the whole process was reversed.  I often wondered what happened to the Oleandars when Grandma Haas passed and Great Grandma moved to Coldwater.  Sadly there is no one to ask.

I have a few houseplants but they are all big.  I do move them out to the patio in the Spring, but sometimes I have to carry them all back in, because Colorado weather can not be trusted.  Oh, and spiders build homes in the stems so that sucks.  But mostly I got to have green stuff around me for one reason or another.  I have a pink Oleandar if anyone wants to come by for tea.

It is just a matter of time until it is our school.

Another school shooting.  Another record set.  Oh, but that is Florida this time.  It is not our problem.  Not my circus, not my monkeys.  Of course we are sending thoughts and prayers.  That is what we do.  I want to speak to you people out there who actually need an AR-15.  You need it for.......?

There was a time when our forefathers needed a gun to put food on the table.  Those were the ingenious men and women from whom we are descended.  They had traps.  They had knives.  Some of them even had musket loaders and they kept food on the table.  They took care of their possessions so they were ready when needed.  They fought a war and freed the slaves with the same weapons they used for hunting.  If you are not smart enough or adroit enough to kill a deer with something smaller than an AK-15 then you are not smart enough to have a weapon that fires an ungodly amount of bullets in one minute.

And don't hand me that bull shit about a well regulated militia.  We have that under the government control.  And if you think you are going to over throw the government you are more full of shit than even I give you credit for.  (Now I will interject here that if Trump thinks he is going to have a parade at the cost of 30 million dollars because he wants one, then I might go a little ballistic myself.)  There is only one way to describe you people that refuse to let any gun laws pass and that is narcassistic morons.  Who dies from your gun rights that you so vehemently protect?  Innocent people.  Young people.  Children barely old enough to know what in the hell your gun is.

Send my prayers to Florida!  Send my prayers to Las Vegas.  Sandy Hook.  Columbine.  And on and on it goes.  The NRA gets richer.  Congress pads thier pockets.  Everyone's rights is protected except the innocent people who die from the bullets because the background check is a joke.  Everyone has a right to keep and bear arms.  And we bury our dead!  Everyone prays for the victims.  They try to figure out what the killer was thinking.  But no one does a damned thing!  We pass not one law to change anything.  NOT   ONE!!!!  Think about that.  Think about that every time you send your kid to school.  Think about it when you go to a concert.  Think about it when you tuck you baby in bed at night.

The NRA is a powerful agency.  They are in the business of selling guns.  They are not in the business of protecting any one.  They donate more money into the political system then our feeble minds are able to comprehend.  They have more Senators and Representatives in their pocket then we can even name.  So think about this.  There is no way of knowing who the next shooter will be because we can not know inside a person's head.  And we can not know where it will happen.  We only know that with our gun laws as they now exist, it will happen and it will happen with an AK-15 which is legal to buy and legal to sell.

Pueblo, Colorado is a spot on the map.   So is Las Vegas.  So was Columbine.  So was Sandy Hook.  And on and on.  It is always too soon to talk.  No!  It is not too soon...it is too late!  People are burying their children.  They should be celebrating the little accomplishments, but that hope is gone.  Nothing is taken for granted any more.  This has got to stop and it has to start with you!  One small voice crying in the darkness.  One will soon become 2.  Two will grow and a movement against the laws of this land will begin.  It has too.  It will not start in Washington, because those bastards are bought and paid for.  It has to start here in our town.  In our county.

If you want to pray about something, pray that we can gain control of our country and make it a safe place for our kids to live.  The things they face on a daily basis like bullying, hunger, discrimination, homework and peer pressure are bad enough without having to worry about being shot dead because someone just wanted to make a statement.

And if you want to pray about something that hasn't happened yet, pray your baby comes home tonight.

Learning to let go is not going to be that easy.

I have been active all my life so letting go is not going to be easy.  I live in a 2400 square foot house, and trust me, every inch of it is in use.  Most of it is used for "stuff" setting around full of more "stuff" or with stuff on top of it.  I am contemplating moving into a smaller place, but that means I have to leave some of the "stuff" behind, or give it away, or burn it, or sell it.  Now some of my "stuff" is good stuff.

So some one told me I should hold an item in my hands for 20 seconds and if it does not make me happy, throw it out.  I guess I will try that.  First I am going to pick up those 2 little toys on the computer desk and then go put them in the Jiraiya toy box because I know he is happy having them there.  My biggest problem seems to be in just deciding where to begin.  I could start on this desk, but that is not going to work because this is all important stuff.  Most important is that damned cat laying in the middle of everything.  But you must understand, she loves me and wants to be a part of everything I do.  She also likes to go way up high and bat stuff off onto the floor.

I could go start at the front door.  First we have a bag of clothes for Sister Nancy.  Then a small table that holds 6 egg cartons for Penny, mail I will probably never read and a bag of crochet that I carry when I go sit with someone.  Next is 4 milk crates of books that belong to PFLAG which will go to thier new home soon.  Very soon.  I have a card table, and a drafting table and 2 sewing machines in the corner.......

The point is, it is not just a matter of holding it for 20 seconds.  It is a matter of which part of my life is that item going to be used as a vital part later on today.  I should go down stairs and start digging there.  I have a box of basket weaving stuff that I absolutely had to have and then never touched after I bought it.  I want to give that to Erica, but first I have to find it.  I have giant gourds that I have had for most of my adult life that I am going to do something with any minute.  And if I can just find that box containing every Workbasket magazine ever published, I can put it on ebay and retire on the profits.  

I am sorry.  The 20 second second  rule is just not going to work for me.  I have a second plan that will no doubt be more condusive to my way of life.  I am going to get old and die.  The kids can come in here and do the 20 second thing and I am sure they are not connected to this shit like I am.  But then again, there is the possibility that they may actually see a use for all this stuff and they can take it home.  Course I am not sure any of them have room for 2 floor looms, 4 sergers, 5 sewing machines, a 6 needle embroidery machine, 7,000 bolts of fabric and 11, 426 spools of thread.  But I could be wrong.  

So here is the plan.  I am going to publish this blog and if I have anything you are interested in, give me a call.  Otherwise, I will be setting right in the middle of the whole mess wondering just where my things took possession of me rather than me possessing them.  

So having once more foiled myself in my desire to empty out this house and move into an efficiency  apartment in town, I will go have a Happy Valentine's Day coffee at Starbucks with my friend Nancy and buy 3 bags of goose food for the 8 geese out back that would never fit in the kitchen in town.  Oh, and the dog and cat seem to be at home here.  

But maybe some day.  Just not going to happen today.

So now what?

I am very naïve.  I have insurance on my car.  Full coverage to be exact.  I never use it.  I just have it.  My son bought an older car second car for 2 reasons.  First they needed an automatic because they needed a car for Amanda to drive since she does not drive a stick.  And his car gets like 13 miles to the gallon.  They live in Florence and he works in Pueblo and goes to the PCC here.

This was all working well and life was looking good until he was leaving work and some yoyo ran a stop sign, broadsided him and spun him head on into a third car.  Bret's car was totaled.  Of course Mr. Yoyo got a ticket.  His insurance called Bret that night and told him they would get him a rental car until they could replace his car.  Medical bills would be taken car of.  Well, here we are on the third week.  No, they do not pay medical.  No rental car has been forth coming and no one seems to want to talk to Bret.

So some one out there should be able to tell us what the next step is.  We called our lawyer, but he is not interested unless there is a big medical bill.  Since the kid HAS to work, and he HAS to go to school he really does not have time to be doctoring.  Life does go on.  And he needs another car that is dependable and gets good gas mileage like the one he had before someone totally ruined it.  I guess I am looking for a voice of experience to tell us what course to take rather then just set here and wish we knew what to do.

Any ideas?

Now I remember!

When I started out the other day, I had what I wanted to say in my little pea brain, but then I wandered off on a tangent and never made it back.  See,  think we are all descended down from a very long line.  Some where in our genes is every ancestor back through the beginning combined to make us who we are.  I also think that all of those genes are still living.

Like have you ever met someone and had an immediate connection with that person?  It is like you have always known them on some level even if you have no idea who they are or anything about them.  Have you ever walked into some place and knew on some level that you had been there before, but you knew you had not and you had never been in that area before, yet there it was and you knew when you went in the next room what you would find.

Much like a food, that although you have never eaten it, you know you do not like it.  And if you pick up a pen to write and have no idea what you are going to write, but soon the words begin to flow and the page is full.  By instinct you know that a rattlesnake is bad news.  You may have never seen one, but immediately you know what it is and you move away.  Same with a black widow spider.  They look harmless, but they strike terror in your heart.  Maybe some where deep in the recesses of your mind you have dealt with this stuff.

Most of us know that babies are helpless, but very soon they are reaching for stuff, moving toward things and then crawling and running.  We do not have to tell them to do this.  It comes from there inner voice.

I have an aversion to water.  Big bodies of water terrify me.  Why?  Who knows what went on back in my lineage.  I know my ancestors came over on a boat from Germany.  I know uncle Goll fell into a ditch in Dittengren, Germany when he was a tiny bay in his stroller.  Could that be what gives me my fear?

Just some thoughts before I go to bed.  Let me know what you think about my theory.  Sleep tight!