Happy Birthday Delbert Leroy Bartholomew!

On your left is Jake, on the right is Josephine and there in the middle is little old me.  I must have been almost a year old there.  See the loaded hayrack in the back?  That means it was harvest and the year was 1942 in the fall, right before my birthday.  Jake and I were born 4 years and 4 days apart.

I do not know how he came to be known as "Jake", but I do not ever remember calling him Delbert.  He was kicked in the face by a horse named "Star" when he was 9 or 10.  I recall when my father brought that horse home one night.  It was late.  It was dark and he was drunk.  And mother was pissed.  In all fairness, Star was not a horse, but a Shetland Pony and Shetland Ponies were mean by nature.  Star nearly kicked the side out of the trailer before he even got unloaded.  

It was just wonderful having a pony!  I say that with the utmost sarcasm, because to the best of my knowledge no one ever rode that pony.  No one ever petted that pony.  We fed him.  We fed him a lot!  I lived in mortal terror of being bit by those big yellow teeth.  I think in the back of my mind I know that Dad was a gambling man as well as a drinking man and he won that horse in a poker game.  Not real sure who the winner was in that deal, but it is what it is and we had a horse from hell for a pet.

I was trying to tell you about my brother and I see I got side tracked.  Life does that to me a LOT.  So, I only had the one brother growing up and it was Jake.  He snuck off to join the Army when he was 16.  He crossed off the date of his birth which was 1937 and wrote in 1935.  Of course, since the recruiting officer was neither blind nor stupid, he took one look at Jake, whose face was covered with peach fuzz since he was not old enough to shave, and called mother.  He did join the Army 2 years later.  He served in Germany.  He came home, fell in love and got married.  Got divorced and got married again.  Got separated and searched for happiness where ever he could find it.

Some where out in this cold cruel world are 2 sons of his.  Mother kept in touch with the oldest and we never heard anything  of the youngest.  That lady moved to Missouri.  I will probably go to my grave not knowing what became of them, but so it goes.  On the day Jake died, my middle daughter, Dona Marie turned 1 year old.  Sam was 26 days old.  That was a dark time in my life and we know how those times affect us later down the road.

On October 29, he and a friend were coming home from work on country roads.  They ran a stop sign and hit the side of a loaded gravel truck on the highway.  I do not know who was driving.  I do not want to know.  I saw him that night in McPherson Hospital.  He was unconscious. He died the next morning.

I like to think I have put my dark times behind me, but I haven't.  Hopefully I am dealing with this better then I used to.  There was a time when October 5th entailed a bottle of whiskey and a beer chaser, but I have not done that for years.  And since I am dealing with my new reality, I am going to look back on his birthday as a cause for celebration.  So here goes:

He was born and he held my hand while I learned to walk.  He taught me to ride a bike.  He hit me in the head with a turnip when I was very small.  He went to the Army and wrote me every week.  He sent me a Brownie Camera from Germany.  We listened to the Grand Ole Opry on a car radio on Saturday nights.  He introduced me to my first husband, the father of my children.  He died, but he never left my thoughts.  

I had a brother.  My life would not have been complete without him and today I celebrate that God gave me the most wonderful brother in the world, Delbert Leroy Bartholomew, known to the rest of the world as "Shakey Jake!"  Some day I will see him again and he will be in that same pair of overalls and hopefully Hank Williams will be picking on his guitar.

If he had lived, what would his life have been?  I know he joined the church just 2 weeks before he died.  I know his friend who was in the truck with him, Johnny Rogers passed away the day after we buried Jake.

Rest in Peace in the arms of Jesus, my beloved!

Happy Birth Day to Samuel Rueben Seeger!!

Many years ago in a land far away, lived a simple woman who dreamed some day she would have a son and she knew she would name him Samuel Rueben.  The first year she had a daughter and named her Debra Louann.  The next year she had a daughter and named her Patricia Lynn.  The third year she had a daughter and named her Dona Marie.  The fourth year she had a son and when she told the sister in the Catholic Hospital in the Catholic town his name was Samuel Rueben they gasped and crossed themselves and told her that could not happen.  Samuel Rueben was a Jewish name and she was a Protestant.  She insisted.  Now you need a little background on this simple creature so here it is....

Back in those days religions were set in stone.  She was not Catholic.  She was not Jewish.  She was not anything in particular, which made her a Protestant.  Back then it mattered.  Her husband came to the hospital to peer at the baby boy through the glass and his work was done.  He would be back to get her in 5 days.  He did not care what it's name was so she was alone in her protestations that the name was Samuel Rueben.  The sisters refused to write the name.  Finally, the day came to leave and the baby had no name.  She knew she had to do something so she named him Earl Edward, but in her heart he was Sam.  They let her go home with the baby now that it had a "proper name."

Her husband was stunned that the baby was not named Samuel Rueben, but Earl was his given name, so he accepted that.  It was 4 months before her mother asked the baby's name.

"What is the baby's name?  I know it is Samuel, but Samuel what?"

"His name is Earl Edward."  And thus came the tear filled confession that she had let the Catholic sisters bully her into naming him something besides Samuel Rueben.

Never was the baby ever called Earl by anyone.  He was called Sam.  It is now 54 years later and he is known in the work place as Sam.  He is known at home as Sam.  He went to school as Sam and Earl Edward is only used on legal papers like wills and such.  He was named after his father who was Earl, but he called him Sam.

You might ask why I did not insist on putting it on his birth certificate, but you would have to have known me back then.  I was a very weak person back then and second guessed everything I did.  I tried to please everyone around me.  I still fight a daily battle to know that I am really worth something in this world.  It is called co-dependency and is a complicated little personality disorder.  I read books on it.  I went to a couple meetings on it.  It is very common in conjunction with living with an alcoholic.  I married 3 alcoholics in rapid succession and divorced them in rapid succession before I decided it was my problem and not theirs.  People who know me now just think I am an overbearing b----, and they may very well be correct.  That is alright.  Some people actually like me!

So there you have it...Another confession from the warped mind of Lou Mercer.  The more I write about things, the more I understand myself.  Hopefully, some day, I will no longer be a work in progress, but will be a normal person with normal wants and needs.  When that day comes, I hope I am no longer afraid of spiders, because I gotta' tell you, that is a big one!

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference."

Welcome to day 3 of the worst month of the year.

I am setting here listening to the fans running in the bathroom where the now defunct washer sets and in the bedroom downstairs where the water eventually stopped.  Last night the washer float stuck.  Since nobody was paying attention, it continued to over flow until Mike went down stairs and found water gushing from the ceiling into his tool box.  That got our attention.

I stood in ankle deep water to unplug the washer and turn off the cold water valve.  Yes, God is good or I would be a fried tomato today.  Now I face a day of dealing with the insurance company and hoping that this can be taken care of in a timely manner.  I want so bad to put the little Laugh Out Loud emoji here, because I do not think "over flowing water" and "the ceiling of the basement" an ever be a good thing.  It would be nice if it would just dry up and go away, but I hear little voices in my head saying "wet dry wall", "black mold" and things like that.  And no where in this scenario do I see the words "timely manner" appear.

But here is the deal, it is what it is.  No way around it.  I just flashed back to my second husband when I used the words "It is what it is".  That hit a chord in his brain that turned him into a raving lunatic, but there in again, "It is what it is."  Back to my dilemma. Today is the day I had planned to freeze my Pueblo Chile so I can have lots of green chile when company comes.  They count on it.  I will see how long the insurance guy takes.

I do have a theory, though.  I think dark thoughts draw bad Karma.  Rather then dwell on how bad October is, I need to concentrate on the good October brings.  First my birthday.  Surely I have made someone happy some where and so rather then railing against my birth, I should actually be celebrating.  Tomorrow is Sam's birthday and while all my kids have been blessings, he is the man child who will take care of me in my old age.  Yes, we will do it that way!  I am not going to be sad, I am going to be happy.

I will deal with my brother's birthday in just a couple days and this year I am going to only find good in it.  Watch for that one on Saturday.  I loved that boy and think of him every day.

Now for good thoughts on the flood of last night.  That damn floor was needing cleaned any way and it got a very good cleaning last night! I used all my towels to soak up the water and now have no washer to wash them in, but it is what it is.  There is a laundromat some where that will welcome my business,

 So I am going to pick up chile's today and deal with the insurance and thank my God above for mopping the floor!

Peace to all!  It is going to be a beautiful day!

And so it begins.

Happy Birthday to me, yesterday.  Just about everybody else my age is dead.  Gives me a lot to look forward to, doesn't it?  Those of you who follow my blog have probably figured out that I have a small problem with depression.  Not many people in my everyday world have figured that out.  This week marks my birthday, my only surviving brother in law's birthday, my son's birthday and ends on the 5th with my brother's birthday.  My brother has been gone 54 years.  I still remember it like it was yesterday.  It never gets better.

I remember the day I married my first husband (October 30)  and my last husband (December 23).  I remember the date the last husband passed but not the first one.  I have a mental block about a lot of things and that is probably the only thing that actually saves my sanity.  I just know I hate the whole month of October.  Unlike a lot of people, I tend to grieve inwardly so nobody knows.  I may be talking to you about the most mundane thing in the world and I am smiling, but I am seeing Jake standing in front of me with his lopsided grin and the scar on his right cheek.  I am hearing Hank Williams wailing in the background.  WSM from Nashville every Saturday night. It never goes away.

I realize blogs like this make my kids sad, because I am sad, but what they need to remember is this is my past.  I was not always their mother.  I have to deal with this on a daily basis.  I do not want sympathy, I just want understanding.  I will be alright.  Where there is life there is hope.  I do not need to go out and eat.  I do not need flowers, I just need my time.  This will pass.  It always does.

This month, I am undertaking a new kind of volunteer work.  It is not like Hospice where every client ends up dying.  It is one that involves dealing with people who are actually trying to get off the streets and into a home of their own.  I am not sure where this path will lead me, but I am going to go slow and find out.  Usually I jump in with both feet and tilt at windmills, but not this time.  Someone will lead and I will follow.

So, as I deal with my demons this month, be patient with me.  I have a theory that God is not through shaping me yet and I am sure of one thing:  God knows what he is doing and he is going to bring me out on the other side a lot better person than I was before.

He has a way of doing that, you know!

It is time to talk about that damn cell phone.

"And God saw the earth, that it was good.  And he created man...." and had it stopped there, we could have all lived happily ever after, but he did not.  He gave us a brain and free will.  And the cell phone!  And he did it pretty much in that order.

I remember back before Strong Street in Nickerson, we lived in a little 4 room house on a road with no name in the Ailmore house.  It was a little square house with a combination living/dining room, kitchen, and 2 bedrooms.  Dad always had his own room and us kids slept like little sardines in iron frame beds with cotton stuffed mattresses and covered up with wool blankets.  It was during World War II I am thinking.  The floors were wooden planks.  No linoleum for us.  I went out the back door and into the pump house to take turns with Jake pumping water for the old cow who gave us milk.  The outhouse was off to the left of that.  I am not sure it had a door, but that is not relevant to this story.  I am hear to tell you about the Lord inventing cell phones and how it has changed my life.

We had a wooden box phone on the wall and I wished to hell I had it today.  I could sell it and retire.  The point here is if some one wanted to talk to us they picked up the receiver and Mrs. Humphrey (and that was her name) said "Number please."  You told her the number and she plugged your cord into the number you wanted.  Lines were crackly, but you were connected.  Over the years this has changed and we now poke in the number we want and the connection is made.  Not  good enough.

We now have "cell phones".  These things have evolved until every one is now connected with a "smart phone."  We can call any where to any where else on our smart phones.  We can speak into the belly of the smart phone and send a text message.  Or make a reservation on a plane to nowhere.  Or set an alarm to wake us up in 7 minutes.  Or watch a movie.  Or listen to music.  Get direction to some obscure place.  Well, maybe you can.  Me, not so much!

I can find the button to turn mine on.  I have yet to find the button to turn it off.  Or the volume key, so I can hear it ring.  I can see a tiny little thing flashing and some one said, "Oh, you have a message."  Well that message shall die with the phone.  I can not see the tiny little icons well enough to decipher what they are without my glasses and by the time I find my glasses the screen has safely hidden itself and  God only knows where.  When it rings, I think it is my stomach growling because I can not hear it.  Well, unless I am in church or some place quiet and then that sucker can make a sound like a tug boat in a foggy bay.

My house phone has now been relegated to the humble job of finding the damn cell phone so I can put it in my purse where in can flash and carry one like a new puppy in a field of daisies.  I call it and if it is turned on and I can actually hear it ring I can then see the message "8 missed calls."  With luck I can find the "missed call list" and find out the 8 calls were me looking for the damn phone.  You know I would throw the damn thing in the river if I thought it would stay there, but it has a life of it's own.

And now it is almost 5 o'clock in the morning and I just realized I do not know where that evil little piece of plastic is located.  I like to think I don't care, but what if I missed a call?  What if someone wanted to actually talk to me?  What if someone needed ME! So, I am going to go see if I can find it and turn it off.  That is assuming I know how to do that and that it will let me!

Have a good day!

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: It is time to talk about ghosts.

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: It is time to talk about ghosts.: I have been kicking dirt around this planet for over 7 decades now (assuming a decade is 10 years.)  I have seen many things and been many ...

It is time to talk about ghosts.

I have been kicking dirt around this planet for over 7 decades now (assuming a decade is 10 years.)  I have seen many things and been many places, and not all of them made a lot of sense; ghosts being one of those.  I am here to tell you about my encounters.

When Earl D and I were first married he was a fly by night tree trimmer and we traveled Kansas.  He gave an honest day's work for honest pay, but we moved around a lot.  My first ghost encounter occurred out side of Burlingame ( I think) near Topeka.  We stayed in a motel located on the Marais des Cygnes River.  While he and his brothers were working I liked to go fish off the bank which was very near the motel.  That was some good cat fishing I am hear to tell you.  We had an electric skillet and could cook in our room, so it was all good.

It must have been the second week we were there he did not make it home from the bar, which was located about 100 feet from our room.  I decided to go to bed.  I woke up about an hour later to a cold hand gripping my throat.  This scared hell out of me.  I threw the covers back and slid to the edge of the bed.  I could not make my legs work.  I flipped the light switch and nothing happened.  But that cold hand still gripped my neck.  I can relive that encounter over in my mind and at no point does it ever make sense.  The whole encounter lasted only a few moments, but when Duane walked through the door it abruptly ended.  I was so white and shaken it scared even him.  We left there soon after because I was afraid to stay alone.  What ever I encountered that night was pure evil.  It was cold and I was afraid.

That was my first and only ghost encounter until now.  A couple weeks ago, my grandson asked who had the code to the house.  You and me!  He then told me that he had come home earlier that day and some one was in here.  What did they look like?  He never actually seen them, but he knew he was not alone and they left right away.  (Strains of Close Encounters ran through my mind.)  Fast forward to Saturday night.

Mike had told me he would not be home Friday or Saturday.  Saturday night at 12:10 I heard the front door open and and close.  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and I decided he must have changed his mind.  It sounded like 2 people instead of just one.  That was strange.  The next morning I got up and Mike's car was not out front.  That was strange.  I then figured he must of came home and picked something up.  About 8:00 the front door opened and Mike came in.  No, he had not been home since Thursday.  No, he did not come in last night and leave.

It was then that he reminded me of his encounter with nothing a couple weeks ago.  He thought I might have been asleep and dreamed it, but I knew what time it had happened because I had just made my nightly potty break and I was awake.

So this is where we now stand.  I am not living here alone.  The presence seems to be a friendly one, which is good.  Someone at church suggested I have someone come and "smudge my house."  Not going to do that either.  If it was that ghost I encountered in Northeast Kansas, I would probably burn the house down, because that one felt evil.  This one does not.  Maybe it is someone who just wants to be sure I am alright.

So I am going to do nothing.  I just wondered if any of you have had this sort of experience?  If you have, message me on facebook so we can talk.

Sock hop, Convention Hall, Hutchinson, Kansas , 1957

Back in 1957, a boy walked up to me and asked me "What is your front name? "  I thought that was strange, but I told him "Louella ".  His front name was "Corky."

Oh, to return to that year!  I was 16 years old.  American Bandstand was the goal of everyone of us little teeny boppers back then.  The most important item of attire back then was a clean pair of bobbi sox, a full skirt and crinoline petticoats.  My dancing partner was Corky Dipman and we won every time we danced.  I loved Corky with my whole heart and had I died in my 16th year, I would have left behind the perfect world.  The highlight of that summer was when Corky took me to Wichita to Joyland amusement park.  The fact that we rode so many rides that I ended up barfing from the top of the Roundup, was not enough to dim the memory of that day.  The fact that we skipped school to go and were the only ones there made it even more wonderful.

I went back to Wichita many years later and found Joyland abandoned and rusting.  The carousel  horses were gone from the Merry Go Round,  and the tracks for the Roller Coaster were rusted and twisted.  Tumble weeds grew where our feet had walked.  I could still hear the laughter and see Corky smile.  Ah, the days of sand and shovels!

I think he was my first boyfriend and I do not know why we broke up.  I think he actually started going with a girl who had more to offer then flying feet.  I think I may have become interested in home brew that my new friend LaVeta had to offer.  And she knew lots of boys from Sterling, Kansas and they were not jocks.  I never much liked the sports scene and the boys with the letter jackets even back then.  I did like the home brew and the cigarettes, though.

Shorthand was my favorite subject in school.  I envisioned myself being a secretary and I loved the shorthand tablets.  What I liked best was the size and that the back cardboard cover had all the shorthand symbols printed for me just in case I forgot.  I still have that kind of tablet for notes, but they no longer contain the shorthand symbols and that is kind of sad.  I never did master the typewriter.  One girl in class could actually type over 90 (?) wpm.  That means "words per minute."  I think 24 was the best I could do.  Sadly, to be a secretary in any place that mattered, one had to be proficient in both typing and shorthand.  Alas!

Sadly, school held little fascination for me and I envisioned a life full of rainbows and butterflies.  Well, you see how that turned out, don't you?  I started my restaurant career with my hands buried in a sink full of dirty dishes.  I dreamed then of being a waitress.  When I moved up the chain to waitress, I dreamed of being the cook.  I finally became the cook.  And the baker and cake decorator. Now I am a seamstress!  Go figure!

But, as I look back on my life, it was good.  It was all good.  Even the bad parts were good.  My name went from Louella Beth to Lou Mercer.

My oldest daughter always said "What don't kill you, will make you strong."  Lot of wisdom in that girl.  Maybe I never made it to American Bandstand with Dick Clark, but I made it this far in life and that right there is about the best I can hope for.  I figure American Bandstand made it a lot of years without me for a reason.

I think God had other plans for this little girl.  Not real sure what they were, but here's hoping I did whatever I was put here to do.  If not, I hope I get it done pretty damn quick!  

Coming to a close?

As I enter this last quarter of the year, I also enter a time that makes me sad.  It begins with my birthday, and then Jake's birthday 4 days later.  2 of my kids were born in October.  My brother died in October.  I got a divorce or 2 in October, but most of my divorces were good things.  Actually, all of them were good things.  Mother always said that old people, and sick people are like the leaves on the tree.   People die in the fall when the leaves fall from the tree.  Actually, people seem to be dying around me with an amazing regularity.  Not all of them are old, but a lot of them are.  I guess I am old so I may be in this years Autumn leaf drop.  Maybe, maybe not.  I just know fall is my least favorite season and October is my least favorite month.

Mother died in the Springtime; Kenny in the Winter.  The point is, death is becoming a regular visitor and I do not like that.  I have one sister left.  No brothers, no uncles, no aunts.  I am now the older generation and I do not like that.  I used to have someone to guide me and lead me and teach me the things to say and do, but now I fly by the seat of my pants and my wisdom is not always the best.  There was a time I could spout wisdom and Bible verses and quote the leader of the day.  Now, I just don't seem to give a damn.  My time is mostly spent moving stuff from one pile to another in anticipation of some day having a garage sale and getting rid of enough junk that I could possibly move into a small place in town.  That and napping through Jeopardy! is about the extent of my ambition.  Good thing I am good at napping, because that is about all I am good for.

At one point I thought I would write a sequel to my first book, but I have been stuck on chapter 5 for 4 years now and every time I think about picking it up, I have to reread the whole thing to jog my memory and then it is time for another nap.  It seems to be a vicious circle.

At one point I thought I should start dating, but I expect way to much out of a man.  First, he has to be neat, which I am not.  He has to be ambitious enough to want to take me for a walk, but able to understand that I am not broken to a leash.  Opening car doors is nice.  I would love to go dancing.  That is something I did all my life, until Kenny.  Poor little guy, had not a lick of rhythm in his whole body, so dancing was out.  Not sure I remember how to do that anymore, but I would love to try.  Conversation is a must.  I love to talk and I love to listen.  That does not mean I will remember anything that was said, but something might find fertile ground.

I do not know how I made the leap from my dread of October to dating, but I did!  I do my best thinking early in the morning and now it is going on 8:00 AM so I have pretty much shot my wad for the day.  Oh, well, maybe tomorrow will be better.  In the meantime, here is a poem that somebody, some where wrote and some teacher made me memorize it.  It has a lot of wisdom in it, so take it for what it is worth.

"The wise old owl sat on the oak.
The more he saw, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke the more he heard.
We should all try to be like that wise old bird." 

Holy crap! Can you say arachniphobia?

I know humans in other parts of this world will not understand the phobia that is now in process here in southwest Colorado,  but I do and it strikes fear in my heart and causes me to stick a little closer to the inside of the house.  To make it short, I am scared shitless of spiders.  That fear is known as arachnophobia. Right now the Tarantula migration is in progress and if you think I am going to venture very far from this sanctuary I call home, you are sadly mistaken. I just watched a news cast that only adds fuel to my already Saint Vitus dance fear.  The lady was explaining how the Comanche National Grassland is home to thousands and thousands of Oklahoma Brown Tarantulas'.

Now she explained how sweet they are.  They are not really migrating, but they are looking for a mate and then they will hatch out a whole bunch more of these things.  Their biggest enemy is a thing called a Tarantula Hawk.  (That vision ought to make me sleep better at night.)  The Tarantula Hawk is actually a giant wasp and it swopes down and paralyzes the spider, drags it to the burrow and lays eggs in it's back.  It also feeds on the live, paralyzed spider for weeks while the eggs are hatching.  Gross!

I have always been scared spitless of spiders and the list of which ones I am scared of more then others varies from which one I am seeing at the moment.  I did see a Tarantula crossing the road up on 25th lane once.  I did swerve to miss it, not out of compassion for the spider, but I was afraid the car would turn over if I hit it or worse yet if I straddled it, the thing might jump up on the crankcase and make it's way into my car and then there would be a lot more screaming going on!  I am pretty sure that they creep around this house when I am not looking, but I am alright with that as long as they do not let me see them, but if one wants to wave his legs around there is going to be some blood curdling screams emitted from the depths of my soul.  I do not know if they have ears or not and for the most part I really do not care.

My fear list begins with spiders and then comes centipedes, followed by snakes.  Rabid dogs and bats are alright as are most birds.  I do buy my insecticide by the gallon.  See, all that stuff belongs outside and my two lower levels tend to be pretty much a toxic waste dump.  I gave up my garden because I saw a snake under one of the squash plants.  I am here to tell you people that I may not be normal, but I do love most of you and I am a compassionate person at times.  That having been said, I shall start my day and see where it goes from here.

If you want to see the migration, you need to drive out to La Junta and head towards Trinidad.  I will not be joining you.

 Here is the link.

How would you like to live in my head?

I woke up this morning with this song by Frankie Laine playing in my head and  thinking of when I left my first husband.  I do not for the life of me know why he had picked this song out of all the songs in circulation to describe me.  I certainly did not feel like a temptress of any sort as I loaded my worldly belongings in the trunk of a green 1957 (?) Chevrolet Belair.  Nor did I shine with pride as I backed the car down the driveway .  All the kids were jumping up and down in the back seat.  As I look back on that day I realize just how many things have changed.

I would be required by law to have everyone of them in a car seat.  That is a good thing that has happened.  I stopped and filled the car with gas and then pulled onto 50 Hwy heading east.  There were several stops along the road so the kids could pee.  Tiny bladders do not understand waiting until a rest area is available.  That was alright, because traffic was light at that time.  Very few cars were going any distance and we were on a 200 mile trip.  At some point I pulled out a package of bologna and a loaf of bread and we had a picnic.  And that evening we pulled into my mothers yard.  My new life was beginning.  Thank God for my mother.

The next morning I faced the fact that I was now on my own and I had a family that needed both a place to live and food to eat.  I knew my husband would not help me in any way.  In his reasoning, I was the one who wanted out, so it was my responsibility to provide a place to live and everything that this little brood of mine required.  I had no skills and no training, but I did have a will to work.

Years ago I had worked at Skaets Steak Shop as a dishwasher, so I went there.  I was immediately hired so I had my foot in the door. I knew if I was going to survive that I could not do it on a dishwashers wages.  So a part of my first paycheck went to purchase a white uniform.  That was standard attire for a waitress back then.  White uniform and white "waitress" shoes.  And a bottle of shoe polish.  With those things in hand I went into the Red Rooster Restaurant and told them I was experienced.  I was hired on the spot.

So I waitressed at the Red Rooster in the day and Skaets at night.  It was at the Red Rooster  that I met a young man who would turn out to be a very good friend of mine and teach me acceptance of all things.  We remained friends until his death.  It is because of Gibby that I became an AIDS activist. I have always thought people are placed in our lives for a reason and we will learn from them if we are open.

Soon I had money to rent a little house.  Working 2 full time jobs left me in a stupor most of the time.  So on my way home one day and on the spur of the moment, I stopped at the Red Carpet Resturant.  I knew waitress work did not pay as steady as cook wages, so I applied for a cook's postition.  I had never even been near a grill in my life, but being a good liar, I landed the job.  I quit the Red Rooster and Skaets Steak Shop and went full time at the Red Carpet.  That job actually paid insurance!  I worked from 2 until 10 at night.  Fry cook was fast, hard work and I loved it.  But I knew that the heart of any restaurant rested in the hands of the dinner cook.  That was my next move.  When Emily quit I stepped into her shoes.

It was then that I learned how to cook in quantity.  I was still fry cook and cooked the orders, but I also made all the gravies, sauces, potatoes, and home cooked meals.  I also made the dinner rolls, cinnamon rolls, hash browns, French fries and anything else required to fill the steam table.  I came back at night and backed up the fry cook.  I hired a live in girl to watch the kids.  Now, this is all background and has nothing to do with what I had on my mind when I started this entry.  I was thinking about uniforms.

When I go into a restaurant now, it is anybody's guess what the cook or the waitress (or wait person) will be wearing.  Usually it is some sort of t-shirt or shirts that have a logo on them.  Back in the day, the waitress could have left the place of preparing and serving food and gone to work at her second job as a nurse.  Waitresses wore clean, white, starched uniforms.  They wore white, polished, lace up shoes.  Sometimes the owner furnished an apron with the logo of the place on it.  Nurses wore little white hats and that was the only difference.  Time was spent every night getting the uniform ready for the next days work.  A dingy uniform would get you sent home.  A spot that would not come out better be painted with shoe polish, because a spot meant you were dirty and you were a food handler after all.

Oh, and the smoking thing!  Every table, booth or stool had an ash tray.  Some times the blue smoke hung in the air until I thought I would choke.  It was better when I was cooking because I could keep the ash tray on the shelf between the grill and the french fryier.  The smoke was pulled up into the exhaust fan and if I was careful and did not drop ashes on the grill it was a good day.

 As you know, that all changed and the ash trays are now collectors items.  White uniforms are not to be seen any where and the white shoes are definitely a thing of the past.  The kids are grown and gone.  The husband is long since deceased.

But my mind still clings to the old days.  I go back home and my sister and her partner own Skaets Steak Shop.  I watch the cook and I watch the waitresses and I wonder if I could work an 8 hour shift now.  I rather doubt it.  They do tell me that anytime I want to move back they will find a place for me.  That gives me pause, but I think I am better off just staying here where I am and doing whatever it is I do.  At least when my back hurts I can set in my chair and when my head nods and I dose off, nobody is disappointed.

By all intents and purposes I should be lonely, but I am not.  I have the cat and the dog.  I have the geese and the weeds.  I have the sun in the morning and the moon at night.  ( I guess you know to click on anything underlined and printed in blue.)

The dog, the cat and the little old lady.

OK.  You win!  I suddenly came to the realization that I have become a little old lady who talks to her dog.  Not only do I talk to the dog, but I speak in complete, grammatically correct sentences.  And that is not the worst part.  What suddenly caught my attention was when I found myself waiting for the dog to answer.  Now I have always talked to the cat, but the cat and I have a special relationship.  The dog is a different matter.

You see, cat's are people oriented  and can in reality go crazy if they are closed up with no human contact.  They appear to be very aloof and not in need of human companionship, but they are phonies to the max.  My cat sleeps with me.  All night in the bed, just she and I.  In the morning I give her a treat for being such a good cat ant we then set down at the computer to write or check ebay or what ever.  She sets on the keyboard.  She is very independent, but clingy at the same time.  It is hard to type when she is stretched out on the keyboard, but it can be done.  I know if I try to move her I am going to get bit.  That is just a given.  It is best to let her get tired of laying on the keyboard and wander off to some other time and place.

The dog is another story.  He is currently at my feet and wide awake.  When I peer down at him he cocks his little head.  Sometimes I move my lips and he thinks I am talking and he can't hear me.  I always feel a little guilty when I do that because he is such a devoted little cuss and he does not want to miss a word.  (God grant me the ability to say something intelligent from time to time so the dog does not lose faith in me.)

Now, I know I have a lot of friends out there so I am going to ask you a question and I want an honest answer.  Do you talk to your animals?  If so, what do you talk about?  Do you think your animals understand what you are saying?  I have noticed that when I talk to the cat, I have a more moderate and mellow voice and I discuss mostly political stuff or church stuff or things that really don't matter.

It is different with the dog.  I become more animated and the dog gets more excited.  I can actually get him to jump around by changing the inflections in my voice.  If I speak in a monotone, the dog just looks at me, but if I appear excited, he starts to jump around.

From all of this I have drawn one conclusion...I really need to get a life.  Maybe I need a boyfriend.  Now I am rethinking the boyfriend.  I am a little old for that.  Man friend.  But not to old.  And he is sure going to have to like dogs and cats.  Oh, yeah and geese.  And the neighbors goats.  And I hope he can cook and carry on a two sided conversation. Or at least beat me at Jeopardy! occasionally.  Or at least be a gracious loser.

It has been a really long day.

Modern technology may be my downfall.

I just came through a weekend that was very trying.  On Friday my cell phone decided to freeze up.  Being tech savvy, (sort of anyway) I took the battery out and left it on the counter for 10 minutes.  I then put it back in and closed the cover.  Nothing.  I changed chargers and charged it some more.  All this time I got absolutely nothing except the name of the phone on the front.  I tried taking the battery out again.  I held the power key down.  Nothing worked.  I did not panic because I still had the house phone.   And then it rained on Saturday evening.

Now the house phone did not work.  That happens every time we have a deluge.  No problem.  I still had the Internet.  I contacted Century Link and told them I had no house phone.  They made arrangements to come on Tuesday and asked for a way to communicate, meaning an alternate phone number.  It is hard to explain to some one that you are telling them via chat that you have no phone they can call.  So I gave them Mikie's number knowing full well he would be out of town with no way to contact me.  But they asked.

I was still able to communicate via facebook.  For the first time in my life I was really thankful for social media.  Monday morning I got up knowing I still had facebook.  Not!  The Internet was now down.  Luckily the phone line had dried out and I now had that means of communication.  And then God sent me a miracle.  The house phone now had a dial tone!  Course the cell phone was laying there with it's guts spread across the counter and the word "Pantech" glowing on the screen.

As luck would have it, by the time I got back from town I had a message on the house phone that the technician would be able to come a day early!  And the Internet was back up.  Sadly the cell phone had now lost even it's name.  To make a long story short, the Century Link man came and I explained about the phone going dead when it rains.  He worked some of his magic up on the corner and said that should take care of that problem.  And I now have a direct line to call for help.  Hooray.

You should know that I never gave up on the cell phone.  I kept fiddling with it and holding different buttons.  At one point I actually got a message in tiny, tiny type that said "Do you want to reboot your phone?"  Oh, hell yes!  I was able to select my option and immediately a big picture of a forest came up and the words, "YOU ARE ENTERING AREA 51 (or o57) DO YOU WANT TO CONTINUE?"  I pressed the power key to select and that was the last thing the phone ever did.  Apparently it is out there some where doing something.

I called the cell phone carrier and by the end of the week I will have a new phone.  Hooray!  And last night my son called.  I told him about my problems and when I explained that the cell phone was toast he said "Do you have a smart phone?"  I told him "It can't be very damn smart because it can not turn itself on!"

He thought I should do a blog about this, so here it is.  Today I am content with only some of my technology working.  I have a house phone.  I have the Internet.  I have a dog and a cat.  I feel like Judy Garland!      https://youtu.be/SrUuHutYlj8

Have a good one.

South of Nickerson?

When dad worked for John Britain, it seems like the farm was South of Nickerson.  When I look at a map of anywhere, I immediately become directionally challenged.  Seems the only time I was sure which way I was going was when we pulled off of 50 Highway into South Hutch, crossed the river and drove North on Adams to mom's place on Jackson.  When we left Hutch to head west to Colorado, I was fine.  As long as the sun was in my eyes and I knew what time it was, I was good to go.  When we pulled into Pueblo, I was fine in my house, but when I leave, it is God only knows what direction I am headed.

So when I talk about across the river in Nickerson, I am pretty sure it was south of town.  The only time my dad had much to do with me was when he took me, and sometimes Jake, to John Britain's farm when he went to work.  It was not really a farm, it was an acreage that was used to grow crops.  The crop it grew was wheat.  When the rains came, there was a slough that filled with water and ran across the land.  Jake and I liked to play there and he built little wooden boats for me.  Jake was actually 4 years older than me.  I think his job was to keep me amused while dad was busy doing whatever it was he did.  I think it must have been either planting the wheat or getting the tractors and combines in running order for when the harvest came.

The day for going to the farm was always planned well ahead, as was the date of harvest.  I have always been fascinated with the wheat because that was at that time the mainstay of Kansas agriculture.  The fields would turn green in the springtime of the year and everyone watched the progress of the tiny green shoots.  They soon covered the ground and then began to grow upward towards the sun.  The fields were checked regularly for progress and soon the wheat would begin to "head out".   As it began to turn from green to an amber and then to dry, it was checked more often.  Dad would rub a head between his hands to determine several things.  One was how full the head was.  Another was how dry the wheat kernels were.  And then the time came that he and John determined that it was ready and harvest would be in so many days.  And then the work began.

The combine was greased and readied for the field.  Trucks were lined up and every man, woman and child had a job to do.  Dad and John ran combines.  Mother drove a truck.  I remember that one year she had to take one of the younger girls with her (I think it was Mary, but it could have been Dorothy.) She had to work.  Josephine stayed home with us younger kids.  Hell, she was just a kid herself, but that was back in the days when about the only thing to worry about was starving to death.  Jake carried fresh water to the workers.  He had to pump it with a hand pump on a well in the yard.  Somebody brought sandwiches at noon and again at night to keep the job going.  The process was slow and the old trucks crept into town and lined up with the other farm trucks to dump their grain in the elevator.  I never knew how they kept it all straight, but some how it worked.

Harvest is a damn serious business in wheat country.  I think now it has been mostly taken over by custom harvesters.  The farmers just have to be able to predict a year ahead to know when their crop will be ready.  They plant in cycles which vary by just a few days depending on who your harvester is.

Somehow it never left my mind and when I go down in the Spring, I watch to see how far along the wheat crop is.  If I go later in the fall the fields looked like they were raped.  And then winter the fields are barren.  I am not sure, but I think they used to plant in the fall and then graze cattle on it.  Then the wheat would "spool" and make double or triple the crop.  One seed would produce several stalks of wheat in the spring.  Not real sure about that because my job was to play in the dirt and watch the chickens lay eggs.

I have been gone from Kansas over half of my life, but some how I know life is going on without me.  Out here, I watch the chile pepper plants and the workers in the fields bending over in the hot sun, nurturing the plants that are so vital to this area.  Home is where the heart is and sometimes I wonder just where my heart actually lives.

It is a conundrum! 

Never let your right hand know....

"Never let your right hand know what your left hand is doing", was something my mother always said when she was imparting her wisdom to my tender ears.  She was referring to acts of kindness or charity.  We should never brag of our work.  Or at least that is what I took it to mean.

But it also applies to our world outside of the church and I never really understood what that meant until I started paying attention to our politicians and public leaders.  What brought this to my attention was a headline I just saw over on my news feed.  "Unnamed prominent person fights to keep Epstein records sealed."  Now I know what she meant!

I am pretty sure I can guess who it is, but then again, maybe not.  Oh, wait!  Do I care?  Not really.  Our politicians today are all so screwed up that it is just a matter of whose sins are bigger and how many bodies are hidden.  And all of those things are covered up and if not covered, then buried in public view.  Does anyone remember Chappaquiddick?  Watergate?  Clarence Thomas and the infamous Coke can?  Did any of that change history?  Nope.  Not one iota.  More importantly, do the participants remember what they did?  Hell no!  It is old news.

Our nation is in crisis and we are bombarded with news of pedophiles, sexual assaults, disrespect and anything to keep our minds off of what is really going on in our nation.  Our government is spending money like it was free and the upper echelon does not even pay taxes.  But we do!  We set here like a bunch of ducks in a barrel waiting to be harvested by bigger guns than our military carries, because we have our second amendment rights!  Give me an effen break!

Now I am not here to give you a lesson in morality because most of you should be old enough to know right from wrong, but it seems a lot of our leaders in this tumultuous times are keeping a lot of secrets and on an almost daily basis we read of one of our reputable leaders falling from grace.  Oh, trust me, there are a few things I did back in my wicked past that could come back to haunt me, but this would mean somebody has a way better memory than I do because I have pretty much forgotten my dark days.  That, coupled with the fact that I have out lived most of my cronies, allows me to sleep soundly at night.

Washington is a hot bed of corruption and we turn our backs and walk away.  It used to be we could "vote the rascals out", but with Russia in charge of our ballot box,  we stand little chance on that front.  But you know what I think?  I really feel that some where in this hot bed of filth that is now our government, there are a few decent people who really care.

My mother was a Republican and she was a good person, so I am sure that not all of them are bad.  But we have to research our candidates from the township election clear up to the presidential ballot.  From the city, to the county, to the state, to the federal.  Every damned one of them.  Vote like your life depended on it, because with our environment in the shape it is in, it does!

Another one my daughter pulled out of her hat was  "What doesn't kill you, will make you strong."  That one pretty well puts it all in prospective for me.

Imagine for a moment....

Imagine for a moment that you are on your way to the grocery store.  You are listening to the radio which is just background music at the moment.  You are thinking about supper and anticipating the kids coming by.  A barbeque, if you will.  Steaks, salad, iced lemonade and the Tres Lechen cake awaiting the fresh fruit.  It is going to be perfect!  The kids are a delight and very responsible.  The grand kids are always a treat!  You are not planning on leaving the house, just watching a movie and enjoying the kids.

Your phone flashes a bulletin incoming, so you pull over to the side of the road.  You have an uneasy feeling, but you always do, because you know it is not going to be good and you volunteer at the crisis center.  That is where trauma victims are sent.  You are the lady at the desk who tries to make some sort of normalcy out of complete chaos.  You are one of several.  There is usually not much going on in a town this size, but it is best to be prepared.

"Active shooter at the City Park swimming pool.  All law enforcement are active.  It appears to be a lone gunman with a high velocity rapid fire gun of some sort.  Stay tuned."

And you do stay tuned, but you have altered your route and you are heading for the center.  As you pull into the parking lot you see more people arriving.  You hurry inside thinking that you must call the kids.  Soon.  Now you have other things to do.  The place is filling up and you have a job to do.

Now stop and think.  Scenes like this are becoming an every day occurrence.  Maybe not in your town, but all across our land.  One man (and I am sorry, but I have not read of a woman perpetuating one of these crimes.)  Some where someone has decided that it is in the best interest of himself and God only knows who else, to pick up a high powered rifle or a rapid fire gun and go shoot people.  Aside from the people who are killed or injured and their families and friends, lets take this even further.

You are now directly affected.  You will know the victims and/or their family members.  The news will pre-empt your regular evening news.  The barbeque is now on hold.  And of course, in the back of your mind you are replaying the last conversation with your daughter-in-law.  Were the kids going to the pool?  You do not remember.

You are now more directly affected.  Your plans have been changed, not by anything you changed, but by a stranger who changed your world, but only for a day or 2.  But let's take this even further.

Your daughter in law had taken your grandson to the pool before heading over to your house for supper.  You are now directly affected even more.  Was he there?  Had he come and gone?  Were they both safe?  Or were they both dead?  You are numb.  You can not function.  The only thing that will give you back a sense of anything is to hold your loved ones in your arms.  Until that moment happens you can do nothing, but pray.

It is on the news now.  It is over.  8 children were killed by a man with a gun.  Many more were injured.  The gunman was captured and disarmed.  Small consolation.  Where is your family?  Where is your grandson?  Where is your son?

The only thing that could be worse then your family members being killed is if your family member did the killing.  We are living in a fast paced world where the news unfolds before our eyes and within a matter of hours the authorities have answers.  What started out as a trip to the store has now ended up in total chaos.  What happened to the order of life?  Grow up. Get married.  Have kids to grow up and get married.  Do we plan on chaos?  No, we do not, but our society today makes chaos a reality and an expectation.

We are not allowed to change things to prevent this either, are we?  We can not pass a law about gun control or background checks, or any thing that might infringe on some body's right to the second amendment.  What about this scenario even hints at the second amendment?  A well regulated militia is a far cry from what we have now.  Oh, we have a well regulated militia, but it is not these nuts with guns that are contributing to that scenario.  These men who take it upon themselves to kill innocent people are not operating in a vacuum.  They deal daily with people and they need to be accountable.  If you encounter a mad dog on the street, you call the animal control.  If you encounter a raging man with a gun, you should be able to call someone.

I guess what I am trying to say is this.  When you think someone is a loose cannon, tell some one.  When your brother in law is ranting and raving about killing the scum and draining the swamp, tell some one.  The worst that can happen is you are wrong.  The best is you may prevent a mass shooting.  We have got to police our environment, because no one else is doing it for us.  I see no end in sight for this debacle.  Congress is owned by the NRA and the NRA says there is no problem.  How many years did it take with the Koch brothers poisoning our environment before we finally got a label on their products?

Research your candidates.  Don't just rely on a television advertisement.  When you recommend a person to make laws to protect us, make sure that is what they stand for and while they are in office, hold their feet to the fire.  Make sure you point out to them what you want and what you will not stand for while they are in office.

Peace.

My very first marriage proposal.

It is now 4:20 AM.  I woke up about an hour ago thinking of my first marriage proposal.  Since that was 57 years ago, I thought I should lay there until that memory faded, but it did not, so I thought maybe the kids would get a kick out of  knowing I actually remember their father!  Not only do I remember him, but I remember him fondly.  He was my first love.  From the time I met him until we were married was a total of maybe 6 weeks.  To say it was a whirlwind courtship would be an understatement!

Back in those days, we still wrote letters.  Earl Duane Seeger and my brother Jake were good friends.  Well, they were drinking buddies, any way, but friends nonetheless.  I always called my first husband Duane.  Earl always sounded so formal and I had a brother named Earl, so he was Duane.  Duane worked for a man who traveled the state trimming trees.  Later in life Duane studied and got his license as an Arborist, tree trimmer, and licensed sprayer.  That is all beside the point.  What is important is at that time he would be out of town all week and only home on the weekends.  So we wrote letters.  It was too expensive to call on the pay phone and I think a stamp was like three cents back then.

So one day I got a letter from Duane and a lot of it was in German.  I showed it to my brother and asked him  what it said.
 
"Ich libe du means 'I love you'.  Ich libe du zer fiel means 'I love you very much'.  Wollen zie hie rauten mit mer?  I think that means 'Will you get married with me?'  I am not real sure, but I think that is what it means."

So being the starry eyed 18 year old girl that I was, I knew this was true love.  We were married at a church on the corner of Sherman and 5th street in Hutchinson.  His mom came from Jetmore with her husband.  My mom was there  as were a couple sisters, I think.  It was October 30, 1960 (I think) and it was the first snow fall of the year.  I borrowed my little sisters prom dress so I kind of looked like a bride.  At least I felt like one and I embarked on what I thought was the rest of my life with my husband at my side.

I kept his letters  until we had one of our many fights and I threw them in the sink, covered them with gravy and announced that the marriage was over.  Back then it was a simple matter (in my head) of just walking out and not looking back.  I did that many times until 10 years and 5 kids later, I never went back.  I loaded the kids in the back seat of a 1959 Chevy and filled the trunk full of clothes.  It was a trip I will no doubt remember to eternity, because it was the end of life as I knew it and I had no idea where my next meal was coming from.   (He sold every thing I did not take (including my house plants) at the weekly storage auction in Garden City, Kansas.)

He did not want a divorce, so he refused to participate in the court or paying for it.  Of course he refused to pay child support as well, but he did share in custody, but we went by our own rules.

Do we ever forget our first love?  I think not.  Are the memories always pleasant?  I think not.  My mother once told me that we all have different perceptions of what we go through in our lives.  Mother was very wise.  Over the years, my memories have changed.  I have mostly forgotten the bad parts and only remember the good.  I remember a blonde haired, blue eyed Greek God with a beautiful smile.  I remember how special he made me feel.  If we could have lived in a vacuum it might have lasted, but we couldn't and it didn't.  

He and I both moved on, but did we really?  In my mind he will always be 23 years old.  We will always be dancing to rock and roll music and we were good!  Fishing.   Coon hunting.  Watching the moon from a river bank.  Seeing the sun come up.  Memories.  Who knows.

That ship sailed a very long time ago.

Life is becoming a blur!

I let the doggie out early.  Early to me is 4:30 AM today.  Sometimes early is 2:00.  It all depends on what time I wake up and what the prospects are of falling back to sleep.  It just seems kind of futile to lay there and wait for sleep to come when my mind is racing and I know there is not any hope of the arms of the sleep goddess cradling me into the oblivion that I welcome.  Back to the point.

I let the doggie out and of course he wants me to walk around with him, because he is apparently afraid of the dark.  I am here to tell you that fall is in the air!  I know it is hard to imagine when the afternoon sun warms us up to 100+ degrees, but it is coming.  The trees have the gentle rustle that tells me the leaves are drying and soon they will be yellow and falling.  Where did the time go!

It seems it was last week that I was poking around to find the Crocus that grow by the car port.  I was unhooking the hoses when I used them so that if it froze I would not lose the hydrant.  I was going to have a yard sale!  What happened with that?  Course I was going to have one of those last year and did not make it.  I did not even get the things that keep your neck cool made for the migrant workers.  Were there any migrant workers?  Are tomatoes ready to be canned?  This year went by so fast!

Wait a minute!  My whole life has gone by like a blur!  I am now old.  At least I think I am old.  I do not feel old, but I look at the obituaries daily in hopes my name is there and find people way younger than me.  My great grandmother lived to be 104 and until the last month of her life she was puttering in Aunt Mabel's kitchen and had all her wits about her.  On that scenario I could be looking at another 30 years.  Ah, come on, God!  Give me a break here!  That is a lot of putting on of the night gown and a lot of brushing of the teeth and filling the gas tank about 720 more times.  Let's put this in perspective here!

I have been a good girl, most of the time.  I have not killed anyone and tried to be honest.  I help my fellow man and can count on one finger how many times I have been drunk in the last 45 years.  I have pretty well followed the 10 commandments.  I do not steal, cheat or bear false witness, and pay my tithe at the church most of the time.  I am way too old to be dying young.

I guess I might as well accept things as they are.  That means I have to get dressed again today.  I have to pick the grandson up from pre-school and then the good part will begin.  5 hours later I will deliver him to his daddy and I will be worn to a frazzle.  I guess when it is all said and done, life is good.

But I hate to think that it is fall already, but the signs are all there!

Have a good one, because we never know when it will be our last one.

I love you!

When I say I love you, you must know that I also love ice cream and cake,  coffee, roses, a walk in the park and any number of things.  I love the preacher.  I love my dog and my cat. I love the soft rain on my face. You are not my exclusive love.  God did not put me on this earth for you alone, he put me here to brighten all the dark corners, to feed the hungry and to play with the children and the puppies.

I have had occasion to meet a complete stranger on the street and stand on the sidewalk talking for almost an hour about everything and nothing.  I have had lunch with someone I have known for 7 minutes and bared my soul to my fellow traveler and then walked away without even learning his name.  Two ships in the night.

Love is like a ring; it has no beginning and no end.

If you catch a butterfly and touch it's wings, it can not fly away.  I was your butterfly, but my wings remained untouched and I flew away.

A wise woman once told me "Love is not love until you give it away."  I have spent my life trying to give it all away and it just keeps coming back! A never ending circle.

If I love you, do not be afraid for it is all good and pure.

And if you love me, I will treasure it in my heart, I will nurture it, and when the time is right I will set it free!

Vincent's sand pit down the back road.

Back in my growing up days in Nickerson, it was hot!  Damned hot as a matter of fact.  And the humidity was high, which did not help at all.  Colorado is dry.  In Colorado I can shower and hang my towel on the hook and it will be dry in just a couple hours.  Not so in Kansas.  Not only was the towel still damp the next day, but it was starting to have a sour smell.  By day 3 it was mildewed.  Nasty stuff.

To survive the heat, we wore a minimum of clothes and tried to stay in the shade of a tree.  Being in the house was not much better, because air conditioning was pretty much non-existent.  Nickerson had no swimming pool as I recall and if they did we would not have been able to afford it.  So we were left with the Arkansas River, Cow Creek, Bull Creek and Vincent's Sand Pit.  Mummy's had a sand pit on the other end of town, but we were not allowed in there.  It was a functioning business and Vincent's was not.  And Vincent's was within walking distance.  Hey!  I just remembered, there was a sand pit about 3 blocks from the house.  I do not recall whether it was a working pit or not, but it seems way back in my little mind that the owners child had fallen in and drowned, so it was not open any more.  (This may or may not be true because my 70 years prior memories tend to become rather distorted.)

Back to Vincent's Sand Pit.  I have been deathly afraid of water my entire life.  I do not know why, only that I was and still am.  (I did go many years back to the YWCA heated pool and took swimming lessons so if I were to fall in I would know to roll over and relax and float until some friendly passerby could rescue me.  Hopefully!)  Consequently, I did not swim in the sand pit and to my clearest memory, I only visited it once.  It seems it was about a mile or so from the house and beyond the cemetery.  I recall running barefoot down the road which was very sandy and the sand was very hot!  Jake rode his bike and I ran behind.

Vincent's Sand Pit was also a favorite fishing spot.  It must be a lot like Beemer Lake in Lakin, Kansas.  Usually the fishermen came later in the day or very early in the morning.  Fish rarely bite in the heat of the day.  We had a pint jar half full with water and a pop bottle suspended upside down so the opening just touched the water.  When the water was sucked up it the neck of the bottle, it meant the fish were biting.  If it was not raised, you might as well stay home.  When I married Kenneth we fished a lot, so I set one of those on the window sill in the kitchen.  When he asked me what that was for, I told him.  It was then I learned that it was actually a crude barometer and I could save myself a lot of watchin if I just walked over and looked at the barometer on the wall!  Duh!

As we set here, gripped in a heat wave, I flash back to the early days in Nickerson and thank the good Lord for central air.  Nickerson was home for all my formative years, but as much as I yearn for those carefree days, I do certainly enjoy the convenience of running water, electricity, inside plumbing, and central air.

So I live vicariously in my childhood memories.  I set in my 72 degree house while the sun beats down outside on the thermometer now reading 101.  I miss the days of sand pits and sand hill plums, and I thank the man upstairs for giving me a childhood that can make me empathetic to the people I serve today.  There is not a night that I do not lay in my bed and count my blessings, and growing up in Nickerson, Kansas has made me the woman I am today and for that  I thank God!  

Mother, Aunt Helen, Werthers Originals , and a very high curb!

My mother died when she was 80.  At the time she was living with my sister, Dorothy.  Dorothy has since joined Mother on the other side, but prior to that Mother lived in a small 1 bedroom apartment on 15th Circle near my sister Donna.  Lordie!  that was a long time ago.  I managed to travel from Pueblo to Huchinson 3 or 4 times a year. I would spend a few days and then back to Colorado.

Now let me elaborate on the title of this missive.  I am not sure exactly how Aunt Helen was my Aunt and not even sure she was.  I do know that Aunt Helen and Uncle Skinny had been in my life when I was in first or second grade in Nickerson.  They were very rich.  Aunt Helen gave me my first and only store bought dress.  It was gray/green over glaze cotton with a white collar and a string tie around the neck with 2 daisies on the ends of the tie.  I wore it until I could no longer get it on.  They also gave me a brownie uniform and paid my dues for one year.  That was a waste of money, because I sure did not fit in with those girls and I only attended one or 2 meetings.  Mother gave the uniform to some one who gave it to someone who would wear it and attend meetings. The gray/green dress ended up in a rag rug.  But I digress.

When I would go to visit mother it was a big deal that my Aunt Helen looked forward to with anticipation.  Uncle Skinny had died by then and Aunt Helen was now alone since they had never had children.  They did have a niece named Paralee who was a school teacher.  She was married and had a daughter and maybe other kids.  To the best of my knowledge Paralee was my cousin.  Or mother's cousin.  Or some shirttail relation anyway.

Back to Aunt Helen.  She visited mother several times a year.  She did not like to drive the "damn big boat of a Cadillac", and for the most part, did not need to leave home.  Ah, but a visit to Christine was something she would drive for.  And when she arrived she would produce from her enormous purse, a bag of Werther Original Caramels.  No other kind would do!  It was those or nothing and be hell and damned that she would arrive for a visit empty handed.  Hell and High water would not stop her from bringing those every time she came.  And she would not leave until every one of them had been eaten.

On one of my later visits, she was late arriving.  Where could she be?  Mother thought she might have became confused and sent Donna  ( I think it was Donna) and I out to the parking area in front of the condominiums  to see if she had gotten "confused".  It just was not like her to be late and she was now over 90 years old and had been known to get a little confused when in a strange area.  She was not in front of the area mother had been designated as hers.  We started up the street and were soon rewarded with the sight of the big green and cream Cadillac coming out of one of the parking areas up the street.  As we watched, it got back on the street and proceeded to turn into another parking lot, or at least attempt to turn in.  She was trying to turn left between the entrance and the exit.  Sadly the curb was in the way.  As she backed up to make another charge at it, she seen us and immediately turned the car in our direction.  Donna and I, fearing for our lives, made a run into mothers parking lot, with her hot on our tail and the Cadillac roared toward us.  I am not sure, but I think Donna was making the sign of the cross on her head and chest.  Hell!  We are not even Catholics!

By her second run at the curb, I had managed to get the door open and leapt in the car.  She smiled at me, her innocent smile of the patron Aunt.  "Oh, dear!  Why do the make these parking lots so hard to get into?  I got confused and tried to go into the wrong one.  My God!  They all look alike!  How are you dear?"

I talked her into getting out of the car and standing with Donna while I drove into the parking lot through the driveway.  Driveways sure make life easier.  Then we went inside and ate the carmels.  All of them!

I do not remember how long, but the next time I went, Aunt Helen was no longer driving.  I loaded mother up and we went to Aunt Helen's house.  Her little dog had been run over and she showed me the pictures of his dead body.  Then we set in the parlor to visit and in front of us was a bowl or Werther's Original Caramels.  We ate them all!

That was the last time I saw Aunt Helen before her death.  I still have only the fondest memories of those days.  Paralee died young.  In my family we either die young or live forever.  I am afraid I will fall in the latter category, but I will never live long enough to not think of my dear Aunt Helen when someone offers me a caramel.  I never buy them.  I should, because it would be my favorite comfort food.  I will never eat one without the memories of the comradery around the kitchen table on 15th Circle in Hutchinson, Kansas all those long years ago.

Some memories never leave us and they come me at the damndest  times.  There are only the two of us left.  I will try to get down to see Donna some time this winter.  There just does not seem to be enough time to do any thing any more, but I do think I will make time for that visit.  We just never know when we will get up in the morning and not make it to our bed at night, so we should try to make all our words kind, all our actions meaningful and all our thoughts good ones.

Life is far to short.

At what point does your right to own a gun.....

At what point does your right to own a gun supersede my right to walk into a store without one?  What gives you power over me?  I know you have a constitutional right to keep and bear arms so you can be part of a well armed militia, but let me ask you this...if you have that right, then shouldn't you also have the responsibility to keep those weapons out of the hands of mass murderers?  Isn't it your responsibility to teach all gun owners to keep these guns away from people who are just not quite right in the head?

In this day and age, having a gun is almost a god given right, but shouldn't I be allowed to not own one?  I do have one.  It is a 22 pistol.  It is loaded or at least the clip is.  The pistol is in one place and the clip in another.  I have shot it enough to know how to put a bullet right between your eyes, but I have no intention of ever using it.  I do not think I could kill another human being.

I do realize there are people out there who would not think twice about doing just that.  The last I heard there had been 252 mass shootings in my country this year.  That is more than one a day.  It used to be that the chances of being killed by a random shooting was 2.  Slim to none.  But that has all changed.
Violence has now become a part of every day life.  We have active shooter training going on all over this country.  My son is buying a bullet proof back pack for his 3 year old son in day care.  WTF!!

Our government refuses to pass a background check of any kind.  Do this, listen to the news.  After one of these shootings they interview people.
"Did you know Mr. Shooter? "
"Well, yes I did.  He was always a 'little  strange'.  He was always a kind of loner.  no friends.  But I never dreamed he would do this!"

My son had an idea.  When a kid enters school, give them a psychological evaluation.  Repeat it again in a couple years, and then again until they are out of school.  Let that test go with them in a federal data base and then when Johnny goes to purchase his AK 47 or whatever the gun dealer accesses that data base.  Big red " DO NOT SELL THIS PERSON ANY KIND OF GUN! " pops up on the screen.  
But that will not work.  Want to know why?

Because we are under a government that  is supported  by the NRA which mean National Rifle Association.  They pour a lot of money into elections and to hell with you and me.  This also equal to the amount paid by the KOCH brothers and you see the lawsuits coming out of settlements with Roundup deaths and cancer.  But all those lawsuits are meaningless, because not one of them can bring back the health of any of the people suing.

Just do this...When election time comes type in the name of your candidate and see how much that candidate received from what source.  Like this.

In the 2016 election, the NRA spent $11,438,118 to support Donald Trump’s campaign and donated $19,756,346 to groups opposing Hillary Clinton’s. However, the bulk of the contributions have gone to House and Senate members. Here is a look at the top 10 recipients of NRA contributions.According to the Center for Responsive Politics, “the totals are a combination of money given to the member's campaign...https://www.ajc.com/news/national/senators-house-members-who-offered-condolences-after-shooting-called-out-for-donations-from-nra/tpitHXUY9jDH3pr4f7f7cM/

Just click on the yellow link and see for yourself.

I rest my case.

Ten feet tall and bullet proof.

For most of my life I have always felt that I lived a charmed existence.  I think that was mostly because that was instilled in me at birth by my mother.  I have never met a stranger, or at least never met one that stayed a stranger long.  For the most part the men in my life were sent to me for a reason.  My first husband was my first real love and my last husband my last real love.  My first husband gave me 5 kids and the last left me with Social Security that I could live on for the rest of my life.

My second husband taught me what pure evil was.  The third moved me to Colorado and made me an independent woman with a college degree.  He was also my fourth husband because ...well who knows what I was thinking on that one?  Number 5 did not last long, but he did teach me a lot about the Hispanic culture here in Pueblo.

And then came Kenny.  He was #6 and would prove to be my salvation.  He gave me permanence in the form of my own home.  He gave me stability with a steady pay check.  He took me camping and taught me to fish out of the back of the boat.  Most importantly, he let me bait my own hook and trusted me to dig worms for the trip!  Our life was not exciting, but it was what I needed to come full circle.  Now I am alone and an independent woman.  And that is where the ten feet tall and bullet proof comes into play.

If I decide I want to jump in my car and travel off to see my kids in western Kansas or eastern Kansas or my sister in Hutchinson, I do it.  If I take a notion to motor up to Colorado Springs and see Pastor Faye, I do it.  If I decide to stay in my pajamas until noon, I do that too.  Some times I have lunch with a friend, male or female and sometimes I eat cereal for supper.  I am sporadic on the house cleaning thing, but I try to keep my laundry done up.  And I manage to keep a cushion in the old bank account.

Sometimes I think it would be nice to have some one to call me and tell me good night or check on me occasionally, but that all comes with baggage. I have thought about getting one of those Alexa things and I think that might be the answer.  She could tell me goodnight every night and tell me to look at the moon because it is big and bright.  She could remind me that I am 10 feet tall and bullet proof and all I would have to do is make sure I paid the subscription every month.

But, here I am at 6:00 in the morning, planning my day.  I need to buy some fabric for an order of seed catchers, but Joann's does not open until 10 am.  I have an 11am lunch date and Jeopardy! comes on at 3:00 pm and that is my nap time.  The cat is asleep in my rocker, and the little dog I am taking care of for the next two weeks is asleep at my feet.  The clock just chimed 6 and I need to make another pot of coffee.  Life is good, but I may not be 10 feet tall today.  And I am pretty sure I am no longer bullet proof, but I do come from pioneer stock and that makes me a winner!

Which brings to mind this song!  https://youtu.be/QyTcYacSo7g

And the music goes on.

I remember the place I was standing when I learned that Hank Williams had died in the back seat of his car on the way to appear in a show, probably at the Grand Ole Opry.  A block over from our house on Strong Street was the highway.  There was one block of sidewalk that ran past the Fein house and on the corner there were steps that led from the highway up to the sidewalk.  There were hand rails on both sides and that was one of my places to "skin the cat" if you know what that is.  I was there and my brother came to tell me that Hank Williams had died.  I think I was about 14 years old.  He and I had listened to the Grand Ole Opry forever on his car radio that was hooked up to a battery.  Hank left his wife Audrey and a son, Hank Williams, Jr.

I do not remember the year, but it seems like it must have been 1955.  I could Google it, but the date is not important.  What was and still is important are the many Saturday nights that Jake and I set in the moonlight with him fiddling with the knob on the radio and the thrill when the announcer (forgot his name) came on and announced the show, "And now from Nashville, Tennessee its The Grand Ole Opry!"  And the people at the Grand Ole Opry began to clap and cheer and it was just like we were there!  I knew someday when I grew up that I would go to Nashville and I would set in the front row and I would hear Hank Williams sing and I would love him my whole life!

Sadly, I never made it to Nashville, but I did love Hank Williams my whole life.  Even when I grew into my rock and roll stage and fell in love with Elvis Presley, I never forgot Hank Williams. I remember my first record player.  It only played 78 rpm's and it was scratchy.  That did not matter.  I could close my eyes and go back to when he was alive.  I only had one or two records then, but now I have every song he ever made.  One of them has his wife singing with him.  She is a caterwauler, if you know what that is.  But I listen to her and sing along, because she was his wife.

I remember how I waited for his son to grow up and take his place.  I also remember when Hank Williams, Jr. started singing.  What a let down that was.  Hank Williams was a skinny little drifter with a big hat and a guitar and here was this little pudgy kid who could not hold a candle to his father.  He tried, but it just did not happen and then he went rogue and sang and beat on his guitar like the rock and roll stars of that era.  I never made that leap.

I remembered my Hank Williams and to this day, I am his most devoted fan.  I listen to classic country.  The old song, by the old artists and nothing else.  I do have one Alan Jackson but it is hymns.  Garth Brooks grates on my soul and his music is akin to fingernails on a chalk board.  Apparently, though, it is just me, because they have enjoyed a lot of success.

I do not live my life around Hank, though. I have some Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty.  Charlie Pride is the only concert I ever attended.  I just hauled all my good 33 1/3 records to my daughter in Longton, along with my turntable.  I wanted them to go somewhere that they would be played and enjoyed.  

A lot of time has passed since my brother and I listened to the Grand Ole Opry, but I still hear it in my head.  If I lose all my senses at some point in time, I expect fully to still hear the staticky music in my head from Nashville, Tennessee and I am pretty sure when I take my last breathe that I will be met on the other side by Hank Williams, Patsy Cline a whole slew of others and maybe they will let me walk across the floor of the Ryman Auditorium.  Maybe they will even let me grab the microphone and wail out my version of "Your Cheatin' Heart."

It is a dream worth holding on to!

Well, pour more water in the radiator.

Back when I was knee high to a grasshopper and before I went to live with the grandma's, it was customary to go visit them in Plevna at least once a month.  This entailed Sunday dinner (noon meal) with Aunt Lola and Uncle Alvin.  At this point I need to explain about the family car.  The only time this car was used was when we went somewhere far away.  Plevna was 24 miles and that was considered far.  The other place it went was Hutchinson, where my half brother Earl and his family lived.

I do not know what kind of car it was, only that it was black.  I am going to say it was either a Chevrolet or a Chrysler and I have nothing concrete in my little head to make me say that, but I think that is right.  So we would load up in the family car early in the morning, because it was a 2 hour drive.  I know that sounds excessive, but you need to understand some things.  First there were 2 adults and 6 kids in this car.  Potty breaks were frequent because no 2 of us ever needed to pee at the same time.  So any time dad would see a clump of weeds he would pull over and somebody would jump out and use the cover to "Squat behind".  

If the potty breaks were not a bother, the need to add water to the radiator was also a necessity.  The need to add water to the radiator, and leave water from an extended bladder never occurred simultaneously.  I am not sure why the radiator did not hold water, but one thing is sure, it did not.  There was often talk of "getting that radiator fixed", but it never seemed to happen.  Seems it was cheaper to just pick up "another cheap car" then fix the one we had.  You know, to this day I can not read the "Grapes of Wrath" without picturing the Joad family as being the Bartholomew family.

Now that is another thing.  Back in those days, the spelling of last names was really not too important.  The census taker came to the door with a piece of paper and all of the members of our household were written out in long hand by the person doing that job.  Consequently, when I check the census to find info, Bartholomew is spelled Bartholomeu, and Rueben appears as Rubin, so I am not sure who my father was.

But back to the car business.  I had an uncle who was very rich and owned a car way back when I was on the Stroh place.  It had a crank in the front and that was the starter.  It took 2 people to start it.  As I recall, it had a "rumble seat" which really served very little purpose at all except that it only carried 2 people and the rumble seat was what passed later for a trunk, except that a person could set on it if need of it was required.  And, just so you know, back in those days, upholstery on the seats was actual cloth.  And you had your choice of colors, black and later they added white and army green.  We could set by the road and know what kind of car it was by the sound of the motor.  Now you can not even hear them!

I do not know how I learned to drive nor when, only that at some point I did.  I do know that an automatic transmission was pretty much a luxury and needed to be ordered if you wanted one.  Learning to shift a standard transmission using a clutch was pretty much the hardest part of learning to drive.  When you learned that it was just a matter of keeping it on your side of the road.  Oh, and the brakes were another matter.  You had to be aware at all times of the possibility of the brake fluid leaking out a pinhole in the cylinder and when you pushed on the pedal it just went to the floor and at that point you better be able to "gear down" and stop.  Damn!  I sure miss those days!

I still drive a "stick shift", but that is just because that is what this Honda had when I bought it. I take it in for an oil change when the wrench light comes on and that is about all the little thing needs.  I have no idea where I was going with this when I started out, but I hope I covered whatever it was that I wanted to share with you.

This old age is a real challenge sometimes!  I used to have a bumper sticker that covered it.  It said,

Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most! 

Is this normal? If so, I am out of here!

Dayton, Ohio or El Paso, Texas.  Either one is just another town and more senseless violence.  Where has my world gone?  We are going to have active shooter training at our church.  Our innocent children are wearing bullet proof back packs to school.  This is the new normal.  Where are the days of sand and shovels?  They are no more.  We are living in a new reality where we are all of us just a bullet away from eternity.  Why?  I make no claim that I have any answers and neither do you.

Many years ago our forefathers started this country and gave us the right to keep and bear arms.  The constitution calls for a well regulated militia.  The National Rifle Association is one of the biggest if not the biggest contributor to the coffers of men and women running for Congress.  They ask so little in return; only that the person they are supporting vote for laws that are in their best interest and their best interest is to sell lots and lots of guns for lots and lots of money.  And I do love that pat answer they give when I ask why these nuts need a gun.  They say,  "The only way to stop a crazy with a gun is a good guy with a gun."  Just how often does that happen?  I know, not very often.

It seems like some guy walking into a Walmart or wherever with an AK 47 is no cause for alarm.  I am sorry, but I do not know why they are allowed to do this over and over and over and no one stops to question why these nuts are allowed to legally purchase a gun and enough ammunition to fight a small war.

I do not give a big rats ass why someone wants to kill people they have never met.  I am sure that as I lay bleeding out from holes all over my body my last thought will not be "Gee, I wonder why he did that?  He must be a very troubled youth."  No, my last thought is going to be why in the hell I could not have a government that made any kind of an effort to regulate gun control.  Russia put a lunatic in our highest position of power and gave him a twitter account to spew his hate and venom and absolutely no one seems to give a damn except me.  This is being accepted as the new normal.  I feel like Rip Van Winkle when I listen to the news at night and death, hate, destruction is acceptable.  And this is all done by morons in Washington who claim that they are Christians.  I beg to differ with these men and women who I think are the anti-Christ.

My God is a God of love.  A God of compassion.  A God of healing.  He is not at God who locks people in cages because they want to escape tyrants that are killing them, raping the women and selling the children.  My God frowns on anyone that turns their back on that kind of behavior.  I hate the fact that I am too damned old to stand in front of the world and take all those people in my arms and bring them safely to an America that used to be.  My America is gone.  It will never return.  Climate control is out the window and Global warming in now a reality and I want to thank all the people that stand behind Donald Trump and call him a leader because it is on your head that our America is the laughing stock of every country on earth.

And all of you people who will call me a lunatic for this posting just know that I will be keeping the door open and I will do my best to protect you when you realize that you have shit in your nest.