Ala man left and a dotsey doe!

What ever goes on in my head at night when I am sound asleep is more than I can guess but I would sure love to figure it out.  Today I woke up thinking about a box of cards up on the shelf in the closet that Kenny received when we had his retirement party.  That coupled with this song click here.  He was a trucker and while he was not over the road, he was out of town a lot.  I have chased him all over Colorado, New Mexico and Utah since I went to visit him where he was hauling for one company or another.  We bought a park model trailer which was his home away from home.  With that he had his home away from home.  He cooked for himself and kept his little trailer very neat and clean and even made his bed!  Sure saw a lot of country and I met  a lot of very nice people.  But I digress.

When Kenny and I started dating back in 1982 we were both fresh out of failed marriages.  We had known each other while married to previous mates, to we were not strangers.  Most of our time was spent commiserating about how we had both been wronged.  Now, that common bond will only keep people together for so long.

I love to dance and back home dancing in bars was common practice and the next dance was just one beer away and a new dance partner always ready.  Not so in Colorado.  Kenny did not dance and had not one bone in his body that knew what music was, but he decided we should take square dance lessons at the City Park.  Seems his friends, Johnny and Betty were square dancers.  You know I am game for damn near anything, so off we went.  Once a week without fail.  I even bought a black and white checkered square dancing dress.  Lots of crinoline under skirts held it out.  This was fun!  Granted it was not the same as the western swing, rock and roll, and waltzing that I was used to, but it would suffice.

Learning to square dance had been fun, but when the lessons ended, so did our dancing.  I tried to work with Kenny at home and teach him to dance, but the man had not one ounce of rhythm any where in his body, so that was given up as a lost cause.  Now anyone can tell you, in order for a relationship to thrive the participants in said relationship need to have some sort of common bond.

His kids were grown and gone.  I had 2 left at home.  My kids did not need a step father since they had their own father.  Since we were both a little leery of the wedding ring scenario, we decided that we would just "shack up" and see how it went.  We decided that if we could survive together for one year that we would cross the "wedded bliss" bridge at that point.  So he found and bought this house out here on the Mesa, and Kenny Mercer and Lou Seeger set up house keeping.

I had spent my whole life fishing as had Kenny, but with one difference.  He liked to fish out of a boat.  I was terrified of water and neither one of us could swim  (still can't).  I had always fished from the bank of the river.  A real fisherman will know the difference styles of fishing are as different as night and day.  His tackle box was full of lures and stuff like that: mine was worms and bobbers.  Getting that man to set on a creek bank and wait for his line to dance was just not happening, so I made the sacrifice and crawled in his little 15 foot aluminum boat and we cast out into the Clear Creek Reservoir over by some place near Alamosa.

One year later we were still together.  We had started a new business called Ken Mercer Trucking and were doing well.  The drive line needed repaired on December 23, 1983, but the shop was closed.  It was 15 degrees below zero and his words to me were, "Let's just get this shittin mess over with."  We drove to Canon City, got a license and were untied in Holy Matrimony on the 5th floor of an assisted living facility by a retired minister and witnessed by his bed ridden wife and a stranger in the hall.

And we lived happily ever after until his death in 2003.

What good is a hog head without a hog?

I woke up with Kathy Matea and this song on my mind this morning, fixed Bret his "to go sandwich" and then turned on the computer.  Now how my little mind made the leap to an old dish called "scrapple" I do not know.  What I do know is I used to do quilting for an older lady and she had put together a cookbook of old recipes.  Now if there is one thing I like, it is food.  And I dearly love to try to replicate the old dishes the older folks used to make.  My mother could make as a four course meal out of a spider web, an apple and 3 pounds of imagination.  Times were sure rough back then, but like my husband told my mother one time, "You can never tell by looking at her today that she EVER missed a meal." 

I can recall back in my Nickerson days, that dad always had a pig or two in the pen.  When the time was right the old iron 3 legged pot would be filled with water and a fire built under it.  The pig would be caught, trussed and tied to the tripod which stood over the 3 legged pot and it's throat would be slit.  When it had "bled out" it would be lowered into to the boiling water and then taken back out and gutted.  It was then moved to a very big table and everyone had a job.  Sometimes us kids were "allowed" to scrape the outer skin to remove the hair. 

I think the meat was taken into town to the locker plant when it was wrapped.  We had only a small icebox back then so there was no storage at the house.  The skin, feet, and head remained behind.  The black kettle was cleaned and the fat cut into small pieces and thrown into the pot.  The fire was stoked back up and the fat was rendered giving us lard.  When the fat was rendered there were crisp skin pieces left that were called "cracklings".  To my way of thinking that was the very best part.  The best ones were the ones that bubbled from the heat.  Those were especially crispy.  Cracklings were used to flavor beans, cornbread, and of course for eating.  The ears and the tail were pickled as were the feet.  The jowls were salted and put in the cellar to age into bacon.

But the head!  The head was put back into the 3 legged kettle, which was now scoured clean.  It was covered with water and a fire built under it.  The lid was in place and it was left to simmer all night.
The next day it was allowed to cool until it could be removed from the kettle.  The skin was discarded (that means the dogs got it) and the eyeballs, brain, and everything else except the meat was fed to the dogs.  This left mother with the water it was cooked in and the few bits of meat that had escaped . 

With all the stock now clean she  now stoked up the fire and threw in sage, salt, onion, a bay leaf or 2 and corn meal equal to the stock.  This required a lot of stirring so it did not stick.   In due time it was pronounced "done" and the "scrapple" was now dipped into loaf pans and moved to the lower part of the root cellar and allowed to cool.  When it was cool it was wrapped and taken to the "ice box".  That stuff would keep forever.  Mother would slice it in one inch slices and brown it in very hot lard.  It was served with maple syrup and it was the best food in the whole world.

Mother went to the Salt City Business College in Hutchinson and got an office job in Hutchinson.  Of course, we moved to Hutchinson down on A Avenue.  When we left Nickerson, mother took one look at the 3-legged iron cook kettle and never looked back.  She now had running water, gas heat, indoor plumbing and electricity that was in every room of the house.  The old coal oil lamp was left on the table.  The door was closed, but not locked because we had years ago lost the skeleton key.  We were city folk now.


Today I miss my mother, but there is not a day goes by that I do not.

Center Beauty College and several state boards.

Many years ago there was a thriving Beauty College down town.  It was run by a man named Frank Shultz  who was a friend of my first husband.  He was also a sponsor for AA, if that has any bearing.  A very nice man.  By the time I moved to Pueblo, my former husband had gone back to Western Kansas.  Now the part that is relevant here is that my daughter Dona  moved out here and wanted to go to beauty school.  Of course she picked Center Beauty College since her dad recommended it because he was friends with Frank.  So off she went.

Now I do not remember all about her schooling, but there came a time when I could help.  That was in the form of being a "model."  A model, in this case is someone who the student works on to hone thier skills.  So I went once a week so she could work on my hair and nails.  I got facials.  Manicures.  Pedicures.  And free haircuts.  I actually had well defined eyebrows. Life was good!

And. as with all good things, it came to an end.  The end was when we loaded into the car and drove up to where the State Boards were to be held.  Seems like it was in the 29th Street shopping center.  All went well and in due time she received her license.  I went back to being the good little housewife and bookkeeper.  But I got bored and I received a call from the Beauty College.  Seema a guy named Dana needed a model.  So off I went.  Dana was a very nice man and I began seeing him every week and then we went to State Boards.  It went very well, and we parted ways.  I went back to the home life.  And then I received a phone call from the Beauty College and off I went again.

I am here to tell you, this one did not go well at all.  I have blocked this boys name from my brain as the only means of survival.  From the very first day that he shampooed my hair with water alternating from freezing cold to scalding hot, to the manicure that left me with bleeding cuticles, to the burn marks on my scalp line from the curling iron.  It was not pretty and I did not have a good feeling about the upcoming boards, but a promise is a promise and off we went.  The haircut was the only event that did not leave me bleeding or burned.  The haircut involved removing at least one inch of hair and this particular haircut left me with no 2 hairs on my head the same length.

The permanent curler pulled every hair so tight I was worried my hair would leave my body.  After that he needed to style my hair with the curling iron.  More burn marks.  The facial was almost more than I could endure, but we soon moved on to the "application of makeup and eye makeup."  Oh dear God, let me forget!  When I looked in the mirror and saw racoon eyes looking back, I nearly died.  I have a light tan complexion, but he liked the really light make up so that is the route we went.  I looked much like the Dracula victim after Dracula had drained her.  The only color on my face was the black eyeliner, the black mascara, and a 3 x3  inch  light green color on my top eyelid.  His final act was to glue an artificial fingernail on my right index finger.  He stood back and dutifully waited  for the judge.  I did my best not to scream from the pain of the burns on my scalp and to not burst into tears.

The judge started on my hair.  She checked to make sure he had removed an inch at least.  She checked my burn marks, noting that I might want to put something on them when I got home.  She struggled to keep a straight face when she checked my makeup.  I knew and she knew there was no way in the world this kid was going to pass.  With a solemn face she told me to hold up the finger with the artificial nail.  It chose at that exact moment to fall into my lap! She made her final notation and moved away.

Richard! (I just remembered his name!)  Richard looked at me and said, "Well, I think that went really well! I would like to take you out to eat for being my model."  Dear God in heaven would have struck me dead had I walked into a public place with the clown makeup on my face.  I thanked him for the offer, but told him I really needed to get home as my husband would be waiting supper for me.  (I did not tell him that Kenny was out of town, but there was no sense breaking his heart.)  So we parted company and never seen him again.  I did learn that he had failed his state boards and was not going to try again.  Thank God!

I am not sure Center Beauty College is still in business.  I do know Frank passed several years back, so I am assuming not.  In the meantime, I just set here with my hair needing cut and hoping I can make a trip to Lakin where Dona Marie has her shop.  

Life goes on!

Black Lives Matter. Indian Lives Matter. Hispanic Lives Matter. Where does it end?

I shared a post on facebook.  Poor little ignorant me.  It showed a picture of people; men, women, whites, blacks, Hispanic, all kinds of people.  It said "All lives matter."  It was soon pointed out to me that I was the racist in this occasion.  WHAT?  You have got to be kidding.  How is that racist?  Don't all lives matter?  Apparently not.  So here is my reasoning:

I am white.  I am privileged.  I accept that.  I think my life matters.  I do NOT, however, think my life matters more than yours.  I have white friends.  I also have friends who are not white.  Does one of their lives matter more than another life?  I think not.

I have got to admit, that when someone called me out as using white privilege's I was very hurt.  I could not then, nor can I make the connection now.  I have seen the meme that explains to me in cartoon pictures that the blacks are discriminated against and need our help, as white people, to stand with them in thier struggle.  Got that.  Have had that for a long time.  The same happened with Gays.  Same happened with Vietnamese.  Same happened with equal rights for women.  Same happened with equal pay.  My life has been spent fighting for rights of humans, animals and I even helped sandbag when Midtown was in danger of flooding.  

You know, after all these years, I am ready to throw in the towel.  I realize that right now, at this point in time Blacks have priority, but isn't there a way to stand with the Blacks AND the Indeginous tribes whose lands have been stolen by OUR government and thier women disappearing?  Don't they matter?  Don't the kids locked in cages on our southern border deserve part of our attention?  Or are we so single minded that we can not think about more than one thing at a time?

To me this is the equivalent of having 2 fires on the stove.  Do you just put out the one that is bigger or work on them both at the same time?  Or when an army is engaged in war, do they only fight the enemy they see or do they work on another flank as well?

I am going to say this to whoever wants to listen:  What ever color your skin is, I care about you.  If these means I am exerting my "white privilege"  so be it.  This is all I am going to say about this matter and you can either take me or leave me, and that  my friend is your choice.

What you don't know won't hurt you.

Or so my mother, the wisest woman who ever lived, taught me when I was growing up.  It was not something she told me once to help me over a rough spot.  It was a fact that she lived and breathed.  And she was right.  What I did not know did not hurt me, but there was that part she forgot to add about "The chickens always come home to roost."  These two adages are intrinsically tied together in this game of life.  I think this one came about when I thought my first husband was fooling around on me.  And she was right.  If he was and I really did not know it for a fact, it did not hurt me.  Sadly, though, God has his way of dealing reality to a situation.  This reality came in the form of a venereal disease when I was 6 months pregnant.  Yep, the chickens came home to roost that day. 

That should have been the end of that marriage, but I hung on for 5 more years and 3 more kids.  During their growing up years, I labored under the adage, "An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure."  Yep.  I kept the handles on the stove turned in after  Debbie reached up from her walker and grabbed the cord on the electric skillet.  That could have been a fatality very quickly.

 "Better to be safe than sorry."

"Do not judge a man until you have walked  a mile in his shoes."

"No sense beating a dead horse."

"Revenge is a dish best served cold."

And then I figured out that  "What is good for the goose is good for the gander."  only I was the 'goose' and he was the 'gander'.  Divorce became a frequently used word in my vocabulary, along with the  "A rolling stone gathers no moss." and "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

As for  going back and rehashing old wrongs, that fell under the saying of, "Let sleeping dogs lie, " and "Never poke a hornets nest."

I think a lot of the best ones actually come from the Bible, but mother was prone to spit out a few of them also.

"As you sow, so shall you reap."

"Sow the wind; reap the whirlwind."

My oldest daughter taught me (many years later) that  "What don't kill you will make you strong."  And she was right, or so it seems as I near the end of my journey. 

I find myself reaching for my Bible more regularly these days.  I do not know whether it is because we are limited in our interactions because of Covid 19, or just because I am getting old.  I do not feel old, but I can count the numbers and I find myself reaching more often for the handrail on the steps.  I guess it is just the old circle of life and it all boils down to "click here".

Plevna, Kansas, class of 1959

I woke up at 2:30 this morning thinking about my classmates in Plevna, Kansas.  It was my Freshman year and I was living with Grandma Haas and Great Grandma Hatfield.  The high school was on one end of Main Street and Grandma's house was on the other end.  Main Street was 2 blocks long.  The High School, the bank and the filling station was on one side.  On  the other side was Hinshaw's Mercantile, the phone company and Grandma Hatfield's house.  The next house was Grandma Haas's house and then then church.  Great Grandma Hatfield's house was empty since she had moved next door to take care of Grandma Haas.

Great Grandma was a legend in her time.  She was born Helen Gagnebein.  She had married Frank Miller and had 3 children, Lou, Mable, and Grandma Josie.  When he passed she married a man named Hatfield who had a son named Steven.  I always liked Uncle Steven because he had a very round face and always seemed to be happy. Rumor had it that she was headed to the alter with #3 when he suddenly died.  She declared that she had buried 2 husband and the love of her life and was now done.   So she moved across the street to take care of her daughter, my grandmother.  All this has absolutely nothing to do with my Freshman year!

The point is that Grandma had suffered a stroke and could no longer live alone and take care of herself.  Great Grandma needed help and I was the chosen one.  Thus when I left Nickerson Grade School, I was thrown into High School at Plevna, Kansas.  As I recall there were 30 kids in the whole high school.  The Freshman class had like 8 or 9 kids.  When I was laying in bed before I started this missive I could remember 6 of them and clearly see their faces, but as soon as my fingers hit the keys, my brain went south.  I remember Norma Daily, Janet Pastier, the twins Dean and Dale Hinshaw and that is all.  Seems like there were 8 or 9.  I do remember the principal was named Mr. Miller.

They did have a girls basketball team, but I was not allowed to do that because it entailed wearing pants and neither of the grandma's approved of that!  So while the basketball season was on I played ping pong in a room above the stage in the auditorium.  I was not very good at that either.  Everyone brought their lunch except me and I had to run home and check to see if the grandma's needed anything.  Great Grandma would have an orange peeled for me.  When I left the school I could hear Great Grandma's old stand up radio blaring the noon market report.  While we had not farmed for years there were relation who did and the market report kept Great Grandma apprised of the price of wheat, cattle, corn and pork bellies.  I never really gave a shit, but it was important to them!  I would then dash back to school before the bell rang.

Now the most thriving business was the Hinshaw Mercantile.  Dean and Dale would some day fall heir to that!  They were twins, but you would never have guessed it.  Dale was the one who must have gotten to the table first because he was a pudgy, red hair and freckles, pale skinned, mean spirited creature (for want of a better description) fellow.  He never had a nice thing to say to anyone and I sincerely hope he grew out of that!  Dean was a skinny, tanned, dark haired little fellow with a very beautiful smile.  They were as different as night and day.  Needless to say, I thought often about how maybe someday, Dean might hold my hand.  (It never happened.)

The grandma's were united in their way of raising me. The only reading material allowed in the house was the Holy Bible.  No newspaper, no magazine except for the Workbasket which was a crochet magazine that was treasured beyond all else.  I was taught to crochet and that was my past time.  My Grandma Haas and her sister Mabel married brothers.  Aunt Mable would come for a visit from Coldwater, Kansas with her husband  Uncle Goll.  Once she brought her textile paints with the intent of teaching me how to do something besides crochet.  We went to the Hinshaw store and she bought me a white bath towel to paint a design on.  Sadly it was shop worn and the brown outline of where it had lain never faded, but I did paint a water lily on it and she made me feel like I was 10 feet tall.  Damn!  How I miss those days!  I gave the towel to my mother and you would have thought I had handed her the moon!  Things like that used to matter.

If I live to be 200 years old, I will always cherish the memories that were made in that little house there on the end of main street in Plevna, Kansas.  I will always remember the round oak table with the crocheted table cloth and the two grandma's I lived with for a time.  I learned to crochet by the light of a kerosene lamp because, though they had electricity, they did not use it very often because they did not want to wear it out!

I can still see the 2 little white heads bent over their needlework and how occasionally one would look up and smile at me.  They both had the most beautiful blue eyes in the world.  I have often wondered if I really was any help to them or if they were helping me.  I do know, if I were able to go back in time that I would not change one minute of my time spent in that house.  Well, maybe I would.  I would listen next time.  And when we read the Bible (which we did every night)  I would read an extra chapter.  Living with those two women was the best part of my whole entire life.  I just pray that they know what an impact they made on my life all those years ago.

Thank you God for the gift of Grandmothers.

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When is it my turn?

I have been setting here watching this whole pandemic since the beginning and I have these observations:
1.  YOU have your constitutional rights and you choose not to wear a mask.  Well, I would like you to clarify just where your constitutional rights supersede my constitutional rights to breathe?

See, the thing here is I go to the store.  The store is required to require that a mask be worn.  There is disinfectant every where because they are required to provide this in order to be open so I can go to the store and buy groceries.

The store is in compliance.  I have my mask and I am in compliance.  Now I am standing in the checkout line after giving you and your "constitutional rights" a wide berth all the way through the  store.  And here you come.  The 6 foot marks are clearly marked, but you have gone so long thinking this_____________________ is 6 inches that 6 feet means absolutely nothing to you.  There you stood looking like a damn moron, drooling over your Twinkies and 6 pack that were the situation any different, I could have laughed.  But I didn't.

 My thoughts were this:  I am 78 years old.  You are probably pushing 30.  I need groceries, but then you need your sugar fix and a beer is sure going to make you feel better.  I was next in line.  You would have walked right past me, but I think you knew deep down, that I was not going to let you do that.

I smiled at you.  You looked at your phone.  I see you for what you are.  You are an arrogant bastard and you have constitutional rights and no goddam body is going to make you wear a mask.  I am sorry, but I grew up in a different world.  My mother instilled in me the knowledge that all men are created equal.  We ALL have rights and not all of them were given by the constitution.  Some of them are called "common decency". 

One of them is as follows:  Respect your elders.  By the mere fact that I survived 78 years I deserve to have my space in the line at the grocery store.

I wear my mask and that is no concern to you one way or the other.  Wiser men than you decided that this virus is killing people at an alarming rate and we need to do everything in our power to slow it down.  We are now living with a virus that replicates faster in the United States than any where else in the world and I think that it is thanks to idiots like you who have your "constitutional right" to do what ever you choose.  I myself, think you should be jailed for attempted murder.

I do not worry about catching this because I practice good hygiene and protect myself from selfish people like you.  I have grandchildren that I want to protect.  I would like to get back to my church someday, but regardless of whether that happens or not, I will be alright.  I will go to Lagrees again and I will no doubt encounter you again.  I will smile at you, again, because that is who I am, but know this, my friend, you are an asshole.  I know I do not have the right to be judge and jury, but you are an asshole nonetheless.

So have a good day.  You will know me when you see me because I wear the mask with the pussy cats on it!

Can't we all just get along?

Does anyone remember Rodney King?  So much has happened in my world since the days of Rodney King that I can not right at the moment even remember what that was all about, but I do recall that it was in California and the year was 1992.  King was beaten by police officers and when he sued the verdict came back that the 4 police officers were innocent.  I did check and there were 63 people killed in the riots,  2,383 injured, and 12,000 people arrested.  Rodney King himself stood up and begged people to stop.  I remember seeing him on a black and white grainy television and saying,
"Can't we all just get along?"  That was almost 30 years ago and yet, here we are today.  Different state, but same scenario.

I can not watch the news.  I can not watch that video again and again.  To watch that police officer, kneeling on George Floyd's neck as three other officers watch not only brings tears to my eyes, but raises my righteous indignation at everyone involved in that brutal act of murder.  And it was murder; deliberate cold blooded disregard of a human life.  "I can not breathe!"

How many breaths do you take in a day?  I am sure I could google it and I would then know, but does it matter?  We take them for granted.  They come easily inhaled and just as easily exhaled.  A cold, COPD, and other health issues will make us stop and think about the breaths we take, but mostly we just take the first one and then the next one and go right on through the night breathing while we sleep. 

I grew up in a small town.  We had a small place up on Main Street that had bars on the windows and that was where  the "ne'er do wells" or drunks or other miscreants could be locked away.  The "peace officer"  (whose job it was to oversee whoever was locked up) had a chair to set in by the front door in case the person who was locked up needed something.  To the best of my knowledge no one was ever locked inside.  The only excitement that the jail ever saw was when Ory Ayers and her daughter rode their stick horses into town and circled the jail and rode back home.  Life was pretty simple back then.

There were no blacks in our town.  There were only white people.  I know my mother's family came over from Germany and settled in Nickerson or nearby.  There were 3 churches; Methodist, Christian, and Baptist.  I guess growing up in such a place made me tolerant and accepting of other races.  We never fought over anything.  Our environment was just pretty much mundane.  Occasionally families would have disagreements with the neighbors, but it never went farther than that.  The gypsys sometimes camped on the edge of town, but we never seen them.

So here I find myself in a world I do not understand full of people I do not understand and I find myself screaming at the television in complete frustration. Oh, trust me, I have done my share of marching and changing the world, but never was I violent.  We carried signs.  We made speeches.  We helped little old ladies across the street.  And now, sadly, I find myself in need of being helped across that same  street, and up the steps, and on to the other side.

I can not help the Rodney Kings or George Floyds of the world.  I can only set here and watch as it unfolds and pray that some where, some how, someone will pick up the banner and fight for the rights of all the mistreated in our world, but it doesn't seem to be happening.  There is so much unrest in this world today that by the time I figure out which cause to support, the whole thing has changed. 
And so the world goes on.  My words change nothing.  I live in fear that if the world spins any faster we may all lose our gravity and spin out of control.

OMG! I am going to throw up!

Few people know that for a brief period in my life I was a heavy drinker.  It is one of the things that I did not succeed at very well.  Actually, not at all.  This journey into my past came up this evening when my oldest daughter called to make sure I was safe from the rioters and the coronavirus.  I am not sure just how the subject of drinking came up in the conversation, but it did.  Oh, I know.  We were discussing the riots that are going on because some jerk knelt on a guys neck and killed him.  The fact that he did that was bad enough, but that he did it while in the capacity of law enforcement made it worse.

Debbie and Hammer had started their life together in a volatile relationship since both of them were drinkers.  She was remembering how two policemen had subdued her by "hog tying " her.  They held her spread eagle above the ground and she was pretty much helpless.  No damage to her and no damage to them in that situation.  The point of that being that a person can be neutralized without pain on injury.  That all became a moot point when I explained to her that I had neve been arrested, and so was never "neutralized".  I further explained to her that I was never a rowdy drunk.  My journeys into the bottom of the bottle always resulted in projectile vomiting.  Thanks to this I also did not end up in the wrong bed at the end of the evening.  When the world started spinning, I got sick.  Now, I do not mean kind of sick.  I mean I hit the bed, hung on with both hands and tried to pass out before what ever I had eaten for the previous  weeks came up.  I never made it and I always wound up praying to the porcelain god and I must confess that the cool water splashing my face was a welcome relief.  Men some how did not want to take a chance on me not getting sick, and I respected their wisdom.

I watched my friends as they "had a drink to relax."  Or partied and had a "really good time."  Not me.  Drinking was to get drunk.  Getting drunk, meant getting sick.  There never was any enjoyment in it at all, so I finally just gave it up as a lost cause.  Kenny never drank and the only time there was any alcohol in our house was when Vi and Mel came in the summer.  We would have a tomato beer.  A tomato beer.  Not beers. A tomato beer and usually it was a quart of beer and a can of tomato juice.  Ah, the good old days.

Now I drink water and sometimes tea.  Coffee for breakfast.  Once or twice a year I stop at McDonalds and get a cola of some sort.  Small one.  A guy in New York sent me a bottle of wine many years ago.  It took me 2 years to drink it down about half way and I threw the bottom half away.  Just don't have the taste for it anymore and I sadly fear that a good drunk would probably kill me at my age now!

Well, I guess I am off to bed.  Nice to know my bed is stable and my dreams are forgotten as soon as they happen!  Y'all have a good one.  May your blessings be many and your worries few and may the road rise up to meet you and the wind be always at your back.

Cheers!

Rest in Peace Larry Kramer

I started a big long blog that entailed the history of how and why I became involved in the Gay Rights movement back in the early 80's , but that is irrelevant.  What is relevant is the death of Larry Kramer.  If you do not know who he is, you need to Google him.  He was a writer, a playwright, a military man.  He tried to commit suicide at one point.  But most importantly, he was the man who sounded the alarm for the disease that was killing gay men.  It was a phenomenal event back then.  No one knew why gay men were dying, but they were and in greater numbers. 

In 1981 he published an article calling attention to this in a gay periodical.  Two years later he published again, this time calling it "1,112 and Counting".  It was about this time that I may have shaken myself out of the lethargic cocoon within which I was wrapped.  I had a good friend back home named Gilbert who fell victim to the disease about that time.  He was the first friend I lost, but he would not be the last.

I began to follow the news and Larry Kramer.  It was staggering statistics for sure.  And it just kept going.  Does any one remember when Colorado passed Amendment 2?  We worked very hard to get that overturned.  We were fighting for Gay Rights and we were fighting the AIDS epidemic.  I think Larry Kramer and I were fighting the same battles, but on different ends of the country, but for the same reasons.

I wish I could have met him.  Some of my best friends are in the gay community and I have always championed their cause.  I see I am rambling, so let me just sum this up and get back to life.

Larry Kramer was a giant among men and his legacy will live forever.  Our world is a better place for him having passed through it.  In 2002, he said: "I put the truth in writing.  That's what I do: I have told the fucking truth to everyone I have ever met."

And that, my friends is why Larry Kramer holds a special place in my heart.

Lawrence David Kramer, writer and activist, born 25 June, 1935: died 27 May 2020

Well, good morning you big fat goats! Hello, sheriff!

Most of you know that I have spent the last 40 years of my life out here in the county living on a back acre.  I love the seclusion.  I love that I have to give anyone headed out here a detailed drawing and description of how to find my actual driveway.  My Garmin ends with my car setting in the middle of the road and the words "You have arrived!", but you have not.  But that is just for the humans who do not listen.  Animals are another story.

One of my first encounters with the wild animals out here involved my Tulip bed.  I planted all different colors across the border in front of my lawn.  I was very excited to see them poke their little spikey heads up and waited for the buds to show.  Sadly, I went out one morning and the Tulips were gone!  I knew where they were and when I looked down into the ground I could see the colors alright.  Something had come in the night and eaten them!  I could see the yellow and red flower buds below the ground.  How sad that made me.  I could also see a couple piles of cow droppings (I use the term droppings instead of "piles of cow shit!).  We did not have a cow, but the man behind us and over on the next lane did.  This was my first encounter with wild animals.  I do consider that any animal that runs loose is a wild animal.

I would learn over the years that Foxes would eat my ducks and geese.  Also, that a horse would sometimes trot across my property and leap over my back fence.  Sometimes when I would return at dusk I would find skunks playing in the yard of the house in front of me.  Once a big owl was in the tree right out side my back porch and my cat disappeared that night, never to be seen again. 

When the Harveys moved in across the way, they were animal lovers.  He worked on the ditch and she at the Animal Welfare.  They brought home many animals in the form of dogs, cats, birds, and goats.  Never once did their animals  invade my space.  It was peace on earth.  No problems, although one day her blind dog ate her pet chicken.  The chicken would squat down to be picked up and when it squatted in front of the dog, the dog just ate it!  That was sad.

Fast forward to new neighbors and more goats.  Sadly by this time the fences were falling into rack and ruin and goats do not respect anything.  They do not understand property lines.  While they are meant to "keep the weeds down" it rarely works that way.  And so it went.

It became my lot in life to put them back in their pen if I did not want them in my yard.  Bear in mind that I am an old woman and if I wanted goats, I would have bought them.  I do not and I did not.  One morning in utter frustration I put the goats in their pen 3 times before 7:00 AM.  I lost my temper with the girl who owned the goats and I explained to her how her goats were ruining my life and my yard.  She actually kept them in for 3 days.  But then here they came again.

I called the sheriff.  It was then that I learned that Colorado is a free range state.  If I do not want their goats in my yard it is my responsibility to fence them out!  Now understand that I have a full acre here and I park my car in a carport out front.  A fence around this place would cost $4,000.  It would also entail opening and shutting a gate every time I wanted to leave.  I do not have that kind of money laying around and if I did there are many things I could do with it.  I like the openness of the front yard.  I do not like the goats.

So here I set with the original problem still unsolved.  I can not shoot the goats.  That is illegal.  The fences that could not hold the goats last week are still not repaired.  Momma always used to say "Good fences make good neighbors."  I understand that.  I just wish they did.

In the meantime life goes on here on my little acre.  Every day I get a day older and deeper in debt.  When the goats figure out a way to get out, (and they will )  I may just wander on down to the bank and apply for that loan. I would love to have new floors, but looks like a new fence may be what I have to have and then the other neighbors can just do the same.

It used to be a more user friendly world.

Back in Nickerson in the late 1940's life was so simple.  We did not lock our doors.  Oh, we could lock them, we just did not.  We had a key called a skeleton key.  Our key fit every other lock on every other door in town.  The lock was not so much to keep anyone out as it was to keep the door from blowing open while we were gone.  Do not think we were gone very often, because we were not.  Nor was anyone else, so the "key to the front door" was more a symbol of status then actually meaning anything.  If, perchance , the key was misplaced one could simply go to the local hardware store and purchase another one for just a few cents.  I do not know at what point in time someone came up with the idea to have a lock with a special key, but it was some time after life on Strong Street.

Another thing that was in every yard was a pump for water.  Ours was a "pitcher pump" which held its prime which meant we did not have to pour water in it to get it started.  There were 2 things that were always located on the nearest fence post and those were a can of water just in case the pump did lose it's prime and  a tin cup.  The tin cup was for drinking the water that came from the pump.  If we were playing and got thirsty, we simply went to the nearest pump and got a drink from the pump.  It was the neighborly thing to do and back in the day the house that did not let you drink from their pump was avoided at any cost.  Water was free and everyone was a neighbor.  Oh, there were a few houses that had dogs and sometimes the dogs were not so friendly, but usually the lady of the house would holler at the dog and then you could get a drink and be on your way.  I do know that the water that was pumped up from deep in the earth was so sweet and cool that it must have been the elixir of the Gods. 

I did not know about hoboes growing up, but I had heard of such things from my brother, Jake.  He was friends with a man who lived down on the Arkansas River when we were on the Stroh place.  Seems his name was Blackie Joe or something like that.  He worked with silver and turquoise and sold his wares around town.  Mother did not like Jake hanging out with anyone who lived on the river, but Jake was always one to sneak off and not tell her where he went.  I saw Blackie on the bridge once and he was scary.  His clothes were black and his face was very weathered.  I did not get close!  He was not on the river in the winter and Jake said he "went south" and that he had family down south.

When I started high school I had to walk down main street to school and then back up main street to go home.  The railroad tracks ran right through the middle of town and sometimes the trains would block the way.  This was back in the early 1950's and the box car doors were open and we could see  the men "riding the rails."  Mother always cautioned  us about these men and I was scared to death of them, but secretly I sometimes thought how much fun that might be to just go where ever the train took me.

Another thing that mother was always adamant about was the eating business.  We had a big round oak table.  Of course I think that is all that anyone had back then.  If we were eating, we were eating at the table.  Homework was done at the table.  Sometimes she would make us hot chocolate and that was drunk at the table.  On Sundays we sometimes went to Plevna to Great Grandma's house and had fried chicken dinner at her big round table.  She lived with my grandma Haas who had a stroke and could not walk without a walker.  I lived with them my freshman year of high school until grandma died and great grandma moved to Coldwater.  That was the best year of my whole life.

Well, I am rambling.  The cat is rolling a marble around my feet.  It is 4:00 AM and the rest of the world is asleep.  And yet here I set, thinking of how my mother would come to my house and set at my big round oak table and reminisce of the time all decisions were made at the table and how the table symbolizes the center of the home.  She was right. 

Course, my momma was always right!  RIP my sweet mother. 

The miracles of modern medicine!

It used to be a cataract was a big deal, but thanks to modern medicine, that is no longer the case.  I recall when I was in grade school a cataract was spoken of in hushed tones as if the person who had developed a cataract suddenly had enhanced hearing and would know we were discussing "it".  And when a cataract was removed it meant days in the hospital and then added care at home.  No bending, no lifting, special diet and on and on.  Last Wednesday, I had my second cataract removed.  The hardest part was the Coronavirus limiting access and the 6 foot social distancing rule.

So, my friend picked me up, delivered me to the Rocky Mountain Eye Hospital for eye surgery.  He dropped me at the door and in due time I was taken to the back, prepped and given an IV to relax me.  The first time I had an operation of this sort I slept through it, but this time was different.  I visited with Dr. Schlomer as told me every move he was making.  I saw all the debris he was removing and it was very bright colors.  Actually, there were funny shapes and bright colors.  I felt absolutely nothing.  I think the actual removal took about 2 minutes.  He then taped a shield over my eye and it was done.  I was home well before noon.

My ride was waiting at the front door and had been considerate enough to bring me a banana since he knew I had not eaten today.  He drove me straight home, and I went inside so my son could go to work.  He was at work before noon.

My first afternoon was spent dabbing at my eye which was running much like a leaky faucet.  The only things I needed to actually do, was use my eye drops, do not bend or lift for 24 hours and wear my dark glasses outside.  Today begins the third day after surgery and I am good as new!  My new eye is clear and I can actually see better with it then the other eye.  So....

Forget all the horror stories you hear about cataract surgery and if you are contemplating it I advise you to go for it.  Now, I am sure that any doctor who is an ophthalmologist is well versed on the fine art of cataract removal, but I am just partial to Dr. Schlomer.

So, I am going to take my leave of this and see if little Jiraiya is about ready to crawl out of bed.  Going to be a long day!

A whistling pig? What is that!

I shall tell you!  Yesterday I stopped to pick up my mail (which was actually mail from the day before) and I found this:

Inside was a very nice hand written note from Fred Keller apologizing for not sending these 3  CD's that Sam wanted me to have.  Now, Sam had not told me anything about any CD's nor had he mentioned The Whistlepigs String Band in any conversation.  I was pretty sure had he been to Minnesota to attend a concert by any Whistlepigs, he would have at least mentioned it in passing.  And a jug band with a banjo, mandolin, guitar and a bass was not in his music preference.  Hell, it was not in mine either!  A mystery!

Since Sam was at work and I did not want to bother him and I had a custom order patchwork bird seed catcher to make I decided to pop it in the player.  I am an avid fan of old country, but I do love a mandolin and guitars and a banjo.  What a pleasant surprise!  I have got to say, my sewing time flew by and I was thoroughly entertained.  It seems my son knows me better than I know myself!

This is a picture of the band, which I now love!  So now to solve the mystery of how this came to be in my mailbox.  My son lives in Dallas and works at Southwest University Medical Center as an IT.  In this capacity he consults with people all over the country, most of which is done remotely.   Fred Keller, who is the leader of the band is married to a lady (I forgot her name) who he met through his work.  I am very glad that he talked to her and found out about this band.

The point is he knew I would like this and he was right!  I had never heard this kind of music since "HeeHaw" left the television many years ago.  I am going to keep these 3 CD's in my car because there is too much distracting me here in the house to give my full attention to this and it deserves my full attention!

So a big thank you to Fred Keller, Joel Olson, Chris Jones and Ross Willits, way up there in Sandstone, Minnesota, for brightening an old lady's day and days to come.  You have brought back memories that have been long forgotten in my old gray head.  Days in Garden City listening to the guys picking at Lee and Iris Day's house when Julia Day Torres was a tiny little squirt with bright red hair.  That is one of my fondest memories back then.  Of course Lee and Iris are long gone along with Duane and the rest.  Sad how a tune, or a smell, can take you back, isn't it?

Right now my mind is back in Garden City, Kansas in that 2 story house on the corner of "something and something else."  Better wind this up or it is going to be a very long day!

Peace to you all and thank you to The Whistlepigs String Band and my son for knowing me so very well.  I love you all!

Calling all arm chair phycologists!

Do you analyze dreams in your spare time?  I just woke up terrified.  Here are the facts of the dream I just had:  I was young, probably in my 30's.  I had a small child and a husband that was very hard working and devoted to me and my child. We lived in a small house near a prison facility.  I do not know where he worked.  My brother (who has been deceased for 55 years) was there visiting.  We came back from a car ride to find barrels of guns and ammunition in the front room.  There was one barrel filled with grain.  Since we were all law abiding citizens we were freaked out.  Suddenly there was a knock on the door and the police were there.  They had a tip that I was running guns.

One of the police was a heavy set, very friendly cop that seemed to believe me and one was bound and determined that I was pure evil.  These two played good cop/bad cop while the other 5 ransacked my house.  They found nothing else; just the guns and ammo in the front room.  I do not know how the dream ended because I woke up.

Now, the facts leading up to bed last night.  Jiraiya and I had a visitor who actually came in my house and drank a cup of tea and we set at the table with our masks off.  Later Ross came by and picked up noodles, but he stayed on the porch and wore his mask.  Jiriaya and I walked down and looked in the ditch to see if the water was running (If it was we would try to catch a crawdad, which he calls dagcrawlers or crabs.)  We also watched a bird setting on a nest up in the tree right outside the window.  None of those activities seem to me a portend of a nightmare!  But, for some reason I woke up scared to death.

So, give me your take on this.  Leave it in the comments below this post, or go back and leave it on facebook, (which would be the quickest way for me to see it.)

So, for now I am going to make Bret his breakfast sandwich to take to work, have another cup of coffee and try to shake this feeling of dread that has me in it's grip.

Have a good one and may the peace that passes all understanding be with us today!

The sound of silence is killing me.

https://youtu.be/bGLHadex0B0

I wake up most nights just after midnight.  It is then that I do my best thinking.  Last night was no different.  I have nothing in particular to worry about, so I just lay there and think and inevitably end up back in Nickerson and I can hear a lonesome train whistle coming from the track that ran about 3 blocks from the house.  Mostly what I hear is silence, but the silence is broken occasionally by a coyote.  Rarely it is a wolf, but rarer still is a panther, or mountain lion drifting up from the river.  I love the river and I especially love walking the banks of a river or creek.

There is so much to see, or at least there was back when I was a pubescent girl with a vivid imagination.  Maybe it was just that back then the river and the cemetery were the 2 places I could go to escape the tedium of every day life.  Mom let me go to the cemetery with no qualms, but she worried when I walked along the creek.  Now granted Cow Creek ran past Nickerson on one side and Bull Creek on the other.  Access was restricted when those 2 flooded which they did every Spring.  The fact that the third and final escape was the Arkansas and it was always running high.  I went back to Nickerson a few years back and was surprised that nothing had been done about flood control, so they were pretty much busy building little dirt dams here and there to keep the water out of their houses.

There is just something about a quiet stream far from the city.  Little spiders skate across the surface where the water is still.  Tiny minnows gather in still places.  Baby frogs find their first water legs in pondlike places.  The abundance of flowers and mosses gives hope to a world that is still living away from the crowded city.  I am terrified of snakes, but in the wilderness they do not bother me at all.  I just back up and go a different way.  I am in their territory and that makes a world of difference.  When I find one in the goose house, it becomes my duty as superior human to kill it.  In the wilderness, I am the intruder.

Do you know what a crawdad house looks like?  If you come upon a small hole with balls of mud piled around it, that is a crawdad house.  I used to think a crawdad was a tiny lobster, but late in life I learned they were the cockroach of the creek.  I still like them.  When they are in the water they mostly travel backwards.  When Bret was 4 years old I took him fishing at the park and he caught a crawdad.  Actually the crawdad caught him because it had a grip on his hook and when he let go, he fell to the ground.  Bret was terrified of the "crab".  Jiraiya and I found one by the ditch a week or so age.  He and his daddy went back and found it and it was nearly dead, so Bret put it in the duck water.  The next morning we found its lifeless body near the duck water.  We had a funeral complete with rivers of tears for the poor little crab.

If I live to be 100 years old, I will never forget my life in Nickerson, Kansas.  I go back there sometimes.  I do not know any of the people there, but I haunt the places I used to walk.  Bull Creek was a dry creek bed last time I was there, but I still recall how it could fill the banks and overflow across the fields when the Spring rains came.  I  remember my brother catching a bull frog and putting it in my skirt with instuctions to take it to the house and find something to put it in.  I was mortified that it would bite me.  As luck had it, I opened my skirt to show it to Josephine and it leapt into the house.  She almost beat me to death before I recaptured it.  I think I told you she was mean.

I want to go back home next Spring.  I will drive 96  Highway and the State Patrol will have a man at every bridge, because the creeks all flood in the Spring.  It is just something that we can count on.  Since Kansas is flat it floods easily.  I love Colorado, and my life is here, but I think when I die, my soul will live in Kansas.

At least I hope so!

Farewell to Uncle Manley and Aunt DoLores.

Back in 1960 when I married Earl Seeger I picked up 11 sisters and brothers in law.  Most of them I never met, but some I did.  Manley was one I did, but not his wife, Doloras.  I knew Manley lived in Denver.  Let me see if I can name all of them: Harold Manley Seeger, Cleo Seeger, Virgil Seeger, Raymond Seeger, Jesse Seeger,  Dorothy, Betty, Dona, Alma,  Delvin, Earl, Larry.  I have a call in to one of the girls, because I think there was one more. ( I had forgotten Jesse.)

The point of this is that we found out recently that Harold Manly Seeger and his wife DoLoras passed away in an Aurora assisted living facility in Aurora.  They died 9 days apart from the Covid 19.  This is a very trying time in our history.  This not anything I want to contract that is for sure.  When people start demonstrating and telling me they are tired of being held back from living their lives I find it very troubling.  There is no vaccine and without a vaccine or a cure we are pretty much at the mercy of a pandemic that will kill a lot of people.  I am not really anxious to die with something like this.  Pretty sure I still have a few good years left in me.

Now I know pretty soon they are going to lift the restrictions, but let me tell you, I am still going to wear my mask, wipe everything down with the Clorox wipes I have because I do not want to become a statistic.  I do have to say that not being able to go to church I have completely lost track of what day it is.  Bret is supposed to write the day on the chalk board on the back door.  That way I know what day it is, but some times he forgets.  I had 4 Wednesdays last week and that is not good.

I have a niece who voluntarily went to New York to work there.  Her name is Lisa and she is a very good girl.  When Desert Storm came she was one of the first there.  And Desert Shield found her still in Iraq.  She is one of my heroes.  I host a Mothers Day Tea at our church every May and she attended last year since she is now living up North in the Denver area.  We had planned a big "Lou's family attendance " this year, but up jumped the devil and my high tea has been cancelled.  Many disappointments in life and this is just another one.  Next year will surely be better.

But back to Manley and DoLoras.  Manley was the oldest and at one point he came to stay with Duane for a few weeks.  Of course by that time we were divorced, but I always remained friends with his family.  His sister, Dona, lives in Colorado and his younger brother, Larry lives in Kansas.  I saw Larry last summer, but have not seen Dona for several years.

So now I am rambling and reminiscing.  I will be glad when this mess is over.  It is not the idea of having to stay home, it is the fear of going out.  So, you all be safe out there.  I will be downstairs doing "stuff".  I am trying to consolidate my fabric and sort it into some sort of useful form.  It rained last night and that is good.  I just need to remember that today is the day that the Lord has made!

Peace to all.

I glimpsed my future and that shit ain't gonna happen here!

Remember a while back when I was flirting with the idea of dating because I thought it might be nice to have a gentleman friend to hang out with?  Plead the blood of Jesus over that thought!  I saw myself at the grocery store yesterday and Lou Mercer is not ready for that!  We are in week number something or other ( I have actually lost track of time) of this social distancing and not getting closer than 6 feet to any other human.  I am a rather gregarious soul and do enjoy people so this has been very trying for me and probably a lot of other people.  But, back to the subject.

I went to Lagrees yesterday to pick up a couple items that I needed.  I always start on the produce aisle.  I picked up a bag of lettuce, a tomato, and 3 bananas.  Next stop was the mark down shelf.  There was already a gentleman there, so I waited.  He picked up each bag and ran his fingers over the plastic covering of each item in every bag.  He deemed three of them as good enough to go home with him and I watched as he took them over and put them in a grocery cart that was attended by a lovely lady that I figured must be his wife.  I saw he already had several of the bags in the cart.  A cursory look at the rack told me he had taken anything that was worth paying for.

I caught sight of him several more times in my journey through the store.  The lady never let go of the cart and when he would venture off to check something out, she remained with the cart.  Very soon I formed a vision in my mind of what life with this guy would be like.  I would be in charge of the cart and he, as the bread winner, would be in charge of what went in the cart, and also what I would eat.  I pictured the home with him collecting the mail and sorting through it and letting me look at the advertisements that arrived.  He would pay the bills while I stood quietly by.  I wondered if the woman had any wants or desires of her own.  I know I have plenty!

The jest here is that he was the man of the house.  He decided what they would eat.  My job would be lord only knows what.  I made up my mind from that 15  minute peek into some one else's life that no way in hell do I need a man.  Been there, done that, and like it like it is. I want to push my own cart and put in it what I want to eat.  I really do not mind picking up a bag on the discount shelf and finding day old produce in it.  I usually always buy my bananas when they are ready to turn because they make better banana bread.  When I buy eating bananas they are usually pretty green.

I did not see them leave the store, but I am betting money, he was driving.  Now, I am pretty sure that  they have a tidy house, they eat good and no doubt watch the same shows every week night that they watched for the last 40 years.  Maybe I am just getting old and set in my ways, but I would like to steer the boat, so to speak, every once in a while.

Granted it would be nice to have a man around to talk to and share my day with, but I have baggage and I am pretty sure any man I find in this day and age is going to have his own baggage and I just am not ready for that.  I sometimes eat breakfast for supper and sometimes my noon day meal is something I just ran through the blender.  Or more often than not, a nap instead of eating.

I am a packrat, by nature.  I buy my own car when I need one.  I love my company and I am pretty sure it is going to stay that way.  The square dancing lessons are over.  Fishing out the back of the boat is over.  Classic Country music still plays on my stereo and always will.  Last man friend I had gave me a jazz cd.  Wonder where that went?

So, stay home.  Stay safe.  And stay single!  That will be my mantra!

All that is missing is the sign nailed to the front door.

It is day number something of the shut down and social distancing and I am about to go stir crazy.  First there is this matter of not knowing what day it is.  I used to go to church and so I knew when Sunday and then Monday was.  The grandson came on Wednesday and Thursday.  That is past history.  Can't even spot the weekdays by what soap opera is playing, since they are all screwed up also.

So now I have a white board on the back door and whoever knows what day it is has the chore of writing it for me to see.  So far this week I have had 6 Wednesdays.  Looking forward to Monday.  I know when people get old and have help coming in, it is the job of the caregiver to assess the client and part of that is to ask them what day it is.  That works really well if one of the people knows for sure.  I have however devised a plan to figure out what day it is.  I look down in the corner of the screen on the computer and get the number of the day.  then I look at my fireman calendar and find that number.  This works well as long as I am on the right month.  And then there is the act of remembering the day until I get to the next one.  What I should have done was start marking off days, but they all seem to run together.

I spent yesterday down in the sewing room and actually got the cutting table cleaned off.  Also found a quilt top which I quilted, bound and now have it laying across the back of my recliner ready for my morning nap.  When I got up this morning, I was excited for several reasons.  The first, I am on the right side of the sod.  I cleaned the bathroom yesterday, so I do not have to do that today.  I thought I would maybe go out and burn some limbs I have out back.  Maybe I will rake around a little.  I need to go buy some Aamdro because I have a giant red ant hill right by the bottom step of the deck.  These are the mean ones.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          
Not sure this program is still working, but going to publish this.  Just want to keep in touch with the real world.  Better times are coming!  Hang tight.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Good Morning World!!! I love you!

For a few weeks now I have been kind of moping around.  This virus has had me in it's grip along with a few other things.  My little heart has been heavy.  I actually lay in bed and think of reasons not to get up and wish for the day that eternal sleep will become a reality.  But no more!

This morning I woke up to the beautiful sunshine that God has given me.  I woke up with a peace of mind that told me that no matter what today brings, or tomorrow or the next day, I will handle it and thank God that I can.  I know my mission on earth has not been fulfilled and God has lain out a clear path for me to follow.  While I do not know what is next in my life, I know I will follow that path.

Right now, it all looks pretty bleak, but this will change!  The sun is the still beautiful light shining in my window.  It shines on my kids first and then comes to stir me.  My cat is trying to crawl on my keyboard and usually that irritates me, but not today.  I am thankful I have a keyboard and a cat.  I am sad about my dog, but at least I had him for a while.  I am sure he and Shirley are together and my wounds will heal.

My church is still closed and while I do not have the comradery of the congregation, I do have the everlasting arms to hold me.  I know that professions of my faith will catch some of you off guard, but those of you who really know me will not be taken aback.  It is probably almost sacrilegious to think that a woman with as many ex husbands as I have could ever make it to heaven, but you are wrong.  I am a good, compassionate, caring person.  God knows that!  And when it is all said and done, he is the one that matters.

I thought I was lonely and actually entertained ideas of dating!  I actually had one particular little fellow in mind, but he was not a willing participant and for that I thank him.  Companionship takes two, it is kind of like a dance.  But you know what?  I have been known to dance alone before and will probably do it again.

For now, there is only one thing I need and that is my mind.  You would be amazed at what goes on in my head!  I have moved mountains and conquered the world.  I have loved and been loved and that will not change.  I do not know what tomorrow will bring.  I do not know if this virus will catch me here in my little home, but I do know that whatever cards I am dealt, I will play.

There is probably not a person reading this that knows that 60 years ago I almost succeeded in a suicide attempt.  It was a one time thing and I never tried it again.  I thought about it, but that was all.  I know there are people out there now who are struggling and I just want to say this:  If I can help, give me a call.  I can not solve your problems, but I can listen.

If you need an ear to listen, leave a note in the comments down below.  You can leave your email or phone number.  I am on facebook.  It really is a wonderful world out there!

Peace to all!

My kingdom for a horse, or son, whichever comes first.

I woke up this morning at 2:30 thinking about my first pregnancy and marveling at how times have changed.  I married Duane Seeger back in 1960.  I was 19 years old and I had known him for 3 weeks.  In hindsight, I think I might not have made the wisest decision, but then it was a good run and I got 5 kids out of the deal.  He wanted a son.  He explained that to me when he proposed.  I kind of wanted a son too, so it seemed a match made in heaven.  So we spent the first year trying to get pregnant and the next 4 trying to stop!

In 1962 I had Debbie.  1963, Patty.  1964, Dona.  1965, Sam.  We took a break, got a divorce and then had Susie and got another divorce.  I have actually sent several divorce lawyers through college.  But that is not what this is about.  This is about how the whole business of delivering a baby has changed.
I remember when Momma had my little sister, Dorothy.  It was right before harvest and back then women laid in bed for 10 days (or so it seems).  When harvest started mom had to drive one of the trucks that hauled the wheat to the elevator.  She was nursing, you know, and no one else could do that, so Dorothy laid on the seat beside her.  The rest of us kids were left at home at the mercy of Josephine.  Women did not go to the hospital to give birth.  It was done at home, usually with a midwife in attendance;

Side note here:

Origin

Middle English: probably from the obsolete preposition mid ‘with’ + wife (in the archaic sense ‘woman’), expressing the sense ‘a woman who is with (the mother’).

And you must remember that women were second class citizens until the last century.  A good horse was more highly prized than a wife.  A man could always get another wife,  but a horse was hard to come by!

Lucky for me, I went to the hospital for all my births.  The first one, Duane dropped me at the front of the hospital and called the next day to see what I had.  He came 3 days later to take me home and rail at me for not having him a son.  I kind of liked her and she was really cute.  For the next 2 years, we repeated that scenario until I finally got it through my thick head that he REALLY wanted a son and I finally had one in 1965.  He did not want him named after him and he had no idea what he DID want.  I had always coveted the name Samuel Reuben.  Everyone knew that.  So I told the nurse my choice and she was aghast!  It was a Catholic hospital and that was a Jewish name. So I caved and named him Earl Edward.  Back in those days I would not have said shit if I had a mouthful.  I have gotten a backbone since then.  Today he is still called Sam.  He was always Sam and he will remain Sam.  Somethings do not change.  

Now I had a son and Earl Duane actually came to the hospital to pick me up.  Boy was I surprised!  Sadly, our life and relationship did not change because I gave him a son.  But life did go on for both of us.  He has been gone for many years, but one of the girls still lives on the land in Lakin, Kansas.  

Now, I must confess, when I crawled out of the bed 3 hours ago, I was thinking about Wakeeney,  Kansas and events that had transpired there, but I digressed.  I must remember to do a blog about places we lived and how the rental of apartments had changed from back then.  Right now I have to go do other things, because I am old now and my duties have changed.  

The old testament comes to mind at this moment. Not sure of chapter and verse, but I know I knew it at one time....

Go forth and mulitply!!!!

I been rode hard and put away wet!

Husband number 3 had a hard time understanding his second wife.  That was me!  He found it necessary to go to my mother and complain to her that I was not totally dependent on him and did as I "pleased" most of the time.  He had no say so in how the kids were raised, blah, blah blah.

Now you need to understand that at the time I married him, I owned my own home, operated a resturant, (Lou's Kitchen) and supported 5 kids with no child support.  The man was nuts for ever marrying me in the first place and he sure was not interested in being a father to someone else's kids, so I did not know just what he expected.  The kids spent a lot of time in Garden City with their dad and since he paid no child support, I figured that was alright.  He was their father after all!

But back to the current husband and his need for a clingy, dependent woman.  Sorry, buddy, I have never been clingy, nor dependent.  I knew who paid the bills and I knew whose paycheck went into the bank for that purpose.  So when he sought my mother's advice he might as well have beat his head against a brick wall.  She just explained to him that I had been screwed over a couple times and that I had a hard time trusting anyone to "take care of me."

He was upset that I did not jump up all happy and cheerful first thing in the morning.  She told him that if that was the case, he should just leave me alone until I was ready to be happy, cheerful little thing.  I do recall several times when he was so hung over he could not function, but that was alright, that was him.

When he went into the spiel about me managing my own finances and not making the kids dad pay child support, she explained to him that since that was a futile endeavor it was best that he just not meddle n my finances.  

" You know, Charlie, it is kind of like when you ride a horse.  You gotta take it easy on the horse and when you put it in the barn, you have to groom it and cover it so it won't get sick.  You see, poor little Louella has been rode hard and put away wet!"

He decided at that point that my mother was as crazy as I was.  He just couldn't understand the dyamics of an independent woman.  So we came to Colorado where he was sure I would worship at the alter of Charlie.  In all fairness I tried to be the mousy little thing he wanted, but that just wasn't in my chemical makeup, so we divorced.  Then we remarried and then we divorced again and both moved on.  

Now I am not sure why this is on my mind this morning, but it is.  So now you know and you can do what you will with this worthless little bit of knowledge.  One thing is for sure, I have no secrets, so if anyone wants to blackmail me they are S O L.  I trust you all know what that means.

The one thing I have learned in this life is that no one is responsible for my happiness, but me.  My last husband and I were happy until the day he died, but I think that was because we respected each other and were happy with ourselves, which left us free to be happy with each other.  If I could find another man like that, I would be all over him,   But I think God broke the mold after he made him.

So peace and prosperity to all from the broken old nag here on South Road!