Naked by any other name is still Naked!

After Kenny passed and I no longer worked as a caregiver for Mark I volunteered at  Sangre de Cristo Hospice.  I was a volunteer in the 11th hour program.  This just means that I would have finished my job when the client passed to the other side.  My job was to set with the client while the caregiver ran errands or just took a break from every day life.  Being the kind, caring person I am, I was sometimes called to the bedside when my client was taking their final breathe. Unlike a lot of people I have an acceptance of dying and a secure knowledge that we are all going to a better place.

In this capacity, my last job with hospice was for a man on the southside who cared for his 90 year old invalid mother.  He had several bad experiences with people he hired to set with her when he needed some one.  Seems he had several bad experiences with ladies taking coffee cups or small items just "walking off".  When he enrolled in the hospice program he was adamant that whoever came had to be honest.  After several volunteers were sent there he had given up on hospice was at the end of his rope as far as strangers in his home.  Hospice threw their hands in the air as it seemed to be a lost cause.  And then they tried one last hurrah, Lou Mercer.

By this time I had mostly given up hospice work, but Jolene asked me if I would just give this guy a break and if it did not work out they would let me leave.  I agreed.  The man called and explained that hospice had given him my name and number and would I just come and meet his mother.  What did I have to lose?  I agreed.  

When I arrived at the chosen day and time, he opened the door and looked me up and down.  He was a regular looking man of Spanish descent and looked fairly harmless, so I went in.  Mom was in the kitchen in a wheel chair and eating her breakfast which consisted of a pop tart and a cup of coffee.  I took a chair at the end of the table and she looked up at me.  She immediately smiled and her face lit up!  "Blue! Blue!"  I should note here that my eyes are blue and they stay that way as long as I am happy.  Sadness causes them to take a hazel hue, but I am rarely sad. So that day they were blue.

The son explained all the problems he had with sticky fingers and I explained that I did not have that problem.  He told me he would pay me to set with mother.  I told him I was a volunteer and did not accept money.  And so it began.  Momma and I were friends and he felt comfortable leaving us alone.  When he returned from whatever errand he had been on, he was surprised to see mother still happy.  

Since I would not take his money, he fell into the habit of buying me fruit juice.  The kind he bought was from Sam's and was called "Naked" because it had no artificial ingredients.  We fell into an easy relationship since his mother liked me and I liked her.  She could be a bit cantankerous at times, but I understood how hard it must be on both her and him.  I was happy to do what I could to ease the burden for both of them.  And the bottle of juice became a joke with us.  

"Hey, Lou!  I got Naked for you!"  "OMG!  I hope that is in a bottle!"

He did not call me to often, because he felt he was imposing on me.  I explained that I had no other clients and I actually had come to love his mother.  I think what we developed was a comradery.  Mutual respect and a genuine caring for each other.  I met and loved his sisters and brother.  I am not sure they knew just what to think of the relationship, but they accepted it at face value.   His sister came in laughing one time because they had been shopping and he had to run to Sam's before they could go home because, "I have to get Naked for Lou!"

I was a part of their life for several years before Momma passed.  She was my comrade.  He was my knight in shining armor.   

It is a part of my life that I shall miss until I take my last breathe.  But that is how grief is, isn't it?  At first it is sharp like a knife and cuts to the quick, but then it begins to become a dull ache, and finally it is just a big, empty hole in your soul.  

I still wait for the phone to ring and the voice on the other end telling me to look at the moon.  

"I see the moon; the moon sees me. The moon sees someone I want to see.                                                  So God bless the moon, and God bless me, and God bless the someone I want to see."

Bell bottom trousers, coats of Navy blue.....

My Anthony was a sailor.  Ah, but that was many years ago before Viet Nam. I have his wool top of his uniform and if I can find a camera I will post a picture of it.  Not of him, because I do not have him any more, but I do have his scatchy wool top and his green denim flak jacket. And playing through my mind is this little ditty:

"Bell bottom trousers, coats of navy blue, He'll climb the riggin' like his daddy used to do!  If you have a daughter, bounce her on your knee, but if you have a son send that "fella" out to sea!"

He was on the USS Proteus which was a sub tender.  That meant it was his job to make sure the submarines were all in tip top shape.  He was stationed at Pearl Harbor and that was a long time after the bombing there.  His time ran out just as Vietnam was becoming a way of life and he did not "reup".  I am glad he did not because Vietnam was not pretty and he would not have become the man he was had he gone there.

I have tried to think what it would be like to be submerged beneath the ocean for days or weeks on end and being the claustrophobic that I am, I can not even imagine life beneath the waves.  Anthony and all his shipmates had to be a special kind of person.  I think Irene told me that their father was also in the navy.  I think it takes a special kind of person to join the Navy.  

My father was in World War I.  He had a scar on his upper arm where a horse had bitten him.  He was in the cavalry apparently.  His sons were in World War II as I recall.  Richard was in the Navy, Gene was Army, and not sure if Earl was in at all.  There seems to be some sort of code they all follow, something I never understood.  Jake was Army and was in Germany, but it was peace time. Kenneth was Marine and he was in Korea.

There is one thing I know and that is when a man came home from the service, they were always clean shaven.  They kept their shoes polished and always seemed to be alert to their surroundings.  My son was in ROTC when he was in high school and I still keep the little awards he received.  I am glad he did not go into the service because I like him just the way he is!

Anthony was younger than me, but that never seemed to bother either one of us. I remember when I was in high school and how I lusted after the sailors in their little tight white pants before I was even old enough to know what lust was.  To think I had to wait 50 years to finally get my sailor is kind of sad,  but it was worth the wait!  Anthony stood straighter then most men.  He rarely got rattled and he understood my sense of humor.  Few men can measure up to my expectations, but he did.  He has only been gone for three months, but it seems like forever.

He was only in my life for a few years, but he has left a mark on my soul like no other man before him.  It is as if time has stopped and the world is standing still.  

I wonder if I will ever awaken from this dream?

Ragged 'n Ripe Peaches and Momma!

It did not happen often but it was always wonderful.  We watched the peach tree and waited for the peaches to drop.  It was only in the house at 709 North Strong Street that we had a peach tree.  Peaches have always been my favorite fruit.  A big, juicy dark red apple with four points on the bottom was always nice, but a rarity at our house.  Sometimes some one in town would have a plethora of apples and we would be sent to harvest the leftovers on the ground beneath the tree.  These were sorted, worms removed and the harvest made into apple butter or apple sauce which was basically the same thing.  Jars of apple sauce lined the shelves down in the root cellar.  Fried apples appeared regularly for supper, or dinner.  Chopped apples swam in oatmeal. To this day I do not eat an apple unless it is a dark red one with 4 points on the bottom and it is raw.

Pears are actually my favorite fruit, but I do not recall having them as a child.  Once when Duane and I were living in Liberal a man in the neighborhood came and told me I could harvest the pears on his big pear tree.  He furnished a ladder and I climbed up the tree and managed to harvest a big bushel basket.  Of course the kids were eating them almost as fast as I picked them, but I persevered and home we went.  I do not recall where the jars came from nor the rings and lids, but I did can them and processed them.  Sadly, the kids did not like them from the jar and when we moved the jars were left behind.  I assume some one did something with them.

Bananas were a rarity at the store, so pears, apples and peaches were what I grew up eating as far as fruit went.  Unless you want to count the Currants and wormy Mulberries. Oh, wait!  Every Christmas we each got an orange.  That was special only because it came once a year and beneath it was my Big Chief tablet and a brand new pencil.

However, my fondest memory in the whole world was when Momma turned the sign in the front window and the iceman would leave extra ice.  I knew what would happen next!  On the day the extra ice was left down in the root cellar, Momma would dig out the ice cream freezer.  It was washed and dried and assembled on the floor in the kitchen.  A can of "Ragged Ripe Peaches" would appear on the table.  Rudolph Reinke would appear with a jar of heavy cream.  The ice block would be brought up and Jake would use the ice pick to chip the ice so it would fit in the space between the metal bucket holding the elixir and the wooden outside.  Making ice cream was a family affair and probably the only time we could all refrain from fighting.  Momma cooked the ice cream until it thickened a bit and than poured it into the metal can.

Now,  after we had taken turns on the crank and it was getting hard to turn, the crank was taken off and the lid removed.  Momma had drained the Ragged n Ripe peaches and used the syrup to sweeten the ice cream.  The peaches were added to the mix and the lid returned until it would turn no more.  The crank was removed and the tub and ice cream was covered with a heavy wool quilt and left to "ripen".  

We were told to go outside and play.  Of course that did not happen because we knew that at some point momma would remove the quilt and pull the paddle out.  Of course there was always a fight over whose turn it was to "lick the paddle".  That was solved by each one of us taking a turn.  But the glorious part was when all the licking was over, supper eaten, and the baby in bed, momma brought out the "Ice cream bowls."  As I recall they were glass and were a rather amber color with raised flowers of some sort.  Today I recognize them as "Depression Glass" and they are rather pricey to buy, but then they were plain ice cream dishes. 

When we each had our bowl we were given the coup de gras (or something like that), which was a saltine cracker.  You heard me, a plain saltine cracker.  The saltiness of the cracker and the sweetness of the ice cream combined to make the best memory in the world to this skinny little girl from Nickerson, Kansas.  I will never think of my mother with out the taste of homemade peach ice cream.  

Over the course of the years on Strong Street, the peach tree became infested with bores.  The tree died, mother went to business school and got a job in Hutchinson, Kansas at some investment company.  Life was never the same after that.  We had running water and electricity and a car.  All the finery's life had to offer.  

I have three ice cream makers down stairs and before Covid became a part of our lives, I used to make ice cream at our church and have an open house.  The church wanted to make it a fund raiser, but I was just searching for a link back to my past. Life is sure funny, isn't it?  Peach ice cream was not a big hit at the ice cream socials and that kind of makes me sad.  

Ice Cream comes from the store and is in a box.   I do not think they even make peach ice cream, but I can taste it just like I was setting on the porch on Strong Street and mother was inside with dad.  I can see my sisters and brother and when I look into their eyes, I know the meaning of complete bliss!  

Nothing will ever take away my memories!    

Segregation is still alive and well in spite of it all.

 I just watched a segment on television about an old theater in some place down south.  Might have been Birmingham, Alabama.  There are two important facts here.  #1 is I am actually paying attention to the television and we are still having segregation problems and it is not just down south that it is happening.  

They were showing the history of the theater and explaining how it had been used as a headquarters for Ku Klux Klan meetings.  They gave the history to explain why the theater was the prime place for a museum to replace the KKK.  I am old enough that I can remember back when "night riders" interacted with black people in such a way that occasionally the black person would not return home in the same condition they left in.  This was acceptable behavior back when I was a kid growing up in Nickerson, Kansas.  I expect that the city of Nickerson could build their own museum, but not thinking they are going to do that!

I have very vague memories of my mom and dad having hushed conversations, before he would leave the house for an unknown destination.  When we got up the next morning for school he would still be asleep.  Hindsight is such a much better vision then living in the present!  We would hear hushed conversations in the school yard that abruptly ceased when we came near.  Guess this was something only the older kids were privy to.  

There were no Mexicans in our town.  No blacks.  There was a family that lived in the boxcar down on the curve that we suspected were maybe Indians.  We learned later that the word was "Indeginous", but then they were Indians and they kept to themselves.  There was a father, mother and 3 daughters.  Once I went to their house out of curiosity.  The house was very neat and the mother did not talk at all.  The father just glared.  I never did that again!

After they had been there for what seemed like a long time, Eveline was allowed to attend school.  Granted, no one played with her, but by then we were out of the "playing" stage and into the "trying to learn something that would be meaningful in our future."  Mostly, that involved cooking or baking, or cleaning house.  Eveline did come to my home a time or two, but mother was quick to point out that she had "very long fingernails and God only knew where they had been" so we must never touch anything she had touched!    

I am happy to report that later in her life my, mother actually acknowledged that there were people in this  world who were not lily white like us.  There were things like gay people, Mexicans, and black people!  We further learned that they were human and as such deserved the same treatment as our white friends.  Now in all fairness, I have not been a citizen of Nickerson for over 65 years, but you should know that when I last cruised the streets I did not see anything but white, anglo saxon, protestants.  Sadly something else I did not see, was any new buildings or thriving businesses.  There were a couple run down looking trailer parks and lots of abandoned buildings up on Main Street.  Nickerson seemed to be a step back in time.  What does that tell you?

As for my life, I think I have come a long way.  I have had the pleasure of being grandmother and/or great grandmother to several mixed grand children both half black, half Indian, and a couple not sure of paternity.  Does this make me anything different than I was when I was a snot nosed kid in Nickerson?  I think not.

I wish the people who work so hard for a good life could have crossed my path way back when.  There is a song I used to sing in camp and never really knew what it stood for.  Let me just sing you a couple bars:

"Jesus loves the little children.  All the children of the world!  Red and yellow, black and white, All are precious in his sight! Jesus loves the children of the world!"

I hope I can remember that no matter where I wander and no matter where I roam, or who I meet in my life journeys that we are all children of God and as such are blessed by his goodness and help me to love my brother as myself.  And with that ,  I wish you all peace!

 

1:35 A,M. This is Gordon with your local bank.....

 "It is the middle of the friggin' night!  Don't you people ever sleep?"

 That was my wake up call that woke me up out of a sound sleep and pissed me off.  When I go to bed, I go to sleep.  All day long I have fended off the robo calls that want to insure my eleven year old car with almost 200,000 miles on it against any repairs.  Bumper to bumper.   Or they want to loan me thousands of dollars on just my signature.  Or house insurance.  Or life insurance.  Or buy my house.  Or sell my house.  The list goes on of things I might possible want that I have not thought of by myself.

Tell me this, how can we put a man on the moon, but not stop robo calls that bombard me all day and into the night!  I pay for my phone.  I bought it and I pay every month for the privilege's of using it and it would be nice if when I picked it up on the second ring if it could be someone I knew and wanted to talk to, but such is not the case.  

"Hi!  This is Dan."

"Good Afternoon.  I hope you are having a good day so far."

"Don't hang up!  I have a bank that can solve all your financial woes at 0% interest."

"I want to buy your house!"

I have signed up on the national do not call list.  I have blocked calls.  I screen my calls with caller id, but I gave that up when I saw my late husbands name and  phone number.  I tried making a list of the numbers, but they are smarter then I will ever be.  There is no hope.

I could turn my phone off at night, but I have 6 kids who are subject to accidents and need momma.  Or maybe they just need to tell momma a little good news.  (That could happen!)  Sometimes a friend will call just to pass the time of day.  I should be able to actually use my phone for my personal needs.

On the computer I can mark spam mail as such and send it to the trash bin and it goes to a folder and gets deleted, but not here at home in the real world.  The phone is subject to jangle at any time, day or night.  I often wonder if these people ever sell what ever they are selling.  They must or they would not keep calling.

So here I set with my jangled nerves, ready to face another day of missed opportunities here in my home.  Wouldn't it be nice if Gordon could get a real job and work like the rest of us instead of spending all night trying to figure out a way to separate me from my meager savings?

Good luck on that!

I still believe in waltzes!

 It has been a couple of rough months, but there is a new sun on my horizon!  I woke up with this song on my mind and realized that where there is life there is hope.  Loretta and Conway 

The last two months have not been kind to me to say the very least, but I am still here.  A saying comes to my mind that I always credited to my mother, but I actually think it was my oldest daughter that spits it out fairly regularly, and that is this "What doesn't kill you will make you strong."  And that saying is spot on!  ( I love that phrase!  Spot on!  But more about that later.)

Those of you who know me well, know that my track record for husbands was not anything that would be something that you would want to emulate nor the footsteps I wanted my children to walk in behind me, but it is what it is.  I spent 20 years with my last husband and another 16 mourning his passing before I took my first tremulous steps into the world of dating and learning to care for a man.  In all fairness, I learned to care for him long before the dating dance began.

He was kind.  He was fun.  He was thoughtful.  All of those are important, but he was also one of the smartest men I have met.  Intelligence is very important to me.  Kindness is very important to me.  Although we never discussed it, I knew he was a man I could trust and depend on to be there for me.  If I was having a bad day, I could call him and I knew he would be there.  That is the kind of man he was.  He was empathetic and while he may not have been as wise in the ways of the world as some men, he was perfect for me.

Momma always said, "All good things must come to an end."  And you all know, Momma was always right.  So the good thing came to an end and it broke my heart.  Death is a very hard pill to swallow and when it happens suddenly it leaves shock waves behind that are not always easy to deal with.  My last husband spent over 2 months on machines that kept him alive because I could not find his DNR at the precise moment I needed it.  (If you have one, keep it on the front of your refrigerator and make sure it is there every day!  When the EMT comes they will need to see it or you are going to end up some where you do NOT want to be.  Enough about that)

So the man who opened doors for me, who made sure I had my seat belt fastened, and told me to call when I got home so he would know I made it is no more.  

No more coffee on Sunday afternoon. 

No more Boggle.

No more flying the kite.

No more walks at the Reservoir.

Not going to see the Aspens change next fall.

Not going to the Sand Dunes.

No bantering over which is best, Jazz or Country Classics.

No more happy to see him and sad to leave.

No more anything but a long empty road that leads to no where.

It is called life.  Naked come we into this world and naked we will leave.  Happiness is only what we catch every now and then and it only lasts for a fleeting time, so enjoy it while you can, because it can all change in the blink of an eye.

I will survive, because that is what I do.  I am a better person for having known him and his family is my rock.  Of course I have friends who want to help and they do, but at the close of day, when I lay in my bed and reflect back, I can not help but shed a tear and remember what a Bard of long ago wrote:

"Of all the things of mice and men, the saddest of all is what might have been."

So laugh while you can, love while you can and remember the movie "Gone with the wind" and Scarlett Ohara standing in the rubble saying "Tomorrow is another day!"  

And to that I might add, "Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday."  I am a better person for having known Anthony and a sadder person for losing him, but I will survive, "the good lord willing and the creek don't rise!"

Peace!

We meet everyone for a reason.

1. They are sent to awaken us.

2.  They are sent to hold space for us.

3.  They are sent to help us grow.

4.  They are sent to remind us.

5.  They are sent to stay, holding a long term role in our lives.

I found this on an old yellow index card when I was cleaning the mess on top of my desk this past week.  It is in my handwriting, so I know I copied it from some place and at a time when I probably needed to know this stuff.  And I also know, that at this time and place I needed to find it and be reminded of just where my friends came from and why they are still here.

I look at this list and I look back at my life and I realize that everyone of these sentences are true.  Now, granted, some of my dearest friends are not in my life in an active way, but that may be because they served their purpose and moved on.  Some of them are in my darkest past and I no longer have contact with them, but they do pop into my memory from time to time. 

And as I look back on my most troubling times in my long ago past, there were no friends.  It was during those times that I escaped into my childhood.  In my childhood I was safe from the present I was living.   It was my childhood that gave me the strength to move forward and gave me the courage to "accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."  I think that all this shows up in the Serenity Prayer in some form.  That prayer, while used by the AA groups, is a good one for all of us to follow. 

I look back down the twisted, littered road of my past and I have to acknowledge that during most of that time, there were no flesh and blood friends, but there was always God and the certainty that he was holding me up.  And it was just as if I was held by the blacksmith as he held me over the roaring forge.  He melded me and formed me into the woman I am today.  

Mother taught me that "as you sow, so shall you reap."  And "sow the wind and reap the whirlwind."  And another important one was, "To have a friend, you need to be a friend."  When I moved from Western Kansas back to Hutchinson, I had 4 kids walking and one in the oven waiting.  While that time was very hard to live through, I came out the other side stronger and did actually forge some friendships that I continue to this day.  

When I found this tattered, yellow index card on my desk, it suddenly took me back to those times!  And I began to reflect back on my life and friendships I have formed.  I am truly a blessed woman!  I can not count my true friends on one hand, but that is because there are so many.  I have received so much love from people that I rarely even think about that I am humbled.  How this skinny little girl from Strong Street can be so esteemed is more that I can fathom!

Just know this;  I could not have survived here in Pueblo, Colorado, without your help.  And I certainly felt all of the love these last couple of months.  (Has it only been 2 months?  It seems like an eternity!)  So, I am going to take this tattered, yellow index card and put it in a frame and put it up there on that shelf above the monitor where I can see it every day.  

I may not be able to categorize all my friends, but know that I love everyone of you.  You have all touched my world in some way.  I am a firm believer that if you let me cross your mind that you have sent me good vibes.  It is those things that make me want to get out of bed in the morning and keep putting one foot in front of the other.  It is all of you  who make me who I am and what I am today.

Peace, my friends!

Two things no one should ever eat.

 The first is a Gooseberry!  My mother-in-law, Leone Mercer had a Gooseberry patch in her back yard on Heisler Street.  When Bret and Shelly were wee little tykes I took them over there and they wandered out back and found the Gooseberry patch.  When I happened upon them they were actually eating them.  I had never encountered a Gooseberry, so I picked one and popped it in my mouth. OMG!  Those things were beyond sour.  I could feel the bottom of my brain stem rebelling!  Leone assured me that "made into a pie it is the best thing you will ever eat."  Some how, deep in my soul, I rather doubted that.

Regress back to 709 North Strong Street in Nickerson and an eight year old version of myself exploring my new home.  We had moved there from the Ailmore place and since dad was buying this house we were now homeowners.  Facing the house from the street on my right (which I learned later was the North side of the house) was a Walking Stick Cactus which would be a source of much pain.  Going on to the back fence was a row of elm trees, followed by a Mulberry Tree, more elm trees, and then a long row of Currant bushes.  Mother assured us that they were good to eat when they were ripe.

I spent many hours climbing the Mulberry tree and searching for a ripe one to eat because Mulberry is a very good treat as long as they are ripe.  The ones on the top ripen first and it is just a few days until the ones on top began to fall to the ground.  Now Mulberries are a deep purple when ripe and since we went barefooted all summer, my feet were also purple on the bottom.  If that was not enough to deter me, the news that Mother told Dad did give me pause.

"Ruben, those Mulberry have worms in them.  You have got to keep the kids out of them."  Well, I could not see the worms, so I just figured she was seeing things and continued my feast.  The mere fact that I am still here seventy years later makes me think she was either wrong, or they were damn little worms and did not hurt anything!

Ah, but the currants!  The currant bushes were in a row and the row was probably forty feet long.  Early in the spring little yellow flowers covered the bushes and we soon learned that little green berries about  a quarter inch in diameter would appear.  Of course I never was the patient type, so I picked one and ate it.  I guess I should say, I attempted to eat it!  My God those things were bitter!  I think I have a permanent pucker from those things.  The sad part is that as they ripened a little they got less bitter and as soon as they got fat and ripe, the birds swept in and harvested them!  As I recall, they were rather opaque when they were almost ready and then turned black when fully ripe, right before the Sparrows came in and ate them all!

There was a Peach tree that hung over the chicken house and I never was fast enough to get one of those either!  I did get one that was almost thinking about maybe getting ripe.  It was hard and not sweet at all and mother was right, it did give me a belly ache.  

And the Catalpa tree had beautiful white flowers and when the flowers dried up, a long bean came on and hung down.  Jake and I figured out that if we let the bean dry, we could light it up and smoke it.  Sadly I did not blow out the fire on the end of it when I took my big drag and sucked the burning fire into my mouth!  

I often wonder how I survived to adulthood!  But I did.  And the saddest part of all of this is that I look back on my childhood days as happy ones!  My idea of heaven is to go back to that little 2 bedroom shack on Strong Street, shinny up the Catalpa tree, watch a chicken lay an egg, and fly my kite over the cemetery with my brother.

Life was sure simple back then.

My very own Big Chief !

The kindness of my readers will never cease to amaze me!  Yesterday I heard the Fedex knock on the door which sounds much akin to a black limousine speeding past and throwing a body out the back door and into the street!  That has never really happened out here, but you know my imagination.  Those drivers and delivery people do not linger long.

Upon closer investigation I found a package on the milk crate.  Inside it was this:

Inside it was this: 

And for a closer look: There are 4 of those suckers!

Now some of you may remember that I wrote a blog on the Big Chief  tablets that I got for Christmas  back when I was 9 years old and how much I enjoyed the blank pages just waiting for me to fill them with my imagination.  Apparently Linda Kulp way up in Wyoming was listening!

Well, most of you know I have been through a rather rough spot and I want you all to know that the kindness shown by so many of my readers has touched me in a way this old tattered and leathered soul can not even begin to express and in ways I did not know was possible.  Beth Perry sent me a daily devotional that I read every day.  

I have had phone calls and notes from so many people.  Kind words over the phone with a simple "We are here for you" mean so much.  I will survive, but you all need to know this:  knowing that you are all out there and you all read or hear what I say means so much to me.  From California to Florida and Texas to Wyoming, I have the most empathetic and caring people in the world.  

Sometimes you may not agree with the words I write, but through this I do know one thing:  My readers are human and kind hearted people.  You may not be legion in number, but you are callosal in spirit!  Every day I get a little better and while I doubt that I will ever forget this experience, I will come through on the other side a better and stronger person not because of it, but in spite of it.

So thank you to all of you.  Know that I love everyone of you and some day soon, you will tap into this blog and I will make you laugh again, or at least smile.  Or better yet, remember the good old days when I made a trip to the outhouse in the middle of the night and had to wait with the door locked and huddled inside for daylight because I thought something in the dark was waiting to eat me!

I love everyone of you!  I thank God for giving you to me for just a few moments a day!  

I think my daughter said this but I always say, Momma said it best:  "What doesn't kill you will make you strong!"

  

Kansas Naval Air Station

 KNAS.  So, I am a little fussy on the years here, but I think it was back in the late 1950's that Hutchinson had the Kansas Naval Air Station located South of Hutch.  I was in High School and my graduation year was 1959, or at least that is what my class ring said.  Sadly, I knew all I needed to know by the middle of my Senior year and I dropped out.  I attended my Freshman, Sophomore, and Junior  year at Nickerson High School, go Wildcats!  Might not have been wildcats, but my memory says it was.

Now you may ask how this has anything to do with the Navy, but if you are patient, I will get there.  Now what was housed at the Naval Air Station?  Sailors!!  Now you must remember that at that juncture of my life I was a nubile teenage girl who had not sampled the forbidden pleasures of life and love.  Ah, but I had dreams!  And I had dreams because I had finally developed what appeared to be a bosom and I had heard the other girls talking.  I was not quite sure exactly what "Married Love" was, but I was pretty sure I wanted to be a beloved wife some day and that some man would sweep me off my feet and take me to paradise where I would live happily ever after.  

In the meantime, the sailors who were stationed at KNAS liked to come to our little town and cruise Main Street during our school lunch hour and try to pick up girls.  I was scared to death of men, but I gotta tell you those boys/men in those tight, white navy pants with two rows of dark navy blue buttons touched me and warmed the cockels of my heart!  The neighbor girls, Delores and Irene, were allowed to date, so they did.  Delores ended up marrying one named Smitty and moving back east some where.  Irene dated some guy and fell madly in love until he was "shipped out"  and she was left crying in the dust.

But the stage for my life was set by those boys in their white uniforms.  Army khaki and Air Force Blue meant nothing compared to Navy white.  Winter was Navy blue wool and the wool looked pretty itchy to me, so Spring and Fall we were good to go and my heart came to life, but Winter was verboten, which is kin to mauch's nix.

But my minds eye can still see the coupes, which were their chosen vehicle, and the sailors with their white hats cocked just so, cruising Main and hear the cat calls emitting from the vehicles.  Of course all the girls tee-heed and me right along with them. Sadly, I knew the sailors were off limits and if I was ready to start dating, I better hope that the one I picked was the geek with the glasses in my History  class.  And sadder yet, he was my cousin!  Since the Beck family had been the precursors to the Haas migration from Germany, most everyone was my cousin.  In order to carry on the family line and for Mother to make a decent wage, we had to move to Hutchinson for my Senior year.

That was also about the time that the Kansas Naval Air Station south of Hutchinson closed and the base was deserted.  A couple years later I married a guy who had just gotten out of the Army and returned from Germany.  Boy was that an exercise in futility.  The floors were wood and they had to be paste wax coated which meant I had to rent a buffer every time I cleaned the floor.  His Kahki pants had to be starched and the crease sharp and exact!  Of course the fact that he was just going to get drunk and spill stuff on them was entirely beside the point.  Oh, and the allegiance I held for the Navy must be replaced by the Army.  Charlie and Kenneth were both Marines. But guess what!  I finally got my sailor!

Anthony was in the Navy on board the USS Proteus, a sub-tender.  The motto was Prepared, Productive, Precise.  And he reflected that later in life as well.  He was stationed in Hawaii.  He was in Pearl Harbor, but it was after the bombing.  Of course that was many years before I met him.  There is a lot to be said for the twilight years, but right now it slips my mind that anything I come up with would be worth repeating.

I saw his white bell bottom pants.  Of course they did not fit him any more, but I did get to touch them and for a while I was back on the streets of Nickerson and the sailor boys were "cruising  Main".  I was still 17 years old with dreams of being a missionary.  I still could not look a man in the eye, but I could envision him with dark hair and soft brown eyes dressed in his Summer Whites.  I can hold my little sailor boy in my minds eye, but more importantly, in my heart.

And at this point in life, memories and dreams is about all we have, isn't it?

If I had known

 If I had known the last time I held you that it would be the last time, I would not have  let you go.  I would have hugged you tighter and I would have thanked God for letting me.

If I had known that the last time I talked to you on the phone was the last time I would hear your voice I would not have put the receiver back in the cradle.

If I had known that the trip to the Reservoir was the only one we would take I would still be standing on the bluff looking out at the water.

The Scrabble Board is dusty.

The kite remains folded.

The Sand Dunes are still waiting.

The Aspens have lost their leaves.

The sun still sets and the moon still rises.

The stars still twinkle and I am sure some where life goes on, but it is not here.  I look into the abyss that is my life and try to make meaning of it.  I put one foot in front of the other and I say the things I am expected to say, but the world is empty and space but a void.

I must search for a new meaning to life because, after all, I am a survivor.

Those are the words you're gonna have to eat!

" I don't love you anymore, I'm glad that we are through.

Those are the words that I said to you.

Take those words and coat with chocolate, make them sugar sweet.

Those are the words you're gonna have to eat."

I tried to find this song on youtube and ended up with a recipe for Buttercream Frosting.  While that was not my original intent, I needed that also.  Many years ago this was one of the songs Corky and I danced to at the Convention Hall Saturday night dances in Hutchinson, Kansas.  Some girl sang it and I can not remember who, but it is playing in my head as I type. 

But it is not the song that is important, nor who sang it 60 years ago when Corky was the love of my life and dancing my only passion, but rather the words.  "I don't love you any more, I'm glad that we are through.  Just what was it that I thought I saw in you?  Take those words and coat with chocolate, make them sugar sweet!  Those are the words that I'm gonna have to eat!"

Now Corky is a distant, although pleasant memory and his face has faded from my memory, but those  words are still in my head.  This past week has brought that song back to the forefront and made me rethink a lot of stuff.  As I watched our capitol was being invaded by men and women carrying the American flag and smashing anything in their way into the bowels of the building where government business was being conducted.  Windows were shattered and men and women elected by us, fled into hiding.  Democrat, Republican, Independent seemed to make no difference to this mob.  And as I watched I could not help but wonder where our leader was?

I do not need to tell you how that little scenario played out.  America is still standing.  The Captiol building is still standing.  You and I are enjoying the same freedoms we had before and Joe Biden will be sworn in on January 20th.  Nothing changed except now a whole bunch of people will be arrested and tried, hopefully for treason or at the very least treasonous acts of terrorism. A few people are dead and that is sad.  But let's go a step further and question what they thought would happen.

They did this supposedly because they loved America and wanted to own her.  Did they think if they got into the building that you and I would just say, "Oh look!  They are in there, now Donald Trump will still be president.  He will rule the United States and we will be his followers?"  Methinks these people should have listened when they were studying the government in school.  America is a Democracy ran for the people and by the people.  We elect our officials to do that so we do not have to go to Washington ourselves.  If we had wanted to keep trump we would have voted him back in for another 4 years, but we did not.

For many years, I was an Independent and was registered as such.  I voted for Reagan and Bush.  I voted for Kennedy.  I cast my vote for Jimmy Carter and learned that just because a man is a good Christian and loves his wife does not mean he will be a good President.   I am not vocal in my politics and as long as whomever is in charge is fair and honest, I am content.   I will not go into this any further, only know this:

America is strong and designed to stay that way.  It is called checks and balances and we use it every day in our daily lives.  It is sad that this had to happen as the whole world watched, but that is modern day communications.  I imagine Putin was laughing his ass off and cheering the rioters on while doing so, but I was very sad.  So I went to youtube and I found this https://youtu.be/EBjEjoAzdHE .

So rest in peace,  America, the good guys are still in charge and peace will prevail.  To the people that tried to bring her down, sorry.  You should have read the Bill of Rights and peeked at the Constitution.  The game is not "King of the Hill," it is called "Democracy!"

Dreams never really die, do they?

 My first memories of Christmas include waking up and running in to the dining room table where Santa had left our gifts.  There was the usual panties and socks.  And then a ball and an orange.  There was also some sort of candy; not much, but something.  Mostly we got a chocolate thing that was about an inch high and inside it was something made with powdered sugar and it was disgusting.  I can tell you this now since Mother is no longer with us, that this particular candy was gross!  The chocolate did not have a taste since it was mostly wax.  The powdered sugar filling was hard, but that was 70 years ago before all the preservatives came to make sure nothing dries out or loses what ever taste it had.  

Ah, but at the bottom of the pile was what I coveted most!  A brand new Big Chief Tablet.  It was red.  Always red, I think.  I think this is what it looked like back then.  Mother always included a pencil and I think she was killing 2 birds with one stone, so to speak.  The fact that we had to furnish our own books and tablets and pencils and such came into play at Christmas.  She had to buy them anyway, so might as well give Santa the credit.

What momma did not realize that a sheet of paper and a pencil with a sharp point was all I ever wanted out of life.  I wanted to write poetry.  That was my sole goal in life.  It would be followed later by the desire to write a book, which was followed by wanting to change the world.  Reality deemed that I would work and raise children.  Motherhood took precedence over my wants and desires, but it has been fulfilling and I am proud of all of my children today.  Granted none of them every made it into the highest office in the land, but I consider that one of my greatest blessings.  I digress.

Some where in my past lives poems and short stories that will never be found or read by another human, but I know.  I can not always voice my thoughts, but I can write them.  I do have a gift for that, and for that I thank God.  What the world does not know is that if I am sad, I write.  If I am happy I write.  If I am fired up for a cause whether it be gay rights, abortion, civil rights, women's rights, homelessness, or any of the myriad of things that cross my sight daily; I write.

But here is the deal.  When I write I share happy thoughts, and I hope I make you smile.  When I write I release the demons that tear at my soul, and I hope you understand that also.  Sometimes I just want to share a tiny glimmer of hope that has flitted across my radar.  For some people, a drink after work relieves the pressure.  Some people jog.  I write.

So here is the deal; I will keep writing if you will keep reading.  My blog has a counter so I know there are  several someone's out there reading what I write.  Feel free to leave a comment, good or bad.  That way I know I made a connection.  

In the meantime, I have youtube playing in the background and this song tears my heart right out of my body.  click herehttps://youtu.be/KZ-4LwfCClk

Gonna kiss another year goodbye!

 Thanksgiving is over.  Don't remember what, where, or if I ate, but I am sure I did.  For the most part 2020 sucked.  There was the covid most of the year which pretty well kept us all isolated.  Well, it kept those of us who believed that it was more than the flu off the streets and out of the stores and restaurants.  And then when I lost my dear Anthony to a disease that didn't exist, I pretty much gave up.  

I do want to thank the friends who knew and who cared for standing behind me and keeping me from falling.  And to those of you who did not know, it is best that way.  I never was one to air my laundry as mother used to say.  It is water under the bridge and you know how that goes!  When the water flows under the bridge, it is gone.  Never going to see that water again.  Off to the sea, or into a reservoir some where and flushed down the shitter.  Gone.

OMG!  Today is Saturday.  I thought it was Friday.  Good thing I looked at the calendar.  The worst thing about isolation is that I never know for sure what day it is.  I am going to Fowler to spend the night with a friend on Sunday.  I will spend the night because I do not want to drive home in the dark.  If Shirley was still alive, I could stop and see her, but she isn't.  But, I am supposed to make Tiramisu and I planned on making it on Saturday, but that was when I thought Saturday was tomorrow.

So that last paragraph  has nothing to do with anything.  It is just more of my ramblings that were leading to what is really in my little head this morning.  So, here we go.  I am going to make my list of New Years Eve resolutions sometime this week.  I know I am going to do this because every year I do.

I write them down on paper, because that makes them real and I may forget what they were.  Let me rephrase that: I WILL forget what they are.  I have yet to fulfill one of the lists, so I really do not know why I bother, but hope springs eternal in the human breast.  (I read that some where.) So here it comes:

1.  This one used to be "quit smoking", but one day I just got up and never smoked again.  I am not sure what year that even was.  Seems like it was in the Spring.  Cathy knows because she quit then also.  So I will change this one to  "Drink more water."

2.  Take a walk every day.  Well, maybe every other day.  Let's get real here: Take a walk when the sun is shining and it is between 75 and 85 degrees and Jiraiya is here to keep me company.  There.  That should do.

3.  Keep the house clean.  Change that one to: Make sure the front and back doors are clear of debris in case the house catches on fire from internal combustion from the grease on the stove from the healthy diet I never followed from the last New Years Day resolution list I made.

4.  Call my friends more often even though they depress me when they tell me what they have been doing while I was setting home feeling sorry for myself.

So, hell with this.  I am never going to change.  Life sucks so I might as well get used to it. I still have 5 days to make my list so expect a revision on this list.  For now, I am going to just hit the publish button up on top and probably go eat a cinnamon roll.  

Remember what momma told me; "The road to hell is paved with good intentions."  And I do have good intentions.

Momma and the elusive hummingbird.

When I moved to Colorado from Kansas way back in the early 1970's, I left my dear momma behind.  Well, to be honest, I left a lot of things behind, the least of which was a string of broken hearts and many friends.  Momma had the key to the house and the restaurant and I had a husband and a 1967 Chevy.  But I also had hopes and dreams. The husband did not last long and he took the Chevy when we parted ways.  The hopes and dreams would never die.  

To make a long story short, I touched lightly on husband #4 and  then moved on to a single life.  Life was good.  I had friends and I had to work 2 jobs to survive.  My momma back home missed me and I missed home.  So once a year I would travel back and in the spring or she would ride the train to  La Junta.  I would pick her up and bring her the last 50 miles.  Once she traveled with a lady we both knew.  That was not a good idea!  

My momma loved the hummingbirds that live in Colorado, but not in Kansas, or at least I never seen them down in Hutchinson which is very hot and muggy.  It soon became her quest to see as many of them as she could.  I loaded her into the car and we drove to Beulah.  It rained and the hummingbirds stayed hidden in the trees.

By this time I had married Kenny and we lived on the mesa.  Momma really liked that. I had a feeder hanging in front of the big window in the front room and I could spot the little fellows all day, but dear momma was not so lucky.  She liked to set in my rocker in front of the window and work crossword puzzles while she waited for the tiny birds to appear.  My office has always been on the upper level and I have a clear view of the window, so I was the look out.

A bird would come to the feeder and I would call out to her, but by the time she finished writing the word in the puzzle, the little feathered creature had flown away.  Then she would set staring at the empty perch waiting for the colorful little bird to come back.  After a few minutes of staring out the window at nothing, she would go back to her puzzle and wait till I spotted another one and we would repeat the whole scenario.

We set in the front yard under the Ash tree and waited.  Of course as we waited we talked and the birds did not like that so they stayed away.  Her trips were always planned around the start of summer before it got to hot for the little hummers.  We did travel to Beulah a time or two and parked to watch for them, but by this time her eye sight was not as clear as it used to be.  I did get a picture of two hummingbirds and mounted it for her, but that was never the same.

As momma got older we worried about her riding the train alone, so someone would bring her to me.  At this point of her life she was now into my cooking more so then the hummingbirds.  When she arrived, she would get out of the car and in her hand she had a list of food she wanted me to prepare.  

"They feed me that crap out of cans and I do not like it."  She would hand me her list and my work was cut out for me.  It read like this:

1.  Tomato soup.  Not canned tomato soup.  The kind you make with tomatoes where you mash and boil them and put soda to take out the acid.  And made with milk!  Not water.  And I like a grilled cheese sandwich with that.

2.  Liver and Onions.  Calf liver that is floured and browned in the skillet.  Saute the onions and then put the lid on with a little water and turn it on low and let it steam.

3.  Cinnamon Rolls.  Made with yeast and flour and let the dough raise then roll it out and lots of brown sugar and cinnamon.  And let them raise.  Not out of a can!

4.  Chicken and Noodles.  Boil the chicken and make good broth.  Homemade noodles made with egg and flour and cut on the counter.  Not those slick things that come in a cellophane bag.

There were other things she liked me to fix, but those were the staples that she had traveled 400 miles and all day to eat and by the gods above I better not screw up those four things!  And light on the salt!  High blood pressure.  "You can always put salt in, but you can not take salt out, so take it easy with that salt shaker."

Yes, momma! My sisters swore the frozen stuff or the canned stuff was as good or better than homemade, but momma wasn't buying that crock!

I miss my momma and that is a fact.  I used to have a big family, but sadly I am down to only one sister.  When momma was alive I always went home, but now it just isn't worth the effort.  Course I am not a spring chicken any more.  I like to go see my kids, but this past year, I have not done so.  The pandemic, you know.  I miss that.  I miss momma.

I often wonder if I will ever get old enough to not miss her.  Probably not.  I think my kids still miss me, but I am wondering if I showed up on their doorstep with my menu in my pocket, what the reception would be!  First thing is that since there are no hummingbirds in Kansas, I would have to watch the crows.  As I recall those damn things were as big as chickens.

So I guess I will just set here and miss momma and wish I was young again and she was planning a visit.  We have to love them while we have them, because that is how life is designed.  And I wonder, if I had it to do all over again if I would do it different.  I kind of doubt it, because momma had a saying for every occasion and another of her favorites was, "Try getting that toothpaste back in the tube."

So there you have it!  RIP my mother, you are sorely missed!

Giving myself an attitude adjustment here!

 It has been exactly one month since my life has been turned upside down and it is now time to take charge and do something about it.  The idyllic life of the last few years is gone.  I am alone.  I have been alone before and at my age I probably better get used to it.  I will start by deleting a phone number in my phone.  It will never ring again, so why keep it? 

I have ashes on my dresser waiting for Spring when they will be taken to the final resting place.  I take comfort in knowing that will happen.  We should all have a final resting place when our time comes and the time is here.  I can never forget this past month of my life, but I can remember the years before it all changed.

He was a wonderful man.  He was kind and caring and made me laugh.  He made me feel special, and that will never change.  The small dark place he harbored deep inside was one I could not reach and that will always make me a little sad.  Actually it makes me a lot sad, but it is what it is.  

We were in each others lives for a while and for a reason.  We had many talks about God and the hereafter and I think in my own simple way I brought him a peace he needed.  At least I hope so.  So, for now, I will put one foot in front of the other and keep going one day at a time.

And I will forever miss the soft brown of his beautiful eyes and the moon will come up and I will remember how much he loved the full moon.  I will continue to live, but I will never forget.

Rest In Peace, my dear, dear man.

Life is pretty much a crap shoot.

 Here I set like so many times before, waiting for the sun to come up.  And like so many times before, I am second guessing myself.  What did I miss?  Was there something said that I missed?  Any sign at all?  And after all the soul searching and all the self recriminations, it all comes back to nothing.  Could I have done anything to prevent what happened?  I told her no.  But is that true?

We tried so hard to stay safe.  We did not go to public places.  We wore a mask any time we were out of the truck or the house.  He contracted covid; I did not.  He quarantined in his house and I stayed in mine.  I took him groceries and left them on his porch.  We talked on the phone.  The conversations got shorter.  Staying home alone, day after day begins to wear on you.  People are gregarious by their very nature.  He was no different.

Mother always told me "You never really know anyone.  You only know what they tell you and let you see."  Momma was wiser than most people and had an inner wisdom that gave her an insight like no other.  She could see the good in everyone, even the orneriest old coot in town.  And she could also see the weakness and evil in the hypocrite beating his chest and pointing his finger.  She had the sweetest smile and her hazel eyes twinkled when she looked at me.  She actually made me think I was capable of anything.  But she was wrong.

I have always thought I was put here on this earth for a reason, but I am now questioning that.  If I was, what is the reason?  I have raised the kids.  I have fought the political battles and won a few, but what is that?  If not me, someone else would have carried the banner.  

Life goes on and I look back and just wonder what it was all about.  If I had life to do over, would I?  And if I did, would it change anything?  I think not.  I know I have got to come to terms with some things, but I am not sure I know where to start.    I can not stop the river from running to the sea.  I can not get the toothpaste back in the tube.

In hind sight, there is nothing I would change, because I still would not have known what someone else was thinking.  I can not know what thoughts someone is thinking if they do not say them out loud.  Am I at peace with this?  No.  Can I change anything? No.  Would I like to?  Yes.

All I can do, and the only advice I have at this point is to keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep hoping and praying for a better day.  I do not want to keep second guessing and I want to remember that I did the best I could with the tools and knowledge I had at the time and if that upsets anyone, so be it.

I think it would be how momma did it. I sure miss my momma and that will never change.

 

Sure am missing Nickerson, Kansas

 Merle Haggard says it best.  https://youtu.be/TuwhpVde6NY The roots of my raising sure do run deep.  Growing up in Nickerson, Kansas was definitely a challenge.  Like all small town there was a right side of town and a wrong side, but it this case it was the whole "outside of town."  We lived "outside of town" only 2 blocks from the high school when I was very small. That was the "wrong side of the tracks."  When I started second grade we moved clear across town out by the cemetery.  That was also the "wrong side of the tracks."  Either place was a place we could listen to that lonesome train whistle blow.

I learned early to love that sound.  It meant the train was going some where and I knew it was far away.  When the train whistle subsided in the distance, the coyotes howled.  Occasionally a wolf would howl.  Coyotes made more of a yipping sound, but wolves had a mournful howl.  It was like they were trying to call the moon from the sky above.  Either one scared hell out of us kids and we waited for the howling to subside before we could sleep.

But as poor as we were, we knew we were safe in our beds.  To my recollection, I never knew my dad to own a gun.  He was in the Army in World War 1.  He was what I thought was a big man, but in actuality he was only 5'8".  It was not an unusual height back in those days.  I do not know why, but I am assuming it had something to do with what they ate back then.  The emphasis in those days was not so much on vitamins and minerals as it was on survival.  A cow was easier to raise than a head of lettuce.  But all of that is irrelevant.

I remember the first time we got linoleum in our house.  My God!  You would have thought we had died and gone to heaven!  We could walk across the floor  barefooted and not get a "sliver".  Slivers were little pieces of the wood flooring and could only be removed by a pair of tweezers and a needle held in the hand of our dear mother.

Closing the house up at night entailed closing the front and back inside doors.  There were no locks.  There was usually a hook and eye on the screen door, but they were used to hold the door closed when the wind blew.  Bad people did not exist in Nickerson.  I recall once coming home from school and there was a dog walking on my street.  It scared me to death.  I actually climbed up on the icebox so the dog could not "eat me".  Nothing ever changed in Nickerson and that dog did not belong on my street.

Occasionally someone would pass away (We never referred to it as dying.) and the hearse would have to pass the end of our street on the way to the cemetery.  Nine chances out of 10, we knew the body that was being transported because Nickerson might have had a population of 1,000 people if everyone was gathered in one place.  Needless to say, we had to stand quietly with our hand over our heart until the hearse had passed.  This picture was taken from the cemetery side, thus the words are backwards.

For whatever reason I keep retreating to my childhood I know it was my safe place.  One would think that at this late stage in life I could accept who I am, but I don't.  I love to hard, trust too easily, and my biggest weakness is that I am ever the eternal optimist.  But I forget the most important thing momma told me:

"You never know anybody.  You only know OF them.  You know what they let you see."

Thanks, momma, now I remember.

Louie and Linda

 Good Morning world!  It is 5:25 AM as I start this.  Happy Birthday, Bret Mercer!  Today I actually felt a twinge of happiness as I crawled out of my little bed.  You all know the saying, "Where there is life, there is hope."  And if that were not enough to make me happy, Bret told me they have lifted the burn ban!  He did say to call to confirm that, but just knowing that I could possibly be able to burn my brush piles after a year of not being able to, pleases me.

Laying in my bed and enjoying the last moments before the day begins is my favorite time of day.  This morning my mind drifted back to before I married Kenneth.  At that time he was still married to his first wife and lived out east of town.  Charlie and I had just moved to Colorado from Kansas.  He had lived here before and wanted to return and start a business.  I was game for anything at that point and my kids were back and forth between Hutchinson and Lakin, Kansas, so Pueblo was my destiny.

To get back to the point, Kenny was friends with all his neighbors and Louie was an old bachelor that lived across the highway from Kenneth and Wanda.  He was an engineer on the railroad and ran the train through the canyon to somewhere in western Colorado every day.  He returned every night.

Now, Louie lived in a rather ramshackle house in the midst of his animals.  He raised pigs, goats, cows, and chickens.  Might have had a turkey in the lot.  His chicken house was 2 stories and Kenneth always found that fascinating.  The whys and wherefores of Louie is irrelevant, but his uniqueness was legendary.

I learned at some point from Kenneth that Louie had married a 29 year old woman.  What he told Kenneth was basically this;   "Yep took me a wife.  She is a big one, but when I took her to the court house for the license.  the man told me it costs the same to marry a big one as a little one and I wanted to get my money's worth."

Of course I wanted to meet her so I made arrangements to go for a visit.  When she opened the door, I knew why Louie had taken the plunge.  She was a big woman!  She was probably close to 6 feet tall and heavy, but not obese.  She was dressed in a moo moo.  It reached from her shoulders down to the floor and she seemed to float across the floor.  It was not the dress or her size that caught my eye, but rather what was peeking out under the hem of her garment!

She was barefooted and 2 tiny chickens were under her skirt.  As she walked across the floor they were apparently busy under there staying out of her way.  Linda was a very warm and caring person and I spent several afternoons at her kitchen table, just passing the time of day "oohing and aahing" over the tiny animals she cared for under her skirt.

Sadly, Linda did not live  past 30 and when she passed Louie had her cremated with the explanation that he could finally lift her!  He took her on his final run through the canyon and left instructions that the same ride would be the one he took when the time came.

Years have passed since those days and I am the only one still on the up side of the sod.  Life gets lonely here on my little acre, especially with the covid 19 pandemic.  I just thank God every day for the people in my life like Louie and Linda who have graced my doorstep and brightened my life in some small way.  It is my earnest prayer that someday I will be able to see all the unique friends I have met over the years.

That would sure make heaven a brighter place!

Happy Fourth of July!

 I bet this is about the last kind of post you expected when you found me this morning.  Last thing I thought I would write about today, but I need a break from reality.  I need to be happy if even for just a few minutes.  It is 9 days until Christmas.  I have no tree.  No presents.  No hope for any happiness on the horizon, so it is off to Nickerson and the 4th of July.

It is back to the ramshackle house at 709 North Strong Street and it is July 4th, 1948 and it is hotter than hell.  No air conditioner in our window.  Electricity is only used for the lights because we do not want to "wear it out".  The war has been over for  almost 3 years.  My brother, Jake, had brought me home a package of fire crackers.  I do not know where he got them, but they were wrapped in cellophane and they were red.  There must have been 10 or twelve in the package and I was fascinated with them.  In truth, I was scared to death of them!

They were (as I recall) about an inch long.  They were a very dark red.  The fuse was a piece of white twisted paper.  If I had something like that today, I would light the twisted fuse and they would all pop and it would be over in 10 seconds.  But that is now and this was 72 years ago.  Times have changed.

We went to the old, dead Cottonwood tree out by the barn.  Jake showed me how to pick the dead wood and select just the right piece to use as "punk".  Punk is dead cottonwood  from the heart of the tree.  It separates easily, is very light , and it is free.  The man selling the fireworks had given him a free punk, but I needed my own.  In order to keep the punk glowing red, it needed to be blown on at regular intervals.  My brother was the smartest person in the world!  He was 4 years older than me and I worshipped the ground he walked on.

I recall untwisting one from the bunch and putting it in an ant hole.  With the wick pointed upward and the punk held downward and my eyes about 4 inches from the firecracker I touched the glowing punk to the wick and nothing happened.  Well, that is not quite true!  Something happened, but it was not a popping firecracker.  It was my mother jerking me off the ground and explaining to me that this was a stupid maneuver.  My brother rounded the corner of the house and quickly exited, stage right!

She then taught me the proper was to do it.  Unwind one firecracker.  Lay it on the ground.  Blow on the punk to make it red and touch the end to the fuse.  As soon as the fuse showed signs of being lit, back up very far away.  And then she was off to find brother Jake.

I do not remember many more 4th of July's until my first husband talked me into holding a Roman Candle in my hand and hurling it back and forth to make the balls go further.  When that exploded in my hand, my firecracker days were over!  Today I enjoy watching the fireworks across the river and I do it from the safety of my bedroom.  

I miss my brother.  I miss my mother.  I miss my sisters.  If this were not true, would I be writing about a 4th of July that happened 72 years ago?  No.  I would be curled up in my bed still sound asleep.  

There is an old saying that goes like this, "When God closes a door, he opens a window."  This means that life changes and life goes on.  Until the day God calls me home, I will have choices.  He has closed a door in my life and I am looking for the window.  I hope there is one, but right now, I am not sure.  I sure hope there is! 

So, until you hear otherwise,  Happy Fourth of July!  

I was happy then, wasn't I?

 Pandemic.  Such an evil word.  There was talk before about the possibility of a "pandemic."  What would we do?  All the people in power had simple solutions.  It was easy back then, wasn't it?  Medical was ready.  Hospitals were ready.  Every thing was in place to handle a health crisis.  What went wrong?

The flu kills people every year, doesn't it?  Sure.  People got their flu shots.  But my mind kept going back to the little red man in the diagram flying over here in a shiny plane.  The diagram showed him getting off the plane on the west coast.  Washington I think.  Then he got back on the plane and flew to Florida.  Such a simple little diagram, but then all the best laid plans of mice and men, as was inevitable, went to hell in a hand basket.  Little red dots began showing up all over the map.  OMG!  The impossible had happened.  We were smack in the middle of a pandemic which covered the whole world.

Even back then it was fascinating to watch.  They could trace it.  They could see it move across the country.  They could see people dying, but the little red dots meant nothing until they chose my world to come into.  We have lost a complete year out of our lives.  Our kids have adapted to online learning, but where is interaction with other people and kids occurring?  Online?  There is no electronic device that can replace the touch of a human hand; the sound of laughter.  Even a cup of coffee with a friend at Starbucks is a thing of the past.

My car rarely leaves the car port.  A quick trip to Lagreese is about the best I can do.  I still mail a few orders out from the neighborhood drug store, but my zest for life is gone.  The library where I used to spend so much time, is now off limits.  The AIDS quilt was not hung this year.  It is deserted and a time limit is imposed.  Church is closed and shuttered.  I can still walk down on the levee, but even that is a lonely undertaking.

My Sunday afternoon Scrabble in no more.  I fear I could slip into the doldrums and just wither away.  The sad part is that I am pretty sure I am not alone in this.  I met a friend at Starbucks last Saturday and we drank coffee in her car.  When our visit was over she walked to my side of the car and she hugged me.  She hugged me for probably a full minute and it felt so good.  We are not supposed to do that you know, but sometimes you just gotta' go with your gut and to hell with the outcome.

Someday this will all be over, but it will never be forgotten.  People are gone from my life like they were never there.  But they were there!  They were warm, caring, kind people!  Some of them were funny and made me laugh.  Some were super intelligent and challenged my mind.  One was special in every way.  I have a picture on my screen and I see him every day, all day long.  But he doesn't smile.  I still feel special, but it is an empty specialness and it leaves me cold.

Maybe some day I can smile again, but not today.  Maybe some day when my friends stop dying, and my church is open and I can see the rose window, I can smile.  But not today.  The pain is too fresh and the wound too deep.

Enjoy what you have, while you have it, because life is fleeting and love an illusion. 

A black felt circular skirt with a pink poodle.

 

In case you have never seen a poodle skirt, this is it.  They were the rage back in the mid 50's.  I never had one, but that did not keep me from wanting one.  I think every girl in school wanted one, so I was not alone in that.  There were only a few of the more elite girls that could afford one and it sure wasn't in my momma's budget. Of course if I had gotten the black felt circular skirt with the pink poodle on the leash, I would have needed the black and white saddle oxfords to go with it.  And a nice sweater!  Sweater would have required a bra and boobs, but I did not have that or those either.

We wore brown or black shoes.  Mostly brown.  They were lace up and tie shoes and the skirt I wore was wool.  Wool was cheap and durable.  Wool had to be hand washed in cold water because if it wasn't it shrank.  Mother was always careful to not let that happen.  Now you should know, there was none of that changing of the clothes every day like goes on around here now.  I wore my brown wool skirt to school on Monday and every other day.  Sometimes I changed blouses in the middle of the week if there happened to be a clean one laying around some where.  When spring arrived we changed to our cotton clothes.  

A side note here on the shoes.  We each got a new pair in the fall and they were our "school shoes."  The fact that they were our only shoes was beside the point.  They were polished every Saturday night so we could look really good on Sunday, when we put on our "Sunday clothes."  We each got a new pair of shoes when school started in the fall and by the time spring came and the ground was no longer covered with snow, we had grown out of them or they had completely fallen apart, and we went barefooted until it was time to buy new shoes the next fall.  Barefeet were more common back when I was growing up.  Try going in some where now without your shoes.

Now it goes without saying here that Josephine was the oldest girl and I was next in line for the hand me downs.  After I was done with an item it was passed down to Donna, Mary and then Dorothy, in that order.  Any time some one showed up on our doorstep with clothes they were getting rid of was a good day.  I always prayed someone would grow out of their poodle skirt but that never seemed to happen.

I seem to recall sometime in my growing up years that stiff, lace petticoats that held the skirts out to make them full were also in style.  Seems like that was high school and I did not have one of those either.  My sister Donna did and I recall it scratching her legs  and making them red. Served her right for being so uppity!

You need to know that Saturday was the day we did "the washing."  That way we had clean clothes for church on Sunday.  We also polished our shoes every Saturday night.  Had to have them looking good for church on Sunday.  We all wore brown shoes and the shoe polish was in a bottle with a dauber that we smeared the brown liquid on the leather and let it dry.  Then we buffed them until they shined.  We were each responsible for the care of our shoes and making sure our clothes were laid out for the next day.  We wore the same clothes to school 5 days a week.  We did change into "play clothes" when we got home.

But, back to the poodle skirts.  In my mind, if I could just have a poodle skirt and a nice sweater and black and white oxfords  and bobby socks on my feet, I could have ruled the world.  There were probably only 3 girls in the whole school who actually wore those things and the fad did not last long.  Seems I was not the only girl in the world who did not have those items in my wardrobe and I did survive.

Now years later, after I have raised my kids the best I could, I know what my mother went through.  Poverty was a palpable part of our lives.  Hand me downs were a way of life.  Staring through the window of the Corrington Mercantile at the fabrics and dresses and dishes just made me sadder.  It made me want more.  My mother patched our clothes with a needle and thread.  Today we live in a disposable society.  

And who is the winner?  Believe it or not, I think it is me! I have money to buy whatever I want, but I still put little  pieces of fabric together, but now I call them a quilt!

The patience of Job!

Those of you who know me also know that I tend to be a tad bit of a know it all and have a bit of an abrasive personality.  I am a fairly intelligent woman and I want to win.  I keep track of my score on Jeopardy! right up to the moment I fall asleep.  I love to play Scrabble and therein is the source of this blog.

My friend, Anthony was almost my polar opposite.  He was quiet and also very intelligent.  Our favorite thing was playing Scrabble with friends.  I found a game on Amazon called Boggle which could be played alone or as competition.  We made our own rules.  Boggle consists of 16 cubes with letters on all four sides.  We flipped it out on the table and then each one of us took turns making a word and fitting in into a grid with the words made before.  We could only use the letters that were showing on top.  Sort of like a crossword puzzle when it was finished.  The last one to make a word won.  Simple and fun.

Anthony always set quietly while I found my word and played.  He was the most patient man I have ever known.  The last Sunday is the one I remember.  We played; he won.  We played; I won.  On the last game it was his turn and I could see a very obvious word.  I could barely contain myself as I watched him searching the letters. I knew if he seen it, the game would be over.  He looked up at me in my agitated state and said very quietly, "It is my turn."  Yes it was and I watched as he chose the word and beat me!  But that was my Anthony!  

He never gloated over a victory and neither did I.  We were two very good friends enjoying a competition.  I respected his mind as he respected mine.  I find that very rare in a man, but usually it is a sign that he is comfortable in his own skin.  I liked that about him.

He was patient with me.  He was always kind.  Sometimes he was opinionated when we were talking about life, but always he listened.  He did not want anyone to take advantage of me and was quick to point out to me, if he thought that was happening.  While he never met my whole family, he knew who they were.  He loved his family, but sometimes he was sad and missed the ones who were no longer here.  I understood that.

My life has two parts now; before Anthony and after Anthony.  The pain of losing him gets easier every day, but not really.  There is a hole in my heart that can never be filled.  And I would not want it to change.  I will always see those beautiful brown eyes looking at me and hear his soft voice saying 

"It is my turn."  

The dash to the outhouse!

 I am up in the morning anywhere from 3:30 AM  to 5:00.  If I lay there any longer my aches and pains seem to kick in to remind me of my age.  This was all well and good back when I lived alone in my one bathroom house, but now I have a son who lives with me and he leaves for work at 5:30.  This means he sneaks very quietly up the stairs and into the bathroom and I do not hear him.  So when I open my bedroom door and see the light under the bathroom door, I know I missed my golden opportunity and I will now be doing the little dance that does no good what so ever, but seems necessary.

So this leads me to the moonlight trail to the outhouse back at 709 North Strong Street , Nickerson, Kansas,  seventy years ago.  While it was still light we all had to go visit the outhouse.  Hopefully that would be the last trip for the night.  Now, in the event we actually had to go in the middle of the night, we were allowed to make concessions.  One of these was if we only needed to go as far as the horse tank if we only had to do #1.  There was a "chamber pot" located behind the wood stove for the little kids to use and Dad.  I do not ever remember being an actual "little kid."  I am sure that after we left the Stroh place Jake, Josephine, myself were all big kids.  Dorothy was a tiny baby and Mary was 2 years old.  That would have meant Donna was 4.  Since they were little they went to Ora Ayres to be babysat while I was in school  She charged 50 cents  a week.    

I remember her kitchen well.  It had  very big wood cookstove that took up the whole kitchen.  I need to interject here that  when her and Jerry(?) were first married they were in a car wreck and Ora had suffered some brain damage.  She was still a functioning adult, but her reasoning skills were rather limited.  She could babysit and she could cook.  We grew up eating chocolate cakes that she baked every day and were used as a substitute for bread.  Now her cakes were a strange green color, but mother said it was because she skimped on the chocolate or used an inferior brand.  But that is neither here nor there and has no bearing whatso ever on anything and I do not know why it stuck in my mind. 

Jerry was an avid gardener and when he harvested his crops were kept in his bedroom.  His harvest seem to consist of mostly peanuts which were boiled and eaten that way.  Gross.  Never understood that, but it really was not any of my business.  The back yard had a grainery and that was where the chickens lived.  The "out house" was located in one corner of a row of ramshackle sheds strung together that surrounded the grainery.  It was a hole in the ground with a wash tub with a hole cut in it and turned upside down.  That was one place no one wanted to go and I never had nerve enough to perch on that with my pants down!  It was breeding grounds (in my mind) to a new breed of giant, poison spiders.

Some times mother sent us big kids to bring the little kids home.  That was always a treat because Ora would give us a piece of the green cake and we actually liked it as long as we did not know the difference.  Entertainment at her house consisted of blocks of wood which were used as cars to travel on the dirt roads we drew on the dirt yard.  

As I write this, I realize that this was our "normal".  If I gave one of my grandkids a piece of wood and told them to go pretend it was a car they would think I had lost my mind!  I can get Jiraiya to walk across a field with me to check on crawdads in the ditch, but a block of wood is just a block of wood to him.  He likes to fill the feeder for the geese, but then the computer games are his weapon of choice.

I miss my life on Strong Street and I can not imagine why I ever wanted to leave, but I did.  My idea of heaven is not a street paved in gold, but the sandy soil of Strong Street and the mud that dried in the puddles and waited for the sun to bake it so we could walk barefoot and feel it crunch beneath our feet.

  That and a piece of green cake will get me a seat at the throne of God any day!

Mama always said....

It is without fail that I wake up every morning to my mother's voice in my ear reminding me of something she thinks I might have forgotten.  Today it is the one about "If you can reach the end of your life and count all your friends on one hand, you are blessed."  Once more, I can see the wisdom of her words.  She defines a true friend as someone who carries you in their heart.  Someone who knows your deepest secrets and will take that secret to their grave.  It is someone one that you can call after months or years of absence and both of you are happy for the call.  Someone who knows the good and bad about you and accepts it as normal.

And this morning I counted. There is one in Kansas.  One in Missouri.  Those 2 go back to the Red Carpet so they are my oldest friends.  Now that Renate is back in my life, I realize that makes 3.  John Tenorio was #4, but he passed two years ago and has not been replaced.  His brother has pretty much filled that vacancy because I can bitch and moan to him and tell him my thoughts without him thinking ill of me.  Number 5 is solid.  I met him when I first came to Colorado and we have remained friends for all these years.  Now let me tell you about this friend.

I do not talk to him very often, but we both know we are just a phone call away.  And I know I can count on him to understand.  He was one of my first phone calls when I lost Kenny.  He called when his dad died and again when his mom passed.  Our first conversation in several years occurred about my Anthony two weeks ago.  He kept jumping ahead in the conversation with "Did you get married again?"  "Are you going to get married?" When he heard the outcome of the story, he was devastated as I knew he would be.  He lives in a pollyanna world where good things happen to good people.  That is not so in the real world.  The real world hands you happiness and just when you think it is alright, you learn it is not.  And that is why we need friends.

So, momma, if you are up there, and I am sure you are you need to know that the scrawny little brown haired girl you raised to be a full grown woman actually listened to you.  I do very little in this life that is not influenced by things you taught me when you thought I was not listening.  Your picture is the last thing I see when I leave my house.  There is another by my bed on the stand where the Bible should be.  I remember to cherish my friends. I do not lie, steal or cheat.  I try to treat everyone fairly.  I do not let my left hand know what my right hand gives away.  I love my fellow man.

I try really hard, but some days life just sucks.