Button class today, ah the brilliance of it!

Here we are at Lane's House of Glass where we can throw no stones!  This is located at 111 Colorado Ave., Pueblo, Colorado.  Phone # on that is 719-542-2210.   Now the way I happened to wind up in here was I was at the Weaver's Guild meeting and they said who would like to take a class on fused glass and I got confused.  For some reason I thought it was a wine tasting class and since my hand was already up and I was hollering "Pick me! Pick me!" when I actually figured out what was going on and I did not want anybody to know I was not paying attention, I signed up for the fused glass button making class.  Now, I had walked past Lane's House of Glass a time or two on my way to the homemade candy store (which incidentally, is going out of business if they don't find a buyer.)  I knew they had beautiful stained glass hanging in the display window, but that was a far as my tiny mind had taken me, until that day.

Now as I anxiously awaited the day of my class and told people, "No, I am busy that day at my fused glass class", I was asked several times exactly what kind of class it was and what was I going to do.  Did I get here before you?  What is fused glass?   I have no idea.  No idea whatsoever, but when I get done I will know what I did.  That seemed to satisfy my most ardent admirer; sort of anyway.

So today it arrived and off I went at the allotted time.  I was greeted by two of the nicest people I have encountered in quite some time; Bob Lane and his able assistant, Lisa.  We were ushered into the workroom in the back which was all laid out for us.  I at first thought the dark marks on the table were dried blood but was told that was a  crock.  See, I am smart enough to know that glass is sharp and broken glass is really sharp.  Bob asked if any of us had ever worked with glass before and I told him that one time I actually washed a window, but that did not count.

This is my work station.  It consisted of a big square of paper, glass cutters, pliers, some glue and lots of containers of broken scraps of glass and other stuff that I did not remember what was. 

These are my little palettes which I shall attempt to turn into works of art.  They are squares of thin glass.  The big ones are about 1 1/2" and the little ones about an inch.

Now after much brilliance I ended up with little piles of stuff that I am sure were what I did although I am not sure what I saw in my head and what ended up on the palette were any where near the same thing.  You people do know I have about as much artistic talent as a slug, but I gave it the old college try.

Here is my efforts laying in the bottom of the jewelers kiln.  Look kind of sad, don't they?  Ah, but wait!  The master will bake them!  10 minutes at some temperature, then raise it for another 10 minutes and then raise them to 1600 degrees.  I think that is right.  And voila!  The glass I had piled and glued and placed strategically would begin to slump and fuse together, hence the term, fused glass.  Get it too hot and apparently it all turns into a big ball and is good for not much of anything!

 

 

 

 

So, now tomorrow, I can go pick them up, because today they are really hot! 

 

So, I count today as a good day and let me tell you why.  I learned a craft that I had never had an inkling of how to do it.  I now know what fused glass is and I made some.  That is one thing.  I met two very wonderful people, Bob Lane and Lisa.  I tell you this much, they were very kind to me as I navigated this world that was totally foreign to me.  Bob did a lot of my glass cutting for me because I think he could foresee a lot of blood if he didn't.  Lisa is a font of knowledge and the two of them together made my journey a lot of fun.  And my fellow classmates were quick to point out my mistakes.  Ah, bless them! 

So if you think you can not do it, just pop right in to Lane's and tell them Lou said.  I am sure they will work you into a class and what is life if it is not the never ending quest for knowledge.  And it is always fun to learn how to do something first hand.  I am probably not going to take this up as a full time hobby, but it was fun.  Hey, if I can do it, you can do it.

 

 

 

 

 

Oak Valley Township has a new Trustee!

 

I finally have a child in the elected political arena.   Can you tell by looking that this is my oldest daughter?  Kind of surprised me that she looks so much like me!  Let me introduce you to my daughter Debbie and her husband Carl.  Well, we do not call him Carl.  We call him Hammer.  They live in a small town in eastern Kansas.

 

It seems that dear Debbie has gotten involved in the politics of the county.  This seems to be the only one I raised that is into all the things I hold dear, like recycle, GMO, civil rights, animal cruelty, organic, and on  and on we go.  She was the first to stand up and tell them about recycle centers and I do not know what ever became of that.  She is the first at the council meetings and holds their feet to the fire on all the issues.

 

She has been described as a pit bull.  She stands her ground and listens to what is presented and then explains her point of view and then listens to your point and if it is unfair, the back bone straightens and locks in place and the tail with the stinger that was wagging is now poised right above her head.  When she leaves the table, things are all as they should be and everyone is happy.  Happy is what it is all about, isn't it?

 

Now Debbie did not run for this office.  She did not campaign for this office, but when the votes were all in and the write-ins were counted, she was the clear winner.  She received a letter stating that.  Not sure what this entails, or when the entailing happens, but I am sure she will fulfill her obligation with pride and a fair open mind.

 

And our little Hammer is now the First Man.  Some how when they were  standing in front of the Justice of the Peace with my friend Shirley as their best man (many years ago ) taking wedding vows or roaring the highways and byways of western Kansas on their Harleys, they could not see what the future held.  I sure never dreamed that my survivalist daughter would be the first politician in my family.  I rather thought that would go to my son, but so goes it.  For the record, I am pretty sure she is a Republican!

 

So, I send her my congratulations! 

 

 Hats off to Debbie Kiesel for doing something her mother never had the guts to even try!

 

Snake #3, or as I laughingly named the folder, Friday snake.

 

 

 Ok, kids, this is what happens when you keep catching the snakes and relocating them and they keep coming back.  This is the third snake in less than a week.  Just more than I can handle.  This one was just under 5 feet.  Bret thought he would like to take this one home, but Amanda thought better of it.  This one was very mean.  The one night before last was rather docile, but this sucker was wanting to eat some one and I did not want it to be me.  I do not think this was the great big one and I am hoping it does not come back. 
I will keep you posted and in the meantime know that I do not like killing a snake, but this is getting plum ridiculous.  I ought to be able to walk in my own yard without them scaring me.  And when I throw a pebble I would very much appreciate them slithering off and leaving me in peace.

Well, we are starting this week off right!

This is Jimmy at my house doing the same thing he was over here doing 4 days ago, only this time the snake was much smaller.  Now I have no idea what I have done to attract all these snakes, but I am here to tell you that I may be moving into town and into a high rise.
I seriously think that the first snake was the father snake.  I think he came out from under my patio.  I think this one was the mother and she just woke up.  I fully expect to walk out there in the morning and find the babies headed for the goose house.  How many babies does a snake have for crying out loud.
The only thing that would make my life perfect at this point is for a great big tarantula to crawl in through the doggie door.  I may be getting too old for this farm life.
 

Finally made that hike I was looking forward to for so long.

Check out the scenery in this slide show.  Last Tuesday I finally got the chance to hike in the high country.  I forget what the name of this place is but it is out of Canon City.  Beautiful scenery.  This is the bluest sky in the world.  Almost as blue as Kenny's eyes.
I even wore hiking boots, back pack and everything.  I went with a friend who does this on a regular basis and I want to go on record as saying he was very understanding that this was my first trip doing anything like this.  You all know that I am a city girl at heart and my favorite things in life are hot and cold running water, electricity, a firm mattress and indoor plumbing.  Sad to say that there were none of my favorite things there in the wilderness, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.  No doubt he chose the easiest trail he could find, and for that I am eternally grateful.
So enjoy the slide show and I am going to go post to Long Ago and Not Very Far Away.

I have passed a milestone and it only inspired me to set another.

See, I have had over 30,000 reads on my blog!  To me it  is very exciting to know that at different points over the last several years 30,000 people have actually clicked on my site and hopefully read what I had written there. I do know that on occasions I have had a note from someone telling me "good job".  Got to tell you, that really makes my world light up.  I know my sister Mary is a regular reader or I should say listener since one of the girls reads it to her.  They say she smiles and laughs because she remembers the story I am telling, especially our early marriages and attempts at mothering our off spring.  Sister Dorothy just doesn't read that much and Sister Donna is pretty busy, but you will find me gearing my words to dear sister Mary.
I know I have my regular readers, my sporadic readers, a few land on my site by complete accident, some because they type in a "tag" that matches one of my tags.  For whatever reason you find yourself reading this blog, be sure I appreciate you dropping in and staying awhile.  Sign up over under the followers link and I promise that very soon I will write something worth reading.  I have had several new adventures this week, one of which scared me so bad I forgot I had a camera.  One broke my heart.  So stick around, this old lady is not done yet!

The May meeting of the Handweavers Guild of Pueblo!

I you click on the square in the lower left corner, the captions will show up.

Kind of amazing, this little slide show.  First you see the orchid Bret and Amanda gave me for Mother's Day.  Isn't that pretty?  And all I have to do is put 3 ice cubes per week in the pot.  I can put an extra one in sometimes if I feel like it.

Then it was off to the monthly Handweavers Guild meeting.  Dona Marie had give me the teal scarf for Mother's Day and I was wearing it for a belt.  No, that would not do.  Joanne Caldwell and Carol Salas ( Yes!  I used their full names.  They are the culprits.)  decided that it should be on my head because that is where the hippies wore them.  As I recall the "Flappers" also wore things like that, so I thought, "What the hey!"  So Joanne tied it on my head and Carol took the pictures.  Then I decided everyone else should be on camera too. 

So enjoy the little slide show.  See you in a few!

Hopefully this is not a disaster waiting to happen.

Ah! Spring is in the air so this morning I took myself to Peppers Plus and purchased, among other things, 6 healthy tomato plants for my garden.  Yesterday I had driven home along the ditch and noticed that the two geese who return every year to have babies had once more fulfilled their purpose.  So when I went today I was armed with my trusty camera.  I spotted them shortly after I turned off Aspen.  I do not click and drives, so I pulled over and shut off the car.
Daddy goose was very alert and immediately woke the little goslings and sent them down the bank and into the water.  But I was determined and you see I got pictures!  Yes!  This $79 camera is worth it's weight in gold.  I took my few pictures and since  I was making them nervous, I called it good and proceeded on my merry way home.  Barely a mile from the geese, I spotted something in the field at 23rd and South Road.
I once more stopped and got out.  Peering closely and squinting confirmed my worst fears.  Fox!  No, not just a fox, but a mother and 2 (for sure) kits.  She watched me as closely as I watched her, but I had the camera and she did not.  So I got the best pictures I could without invading her space.
Now, what is going to happen when mother fox gets hungry and baby geese wander too far from Daddy goose?  I know what happens in my yard when the fox comes around.  I just have to trust that daddy will take care of it.  These geese, or decedents of the earlier ones have been having babies on the ditch bank for many years.  Kenneth and I used to watch them teach the babies to fly many years ago.  At that time they were close to 23rd Lane and now they are close to Aspen.  I guess Daddy goose knows what he is doing.
So I just thought you might enjoy this little slide show!  And you can help me worry about the babies.
I think if you click on it that it may get bigger.  If not, come on out to my house!  I got the originals!

Follow up on the dreaded colonoscopy.

It has been 2/1/2 weeks since the dreaded colonoscopy so I need to catch you up on where we stand right now.  First, I hate my doctor.  I hate my insurance company.  I am now back to falling asleep before 4 AM and staying there for 7 hours.  Libby says that is the sedative side effects.  I know they killed every good bacteria in my complete digestive tract, so I am still eating pretty funny.  Lots of yogurt, pro biotics,and  kim chee trying to get my stomach full of rotten stuff;  cheese (for the binding effect), and lots of water.  I can now walk upright without clutching my stomach to releif the ache in there.  And guess what !  Got my letter from the hospital.  They had managed to corner one tiny polyp about the size of a dust particle and removed it.  It was not cancer. ( I think it may have actually been a tiny vestige of my immune system that was hiding from them.)
Oh!  And I might possibly have a sign of a hemmorhoid!  Ya think!  I have given birth 5 times and anyone that has been through that knows what that means!  That, coupled with the indignities I suffered the night before was enough to drive a lesser woman over the edge.
So now that the "procedure" is a fading memory, I am here to dispense my wisdom.  I understand that colon cancer is a real problem and if caught early is much better managed.  So while I may make light of it, I feel much better knowing that for me, it is not a problem.  So, if your doctor recommends one, then by all means, do it.  But first try the begging him not to do it.  This always makes them feel that they are in control.  They will also know you are scared shitless (I do not mean that literally.) and may take pity on you.  At least you can always hope!
 

And my world is once more in turmoil...or is it? Could this be a good thing?

No, I am not perfect!  I thought I was and  by the end of the day I may be perfect again, but last night I lay in my little bed trying to  rationalize myself to sleep.  I marched through 6 husband much like William Tecumseh Sherman marched through Atlanta on his way to the sea during the latter part of the Civil War and never dreamed any of it was my fault.  I came through all those years, while not unscathed, my head was still held high.  Today I am humbled, bloodied, and bowed.  This is the reason:

	Member id loumercer3 ( 1388) Top Rated: Seller with highest buyer ratings Click for help Proven track record of excellent service Ships quickly, with tracking provided on over 90% of items sold Has a minimum of 100 selling transactions per year Learn more about Top rated seller BubbleHelp Opens Start of layerBubbleHelp End of layer
	Start of Layer The positive Feedback percentage is calculated based on the total number of positive and negative Feedback ratings for transactions that ended in the last 12 months, excluding repeat Feedback from the same member for purchases done within the same calendar week (eBay time). Note: This could mean that the number of ratings used for this calculation is different from the same number shown in the recent ratings table on the left. Positives Positives + negatives This member's 12 month Feedback ratings Positives: 290Negatives: 1 This member's positive Feedback percentage 290 290 + 1 = 99.7% End of Layer Positive Feedback (last 12 months): 99.7% [How is Feedback percentage calculated?]
	Member since: Feb-06-06 in United State

Recent Feedback     ratings (last 12 months) This table shows the number of positive, neutral, and negative overall Feedback ratings the member has received in the last 12 months. More help about Feedback Rating- opens in a new window or tab   1 month 6 months 12 months Positive 35 205 326 Neutral 0 0 0 Negative 1 1 1 I have been operating on ebay since February 06, 2006.  In all those years I have maintained 100% both as a buyer and a seller.  Just check around and you will find that few people have managed that along with a Power Seller button and a Bronze rating.  Ebay is a cold, hard business with a lot of rules.  I have managed to stay on the good side of the powers that be for over 7 years. Needless to say when I checked my feedback yesterday I was astounded to find a red negative on  a $12.00 item.    Let me explain further what feedback does.  100% ties in to give me the power seller button and the bronze rating.  The best part about the bronze rating is the discount on my monthly bill to ebay.  Ah!  Now we come to the real nitty gritty of the business.  I pay for all my privilege's and the bronze rating reduces that bill by a percent that is tied to the feedback.  Now, I talk to people who do not give feedback or just click neutral.  Neutral is also bad, but does not actually count.  When I buy on ebay I will check a seller's rating.  If it is not over 99.5% I will find a seller that is.  Feedback is my bread and butter. So I contacted this lady and asked her what I had done to displease her.  Her verbal feedback was good, so I thought she may have just hit the wrong button. I was right.  She did say she would get on later and try to fix that.  If not the red negative will march across my dashboard for all the world to see for a full year.  But the damage has already been done to my little psychic.  My potential customers will see it and may choose another seller.  But all the "could'a, should'a, would'a," can not undo what is now planted in my little mind.  Perhaps I was not the perfect wife after all!  Maybe if I had the grit and determination during the marriages as I do with my little ebay business, I would now be a widow to my first husband, or the second, or the third......you get the picture.  But I wasn't and that brings to mind another old saying, "That is water under the bridge."  Yep!  Lot of water under the bridge and it looks like storm clouds gathering out west!  (That is a cryptic message to my avid followers.) So today I am off to church.  I am furnishing communion today and I made fresh bread, not because I want to impress anyone, but because I was to lazy to go into town and buy it!  While in the hallowed house of God, I shall bow my head and ask him to do something about this little problem.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I do not think that God will reach down and change that negative to a positive, but I think he may do a little something about this haughty spirit of mine that could sure use a little humbling.  As I contemplate my bucket list, that is one of the things that I want to change.  That and my filing system and my will.  Oh, yeah and clean the damn car. So you all have a good day and as a biker friend tells me, "Keep your hand on the wheel and the rubber side down.  Life goes better that way!"

Steve Parke, a man for the ages.

Every so often, a man comes along who is comfortable in his own skin.  I rarely actually meet such a man, but here you see one!  Let me introduce you to Steve Parke.  And see that guitar hanging off his shoulder?  He can play that!  And he can sing!  And sometimes he lets me sing with him.  Usually that happens when he is at the Peace Flotilla at the nature center in the fall.  Everyone goes down to the river to launch the floats and we wail away.  Here he is at the courthouse steps where the faith leaders were  holding a rally to ask for civility in our discussions on gun control.  Steve is a retired minister and is often found at any gathering for anything that even faintly resembles civil rights and that means any civil right for any human, animal, or anything that comes up.

And he plays that guitar and sings for Mothers Day Out at our church.  He is now working on publishing his second album.  Don't know what it is called, but do know that I will be in line for one of the first ones sold!  Then I can sing along with him all day!

He can travel to Ireland in search of his roots, come home with a slide show of epic proportions and make us all feel like we had gone there with him!  Ireland is beautiful and he is proud of his roots!  Steve is one of the best story tellers I have encountered and I have known a few!  He is at home in the coffee shops, nursing homes, church meetings, ski slopes, gym, river walk, and anywhere he points his little nose.  And girls, he is single!

 

 

But at our fundraiser at the church last Saturday, Theresa caught a side of Steve that we had never seen.  Now I am not sure that he was setting at this vanity because he was thinking about purchasing it, or just wanted to get off his feet for a break, or what was in his mind, but we got quite a kick out of this and I did promise him that I would present him in a good light.  I at first thought he had a necklace there, but if you look closely it is his phone.  His shirt has a Coors Light advertisement on the back.  He did not wear the one I like that says "Well, just because beer makes everything easier." 

So I present to you Mr. Steve Parke, retired from the work he did at the State Hospital, retired from active ministry, but always on hand to help his fellow man, brighten our day, or pet a stray kitty on the street.  A Godly man and one loved by everyone whose life he touches and touching more lives then even he knows!

I will let you know when his new album is out and will make it available in my store if he lets me, or if he doesn't, I know how to photo shop and that cell phone may turn into a tube of lipstick!

Love you, Steve!

 

 

 

 

Ever had a colonoscopy? Want one? Niether did I!

This is Debbie and her darling Hammer yesterday morning.  It was my date with destiny for the colonoscopy, which I had fought tooth and nail for years.  As luck would have it they had driven in the night before from Longton to attend a funeral in Pueblo.  Picked the one day of my life when I was not allowed to eat anything, thus I was not cooking.

This is my daughter Patty who had driven in from Lakin, Kansas specifically to take care of me during the time I would be incapacitated, and to drive me to and from the hospital.  So, I was in good hands.

If you have ever had this procedure, you will recall that visiting on the night before was a challenge at the very best.  They did fend for themselves in the eating department, which I think means they probably did not eat.

Now let me just go on record here as saying at no point in time did I ever WANT a colonoscopy, but some where along the line it became a power struggle between my doctor, who shall remain nameless,  and me.  I had a perfect doctor before him.  Dr. Riechert.  I never seen him.  If I had a problem, which is rare, I called and he fixed me up.  Silly stuff like poison ivy, pleurisy, and the occasional renewal of the thyroid prescription.  But, unfortunately, he took better care of me than he did himself and after his demise, I was on the hunt for a new doctor.  Enter Dr. Nameless.

Since he was now the man who was in charge of my health care, I thought I should at least meet him.  So I made the appointment and we met in his office, both of us fully clothed.  Nursie took my vitals and he checked the chart when he came in.  The following conversation ensued.
"So are you in any pain?"
"No, not a bit."
"I see you have high cholesterol.  I will give you Lipitor."
"I tried it once.  Didn't like it.  Like the high cholesterol better."
"You do not need a pap smear.  Do you want a colonoscopy?"
"Do I look like I want a colonoscopy?"
"Why are you here?"
"I am here because you are my new doctor and if perchance I end up flat on my back in the ER, I want you to be able to say, 'Oh, I know her.  She is my patient.'  I require very little maintenance, but I do need a family doctor."

Thus began our patient/doctor relationship, which over the years included one pap smear, and several referrals for the mammogram (which was invented by a frustrated husband some where) every year or so.  He did finally talk me into Zetia for the cholesterol problem, which I managed to tolerate for almost 2 years.  But the colon business was just a formality of "Do you want a colonoscopy?"  "Do I look like I want one?"  In all fairness, I felt rather sorry for him trying to doctor someone who does not want doctored.  Finally he asked if I would do the "poop test" and since that was non invasive, I agreed.  Now this is where my life spiraled out of my control, so listen and learn.

Nobody told me, do not eat red meat for 4 days before you do the test.  Nobody told me, do not eat beets or anything red.  And since I eat damn near anything except cooked apples, I ingested probably anything that crossed my path prior to the "taking of the sample with a paint brush".  (Playing in my poop is not something I normally do just for the record)!

To make a long story short, of course it came back positive.  Of course I was going to have a colonoscopy.  My insurance insisted on that.  So that is what I did yesterday.  Now I am here to tell you that Sunday I was not allowed to eat food and could only have clear liquids.  Eating is my passion and I did not enjoy that at all!  Sunday night was the worst experience of my life.  I had to drink a gallon of the most foul stuff I have ever encountered in my years of drinking and I have downed some pretty gross stuff on my way to a good drunk (if there is such a thing as a good drunk).

Now, I am happy to report that I passed with flying colors, and have two pages of pictures showing nothing but the cleanest colon in town.  My kitchen floor should be so clean!  My friend stopped to see me on my way into the hospital and decided I looked "fit" and after work came by to reassure himself that I had indeed survived and was amazed that I showed no signs of being any worse for the wear.  I tried to look pathetic, but could not pull it off because I had to laugh at him.  Bless his heart.

So in closing, let me tell you this... if you find yourself facing this, not to worry.  It is a piece of cake.  If you survive the night before you can survive anything.  And so I can continue my march down or up the road with that behind me and when I see the doctor again, I shall remind him that I am one of the healthiest old ladies he will ever encounter and not to make me take any more tests!

And where do I put thier memory?

This is the braid that was cut from Grandma Haas's head when she entered the nursing home only a few days before her death in  1955 (as I recall.)

Now I do not want you to  think I have some sort of hair fetish, because I do not.  Mother had kept Grandma's braid for many years and when she passed it was given to me because I was the only one who knew whose it was or how it came to be in mother's possession. 

 

I recall the day I came home from Plevna High School and found I did not live there any more.  Grandma was not well.  We knew she had a light stroke.  It was her second.  When I had gone to live with them, she was using a walker and Great grandma Hatfield who was 99 years old at the time, was taking care of her.  I was there to help lighten her burden.  I loved both of those old ladies almost beyond belief.  They taught me to crochet and to read the Bible every night and pray before I took a bite of food or dared to raise up out of my bed in the morning.  Actually, it was not a bed.  I slept on the couch because they were worried that if I slept upstairs in one of the beds that something drastic could befall me.  I could fall down the stairs if I walked in my sleep.  The house could catch on fire and I would perish.  Some one might creep up the outside of the house and carry me away.  Any number of things could befall me, so I slept on the couch.  When cousin Carl would come to stay a night, I had to sleep on the settee behind the stove because he was taller and I fit just fine on that little thing as long as I drew my knees up to my chin.  Cousin Carl was a hoot!  He played basketball and I worshipped him.  (As I look back on my life I find I have loved and worshipped a lot of people.)

 

So back to that day.  Aunt Mabel and Uncle Goll had come from Coldwater.  Aunt Mabel was grandma's sister and she was married to my grandfathers brother, Uncle Goll.  That made all of us kids double cousins.  Sad as it seems, I have no idea where any of them are.  Course, they have no idea about me either!  I really think most of them are reaping their rewards up over my head.  Aunt Lola, mother's sister, was there.  Uncle Frank, Uncle Ray, and Uncle Charlie had all been consulted.  The decision was made to place grandma in the nursing home and Great grandma would return to Coldwater with Aunt Mabel.  (She remained there until her death at the ripe old age of 104.  She was in complete control of body and mind until just a few days before her death.)

 

My mind is not clear as to the sequence of events.  I know grandma was placed in the nursing home.  I may have remained with Aunt Mabel and Uncle Goll and Great grandma until grandma died just a few days later.  I do recall being in Plevna  and in school when she died.  The funeral service was held next door at the Congregational Church of Christ.  After the burial I returned to Nickerson and never saw the inside of the house again.  I know Aunt Lola emptied it out and mother received a small gray hassock full of crocheted doilies.  I thought that was so sad. 

 

I have been back to visit the town, but it has changed so.  The high school is torn down and all that remains is the gymnasium.  But in the gym was also the kitchen where Mrs. Crawford taught home economics.  It was in that room that she informed me I would never be anything important, because I was nothing like my beautiful mother.  And I flunked cooking under her tutelage, which I found ironic since I have owned and managed very nice restaurants most of my adult life and am a very good cook.  And she was wrong about me not being like my mother, because I am.  I just never made the beautiful part, but all the rest is there for the world to see. 

This braid was cut from the head of Bret Mercer (nee Cavendar) when he came to live with us in 1998 (as I recall).

Bret was our grandson.  When he was first born he spent lots of time with us.  Then his parents divorced and took new mates.  Bret still spent time with us.   When he was a tiny boy, he always wanted a "Kenny Mercer haircut", which we gave him.  He disappeared from our lives for sometime and when he returned he had very long hair.  As circumstances some times happen beyond our control he ended up coming to live with us and the first thing he wanted was his hair cut.  We of course gave him what he wanted.  So this is a symbolic hank of hair here.  We ended up adopting Bret and this remains in my top dresser drawer with the one from Grandma Haas.

 

So my question here is this:  What do I do with these mementoes?  I can not just throw them away.  That would be sacrilegious as far as I am concerned.  So I keep them in the drawer and take them out very rarely.  Grandma's is very dry and brittle.  Bret's is still supple and filled with color and highlights.  But what about 10, 20 or 30 years from now when someone is going through my belongings and they come upon this hair?  Will they know what it is?  I could put a note in with it, but do I want to do that?  It is a quandary.

 

For the time being, I am just going to put them back in the drawer and forget I seen them.  Grandma's especially brings tears to my eyes to just look at it.  It is like spun gold and the head that produced it is so dear to me ...... 

 

 

 

Oh, this is so damn cool!!

This was sent to me by my friend, Mark Bosworth, who runs the Photography Museum in St. Louis, Missouri.  I copied the letter so you will know all I know:
***

Lou, I thought you would appreciate this one.  In our collection we have a glass plate negative of Lincoln.  The negative was made in 1859 from a 1858 ambrotype portrait of Abraham Lincoln. The original print no longer exists according to historians in Springfield, IL. and as stated by Mr. Loyd Ostendorf, famed author and historian of Lincoln.   The original print was made by Preston Butler of Springfield IL.  Six cities lay claim to where the photograph was taken.  The negative was taken by A. R. Nicholson of Peoria, IL. Attached is a photograph we took today of me holding the negative.  I am really enjoying working on this museum project. Mark     The International Photography Hall of Fame has the copyright on the image.   ***

Now, I ask you, is this amazing or what?  Click on that above and it will get bigger.  Then look at it real hard and know that in 1858 Abraham Lincoln posed for this picture.  At that point in time photography was pretty new, especially when you stop and think that today we point and click then load the digital image on a new media device and there are no such things as negatives.    But the part that fascinates me is that some one was just a few feet from this man and there is a record of this meeting in glass.  Mark is all twittery because he will be holding the grand re-opening of the Photography Museum in St. Louis on September 3 of this year.  See, it was his job to go to Oklahoma City (?) and pack it all up and move it to St. Louis, where he lives.  That is an opportunity few people get!   Mark was a very good friend of Sherman's from way back when.  One of Sherman's most treasured possessions was a picture of him taken when he was 50 years old standing behind his Norton Motorcycle.  Mark had printed the picture on special canvas.   When Sherman gave the picture to me, I knew I was very special.  Today I have the picture and Mark has the Norton.  He completely restored it and brought it to Pueblo so he could take Sherman's picture behind it 30 years later.  I have a copy of that picture also.      This story is told so you will all know just how devoted this man is to the art of photography and the preservation of the art.  And how blessed Sherman Schroeder was to have such a devoted friend.  Greater love hath no man.

The peach tree over the shed

It is spring and so I am looking out my office window at the Cherry tree that has bloomed there for many years.  Never had a cherry, but blooms any way.  Beside it is the Apricot tree.  And in the front yard is the bare place where two Peach trees used to be.  Only one of them ever made peaches although they stood side by side.  The one on the east bloomed, but was barren.  Oh, but the one on the west had the biggest, juiciest peaches God ever put on this big earth.  Bushels of them.  And the wind would thin the peaches and we still would harvest enough to feed us and enough to can for the winter.  In Colorado, that only happens about once every 7 years because it inevitably freezes.  Eventually the bores got bad and the trees had to be taken out and burned.
Ah, but the Peach tree I am thinking of today was back in Nickerson, Kansas, 60 years ago.  It was out the back door and across the drive.  It had probably been a seed that was thrown down and grew to adult hood hanging over the back of the shed.  It seemed to be the only fruit tree that I recall, except for the Mulberry  tree that kept our feet dyed purple all summer. ( And for the record, the birds all pooped purple that time of year.)
But back to the Peach tree.  In Kansas we had better luck with things not freezing in the spring and that Peach tree was no exception!  It did not fascinate the other kids nearly as much as it did me.  I would wait for the blooms to dry up and then search for signs of fruit.  I was always rewarded at some point in time with tiny peaches "setting on".   Now trust me here...if you have ever lived in a small town, you know that there is not a lot to do.  We could lay in the weeds and spy on the neighbors, chase the chickens, walk around the block, or we could watch those peaches growing.  Mother was forever telling me, "You don't be eating those until they are big and change color.  You will have the worst belly ache of your life."
Well, now that was like throwing gas on the fire.  The more she cautioned me, the more I could taste that peach.  (Oh, mother, if you are looking down on me, I do not blame you in any way.  You tried to save me from myself ) 
The cemetery was about a quarter of a mile from our house and that was another favorite place to play.  I remember once flying a kite and it got loose and sailed over the cemetery, but the string caught in a tree.  It was too high up for me to climb and get it loose so I had to leave it.  The next day it was crashed and broken.  So much for the kite.
Mother always planted a garden and one of the main things she grew was Yams.  She planted them on top of furrows and ran water down the ditches.  I remember once it was my job to run the water and I was standing on a board watching the water run in and a big spider ran up my leg and I killed him on my knee.  I have always been terrified of spiders and that did not help me get over it either.
Back to the Peach tree.  I controlled myself pretty well, but when the peaches were about the size of  a small tangerine, I thought I could see a hint of color on them.  Had to hold it up to the light and turn it this way and that, but, yes it was a little less green on this side.  So I bit into it.  The first bite was not near as sweet as I thought it should be, so I took another bite and then picked another peach in case it was sweeter and had another bite or two.  To make a long story short, I am here to tell you that my mother was dead on about the effects of green peaches.  As I recall, there was a lot of severe pain and a goodly amount of diarrhea.  Mother was sure that my appendix were ready to burst and she was trying to find a ride to the hospital when one of my dear sisters reported that the "Peaches are ready cause Louella ate a whole bunch of them today."  There went any salvation I had of getting rid of this stomach ache in any way but letting the green peaches work their way through my system.
Odd part of this whole tale is even today Peaches are my favorite fruit.  And when the harvest comes in from the western slope, namely Palisade, I am in hog heaven.  Or should I say Peach heaven?  If ever there was a food fit for the Gods, it is a nice ripe, juicy sweet Palisade Peach.  I have heard that a Georgia Peach is the best fruit on earth, but give me a western slope peach any day.
I have come a long way from the ragged little urchin eating green peaches, nursing sick calves and burying birds under the neighbors tree, but that little girl still lives in the recesses of my mind with the tattle tale sisters and the ornery big brother.  I have heard it said that you can not go home, but I am just not sure I ever left.  I am many miles from that ramshackle house on Strong Street in Nickerson, Kansas, but in the blink of an eye I am up in that Peach tree, or in the hay loft jumping out into the hay pile, or shucking corn in the field behind the house.  Memory is a wonderful thing.

Back to Nickerson.

For those of you who do not know, this is an iron.  Does not even faintly resemble the Rowenta that sets in my sewing room and give me a burst of steam when I want it.  In our kitchen in Nickerson, was a very big wood cook stove.  It was made of cast iron and burned wood as the fuel source.  It had a tank we kept full of water which came in handy for dish washing and all kinds of stuff.  It was probably 3' by 2 1/2' and had an oven on the bottom part.  That never made sense to me since heat rises, but that is how I remember it.  The cooking area had several lids that could be lifted off to put more wood in when needed.  It had a shelf above where momma kept the salt, pepper, sugar, and a grease can.  The grease can was aluminum and after frying something, the excess grease was poured in there.  It had a strainer in the top to keep out the crumbs.  We used the grease over and over until it became "rancid".  Can you believe that? 
This was not our only source of heat for cooking.  We also had a small stove with four burners that was powered by either butane or propane.  This was used in case of an emergency.  An emergency usually meant we had run out of wood for one reason or another.  Since it was Jake's job to keep the wood pile chopped into manageable size logs, it was most always his fault!  The "good" stove was also used for frying chicken on Sunday.  I think that was because we were not supposed to work on Sunday.  It was a day of rest.  Cooking on the "good" stove was always fun.  Jake and I did that.  Oh, we fried the chicken and boiled the potatoes and I am sure momma made the gravy, although I learned how from some where! 
We did not attend a formal church until I was in seventh grade.  That was when momma got her cancer and had to have a hysterectomy.  The ladies from the church brought us food and made our dresses for school that fall.  Then we started attending the Christian Church up on Main Street between the school and the doctors office.  More about that later.
Back to the kitchen.  The water source was a hand pump and below it was mounted a sink with a pipe that run out the wall into the back yard for drainage.  The health department's of today would have had an absolute stroke when they say the Muscovy ducks playing in the water hole back there.  I am sure in this day and age, looking back on the living conditions, they would have been described as "squalor".  However, I want to go on record right now and tell you that those were the happiest days of my life and I would not trade one minute of them for all the tea in China! 
(That is what we used to say when we really liked something.  We knew if we had all the tea in China we would be very rich and to not trade something for all the tea in China was the highest compliment we could make.)
In the center of the kitchen sat the "wringer washer."  It was called that, because that is what it was.  When we moved in momma had one that had a gasoline motor, but later she got the electric one with the safety feature on the wringer that if you got your hand caught in it and it was going to rip your arm off, you hit the lever on top and it popped open.  The wringer was used to run the clothes through to "wring" the water out of them.  Otherwise, we had to twist them by hand to get it out.  So when wash day came (and if I looked at the tea towels, I would know what day it was, but it seems like it was Monday) we drug the "wash boiler" down from the hook and set it on the stove.  Water was heated on the wood stove in the winter.  Summer was different.  We also had a "three legged"  cast iron kettle in the yard.  We pumped water into buckets and carried it to the kettle where the fire was blazing merrily and began to heat the water.  Again Jake was expected to tend the fire, which meant feeding the fire god logs.    Since we were extra clean, we had two rinse tubs.  These had to be cold water.  In the last rinse tub went just a tiny bit of "bluing" which gave the white clothes the hint of blue which made them appear more white.
But the most important part was the soap.  Tell you where we got our soap.  In the corner of the kitchen set a metal bucket.  In that bucket went all the grease that we did not use for other things.  When it was half full it was strained into a clean metal bucket.  When the time was right, momma dripped water through pure wood ashes and made her own lye.  This was poured into the warm grease and stirred vigorously  with a hammer handle until it began to "trace".  At the first sign of "trace" (which you actually have to see to know what it is) it was poured into a wooden box lined with an old tea towel.  This process was a definite art.  I have seen the soap set up on the way to the box and the hammer handle remain in the mass until all the soap had been grated and it was free at last.  This lye soap varied in color from dark tan to pure white.  The pure white meant that every thing had gone just right and it was perfect. 
Mother was a pioneer woman that I have learned to appreciate more the last 30 years of my life than I ever did before.  I make my own soap now with commercial lye that is called "sodium hydroxide" because the first time I listed "lye" as an ingredient my customers were afraid of it.  And I can not buy it at the store anymore.  I have to order it online and sign all kinds of affidavits that I will not be making "meth" with it.  Phshaw!
I have no doubt repeated myself today and told you things I have already told you on this blog, but I will try to do better next time.  It is just that my childhood was so important to making me who I am today, that I want everyone to know about it.  I left home when I was 18 and was so happy to escape those early years and move on to bigger and better things.  When I turned 50  I decided that I should rethink my childhood and I have become more fulfilled than ever and I want  the whole world to know that the values that were instilled in me at my mother's knee are the driving force behind the woman I have become.  Makes me sad to think what I could have accomplished on this earth if I  had pulled my head out of my ass way back then.

Pre Sale Garage Sale

 

This was the sight at my house a couple Saturday's ago.  My garage was packed to the rafters with the rummage that Ross and his helper's have been hauling in for the whole year.  They started right after the PFLAG Scholarship yard sale last year and have not stopped.  Since it is almost time again he knew this stuff had to be sorted and what better way then to drag it all out, let people paw through it and anything that can be replaced with a hand full of money becomes that much easier to move across town to the big sale the first weekend in April.  So the plan was made.

Nancy is always head cashier, so she sets at this table.  The item is brought to the table and she eyeballs it and gives them a price.  Prices are always low.  If it can be held in one hand it is under a dollar.  Two handed items are over a dollar and furniture can run all the way up to $5.00-$10.00.  Buyers are reminded that it all goes to the scholarship program at PCC.  Rebecca and her crew are always on hand helping, so it kind of turns into a party of sorts.  You all know how I like to cook, so this day it was a cook out on my big smoker.

This was the view I had of the sale.  I pulled the smoker out and started my fire.  Being the lazy white girl that I am, I just pulled it far enough out of the shed to keep from asphyxiating myself.  As soon as the coals were ready, I dumped a package of hot dogs on the grill.  Now, here is something I figured out rather quickly:  Do not set your grill with the back part lower then the front and put round hot dogs on it laying straight as they tend to roll and do so rather quickly!  There is no back to the grill and so anything that starts a down hill roll does nothing except pick up speed.  So two of the hot dogs escaped the fate of being eaten.  I still had 18 hot dogs left.  And 24 hamburgers and 8 pounds of potato salad.  Oh, and a freshly baked peach cobbler.

The pre sale ran from 11:00 AM till 1:00 PM.  Course there were early birds, but by 1:00 all the signs were down and my house is hard to find without arrows.  I had fed several people early as they needed to get back into town.  Everything being put back into the garage, which now had lots of room, we began the finishing up of the food.   So Rebecca's husband threw the rest of the meat on the grill and cooked it to perfection.   And here is our hallowed leader, Ross in his lovely Christmas apron, testing our wares.  I am happy to announce that we fed at least 23 people and had no left overs, and no one went away hungry.

And I am also happy to announce that we are ready for the sale!  Sadly this will be our last yearly scholarship sale.  When the whole year is spent scrounging things for the sale, loading and hauling  things for the sale, sorting things for the sale, categorizing for the sale, and using every inch of storage for the sale, it gets to be a very all consuming event.  So, we will now concentrate on books only.  Those can be stored at the college and pulled out and put away easily.  We may have a couple bake sales.  Lord only knows what we will do, but knowing Ross and Rebecca, I am sure we will do something useful.  It has been a long run and I will miss it, as I am sure you all will, but time marches on.

So, see you at the sale!

 

APRIL 5 & 6, 2013, FRIDAY AND SATURDAY

110 LACROSS

8:00 A M -???????



LAST ANNUAL PFLAG SCHOLARSHIP YARD SALE

 

Hey, here we are last Thursday!

Went to the Faith Leaders in Action Press Conference in partnership with Together Colorado last Thursday at noon.  Ran into several people I knew and met a very nice lady.  I forgot my camera because 30 minutes earlier I was still in my jammies!  Oh, hell!  I am supposed to be some where else.  So I tossed on something that was not jammies and ran to town.  So back to the nice lady.

Her name is Janet Wallis Altmann and she had her camera.  She said I should feel free to steal pictures from her facebook page, so that is where this came from.  She is with the Pueblo Latino Democratic Forum and she said I could join even though I am not Latino, so I figure to look into that very soon.  If someone as nice as Janet is in charge, I want to be there.  And I am a Democrat.  And a liberal and short.

So this picture is one I lifted from her album.  On the left is the Reverend John Mark Hild  of the Metropolitan Church.  The couple in the center are David and Margaret Barber from the Christ Congregational United Church of Christ in Belmont.  And I am on the right representing First Congregational United Church of Christ  in the Mesa Junction area.  Steve Parke played his guitar and we all sang.  Let me see if I can steal his picture.

Ah!  There he is!  I am getting quite adept at stealing other people's work.  I just love to sing along with Steve.  Every where I go, he is around some where and we manage to hit a note or two.  Makes me feel so special.  So the reason we were here today was to present a united front in asking that we could actually talk to the gun advocates on a level ground without all the emotion.  Doesn't seem like too unreasonable to ask that.  But it was a lovely moment.

Reverend  Dr. Neema  Caughran presented two lovely sentiments, one from Ghandi and one from Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. which were both lovely.  My little mind did not retain the words, but they gave me peace and in this world of anger and incivility  for what more can I hope ?  Little peace of mind here and a few kind words there is what makes the world go around. 

So to my new friend who lets me steal pictures and my friend Neema who gives me peace of mind, I send a big thank you and say to the readers of mine who read this blog, be kind to each other, and remember, You can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself.

 

Testing one, two, three...

Ok, I think I   have found the address for the picasa slide show!  It is 5:15 in the morning so I am going to publish this one after while and see if it works.  This is the river by Sherman's house and I think it was taken the spring of 2012, but it might have been 2011.  Anyway, here it is!

 

A labor of love.

Got this link in an email today and I must confess it brought a tear to the old eye!  Back in 1983 Sherman Schroeder and two other fellows started a group called the British Motorcycle Association of Colorado.  These guys were not your run of the mill Harley riders.  They rode the bikes that were known as British, for whatever reason. 
When I met Sherman he was forever telling me about his Matchless, his Norton, his featherbed frame, his TT Special and I had no idea what he was talking about.  I was in his garage and all I saw was motorcycles in various states of repair or disrepair depending much on the eye of the beholder.  I , myself, thought it was a hell of a mess.  Then dear Sherman   was diagnosed with terminal cancer and I got the wake up call of my young life.
Mark Bosworth, a life long friend of Sherman's, came from St. Louis.  He had a pickup and a trailer and in the trailer was a Norton motorcycle that Sherman had ridden 30 years earlier.  It was restored to pristine condition by Mark.  He had even gone so far as to have decals painted because they did not make the decals anymore.  Sherman was tickled to death.  I have a picture on my desk of Mark, Steve Vallejo, Sherman, Dave Irving, and Ken Ito standing behind the Norton.  If you look closely you can see Cleo, the dog.  This was the first labor of love.
In Colorado Springs is a beautiful man name Dana Robbins.  He took the Matchless, which gave new meaning to "Basket Case" and restored it to museum quality.  I want you to just click on that link and see for yourself!  You can even hear it run and it is smooth as butter.  And check the garage.  Sherman was always fascinated with Dana's garage.  He used to tell me "It is neat as a pin.  It is so nice you could take a date there.!"  Dana has worked very hard putting this bike back into running order and there is no way that this was done with anything but love. 
Over the last year or so I have had occasion to spend time with many of Sherman's friends.  They have all treated me with the same love they had for Sherman and I am touched beyond words by all of them.  So as I settle in for a night alone I leave you with this video made and posted by the man who built the Matchless, Dana Robbins, a wonderful man who shared Sherman's love of the British Motorcycles.  A heart felt thank you to Dana for a true labor of love.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y57dnNtUk_Q&feature=youtu.be

Spring time in the Rockies.

It is about to get to be spring here in this neck of the woods.  I actually thought about digging around out there to see if I can find my crocus.  I love spring!  My little acre here in the foothills is soon going to be covered with goat heads.  Do not let them fool you with that notion that geese eat goat heads, because they do not.  I have read that if I take baby geese and pen them up and feed them nothing but goat heads they will eat them, but my geese are so old and tough you could not even eat the gravy off of them, and I know you can not teach an old dog new tricks and the same goes double for a goose!
I have gotten 4 goose eggs so far this month.  I sent the first two to Andrea in California.  Thought I had them packed pretty well.  First I put them in a box with 200 pounds of side wall strength.  Packed them in bubble wrap before putting them inside.  I did not mark them fragile as this is a red flag to the post office workers! Then I put that box inside another box.  One was completely broken and the other cracked.  I had told the lady at the counter that there were two raw goose eggs inside, which I think was my mistake.  I expect as soon as I left she took the package to the back and hollered "Heads up Johnny!  Got goose eggs here!" and lobbed the box across the warehouse to Johnny who then went out for the touchdown. 
So I found out those two were shot and this time I packed each egg in a separate box after double wrapping them in bubble wrap.  Then I padded the box with the large bubble wrap and fitted them all around with more bubble wrap.  I left it rounded on the top so nothing could be set on top of it and slapped my label on, wrote "fragile" in red marker every where there was a place to write it and kissed it goodbye and wished it well.
Now if this does not work I am going to try UPS and see how that goes.  Right now I am watching a seed catcher try to make it's way to a lady in Canada.  It left customs on February 20 and is "in transit".  I love this selling on ebay, but it seems like the more I pay for postage, the less I get in service.  I sent towels to Austrailia after I mailed the seed catcher and she has already received them and left feedback.  Amazing!
But back to the Spring time thing here in the Rockies.  I know that means nothing.  Two days ago we had a blizzard.  Today it will be almost 70 and I think we have another blizzard coming Saturday or Sunday.  And they all say, "We need the moisture!"  And I say, "Hey, rain is moisture and I do not have to shovel it!" 
It was so simple back in Kansas.  We planted our potatoes on St. Patrick's Day.  I think out here they plant on Good Friday.  It really is no never mind, because I always dig mine up way to early any way and only wind up with a little hand full.  I love to go back to Kansas the end of March cause it seems like the Lilacs are blooming and the trees are leafing out and Tulips and Daffodils every where.  I just love Spring.  When I go there and then come back here then I get to enjoy spring twice!
But I can not go again this year cause I have to gather the goose eggs or I will have babies and that is not good.  I keep saying that when Goosie dies, I will get rid of the flock, but then Goosie has a husband and son that will need taken care of.  (Just ended that sentence with a preposition which I hate to do, but seemed no way around it.)  Somebody suggested I just chop their heads off and call it good.  Bastard!
Off to a sewing class today.  I am going to learn to make a cup cake pot holder at Sprinkles.  Now I know how to do about anything that can be sewed, but it is rather a social thing.  It is only two hours and we will have fun.  And then I will come home and hopefully do something!
Have a good one.