I have recovered in more ways than one.

I have recovered from the vacation.  That is always good.  I was disappointed that the Lilacs were not blooming while I was there.  So I checked when I got home and mine are closer then they are in Kansas!  That worries me because they have always been two weeks ahead of us.  Looks like the predictions that the climate zones are shifting are right on target.  Oh, well, not much I can do about that.
Today is my annual trip to see the doctor.  For the record, I do not like to go and since I am much like the wonderful one horse shay from the days of yore I am waiting for the big one.  You remember that poem?  I do not want to go look it up and quote it right now, so I will just tell you the jist of it is that a craftsman of years ago built  a wagon for a horse to pull and used the best of everything and did such a wonderful job that it lasted until one day when every piece gave out at exactly the same time.  I think my body will do that!
But I want to tell you about the old Doctor back in our home town.  He was located in a small red brick building that sat in the middle of the block between the church on the corner and the start of the Main Street downtown.  I do not remember his name or anything about him except that during my growing up years I was very sickly and since mother worked cleaning houses her hours and his were not always the same.  If momma could not get me in during office hours, he would come to the house.
Sometimes I would have an earache so bad I bled out my ears.  Then I would be constipated and next it was diarrhea.  High fevers were the normal at my house.  Stomach aches that kept me in bed were frequent.  Doctor figured I would never live to see adulthood.
Finally for lack of anthing else to do, he took my tonsils out.  Never had another sick day in my life.  I am now old enough to be considered old  and I take one thyroid pill a day.  And I go to the doctor once a year because I am supposed to go.  But, you know, I think back on the days when Doctor came to the house.  Do doctors make house calls now?  I do not think so.  And where I go is a 5 story building with labs and specialists and doctors and optometrists and about any service you can imagine.  A far cry from that little 4 room brick building on Main Street where one man and his nurse, who was also  his wife, dealt old time medicine to the people in Nickerson.
I have not been down the mainstreet lately, but I will go in August.  Going to see if that little building is still there.  I know the church built a big place out on the highway.  I know the school is no longer across the street from the church.
Time marches on.

Debbie and Hammer proudly present the Cozy Cafe in Longton, Kansas.

Longton, Kansas is a step back in time.  This is the Cozy Cafe and everyone at this table is related to me in one way or another.  Front left is my oldest son, Sam.  Then comes Hammer the son in law and across from him is my oldest daughter, Debbie.  Patty and Dona are back there somewhere.  The only two missing is Sue and Bret.   Savannah and Joey are at the other end and fornt and right is my friend Evelyn who traveled with me to Longton.

The cafe has been in operation for the life of the town, I think.  This is Kay, the lady who started it years ago.  See, we used to be able to smoke while we cooked, but not any more.  When she passed her husband sang at her service.  He sang "Angel Flying to Close to the Ground" and Debbie assured me he sounds just like Willie Nelson.

This is her husband,  Richard Claytor.  I got to meet him briefly on my way out the door and headed for Colorado.

This caught my eye and I could see the truth in it!

And of course the obligatory public service announcement.

The menu was simple and very reasonably priced.  Sam wanted to have a talk with them and explain to them that they could make money if they charged more and people would be willing to pay more because it was very good food.  I finally convinced him that it is not Dallas and they are happy in thier small town with small town prices.

Most of the houses are small and not much upkeep happens.  The streets are not paved except for Main Street.

This is the mansion where the fancy prople live.

A barn in down town Longton by the school.

Then we went to Debbie's farm and you can see them towards the end of my youtube rendering.  Just click here

I love Spring and I really love Spring in Kansas!

Getting ready to wend my way across Colorado and through Kansas to the South East corner.  Goose feeder is filled and the house sitter is packed and ready to move in for the duration.  This is the prefect time to go.  When I arrive the Lilacs will be in full bloom.  That alone is worth the trip.

While I was looking for a picture of the Lilac's I found this from a Longton trip I made several years back.  I plan on driving by this again in hopes it is still standing, but I doubt that it will be.  Nature has a way of taking care of those things.  The nice part is, it is still cool enough that the snakes will not be out yet.  This is back woods country so snakes have the right of way.

This is a two story building on main street of Longton.  Yes, that is a tree growing out of the roof!  Plan on checking that out also.  We plan on taking a little hike around this area.

But for now, I have to get ready for church.  Have a good one and I shall return.

Come on Post Office! Give me a break here.

This was the first boo boo  Click on that to read the first episode.

So last week I sent a letter/card/whatever to Texas.  Mailed it on March 6.  Did the 1-3 day Priority thing so it would get there quickly.  Insured it, the whole 9 yards.  Paid extra for all this.  I might as well have wiped on that money! Tomorrow will be one week and there is no sign of it ever getting there.  

March 11, 2015 , 7:28 am

Departed USPS Origin Facility

DENVER, CO 80266 

The package is delayed and will not be delivered by the expected delivery date. An updated delivery date will be provided when available. Your item departed our USPS origin facility in DENVER, CO 80266 on March 11, 2015 at 7:28 am. The item is currently in transit to the destination.

March 6, 2015 , 10:02 am

Arrived at USPS Origin Facility

DENVER, CO 80266 

March 6, 2015 , 8:47 am

Accepted at USPS Origin Sort Facility

PUEBLO, CO 81006 

March 6, 2015

Pre-Shipment Info Sent to USPS

As near as I can tell the post office scooped it up and rocketed it to Denver into a big hole, where it remained until I put an inquiry on where the parcel that was destined for 3 day delivery had gone.  

As near as I can tell it is suspended some where after Denver and before Texas.  OK.  I accept that the post office is overworked and they need to raise the postal rate every time I figure out how much a stamp is, but come on people.  Isn't this a little ridiculous?

How can I get something from point A to point B with out the post office cooperating with me here?  I could have laid this on the dash of my car and driven it down there and basked in the Texas sun for 5 days and came home and made supper.  See I know there is avacuum between here and Oregon, but I did not know about the one between here and Texas.

Well, that is my speil for the day.  I will let you know when and IF my card makes it there.  In the meantime, I will just stare at the tracking number and wonder.

Hey! Where is the dog?

Have spent several days now wondering about why I can not remember having a dog when we were growing up.  We always had a bunch of mangy cats hanging around in the back yard and in the barn, but I can not remember any dog.  We had Muscovy Ducks that were always making a mess where the sink drained out through a wall in the house and dumped the water in the back yard.  Now there was one stinking mess if I remember right and I am pretty sure I do.

Now in the first place ducks are messy and Muscovy Ducks are the messiest ducks in the world.  They are black and white.  The males are very big and the hens are very small.  I had 2 males and 2 females many years back, but they are anti-social and I think they killed one of my geese.  Nobody home and in the pen but the geese and the ducks and there was the dead goose.  They could fly.  Most domesticated geese and ducks can not fly, but those suckers could.  What this has to do with a dog is beyond me, but you do know how my little mind wanders.

So we had the Shetland pony that kicked brother Jake in the head, Danny the brown horse that no one could ride but Josephine, and a bunch of old work horses that were good for nothing but eating hay.  Oh and the rabbits mother raised, but those were to eat.  The milk cow was not really a pet. The cats were what is known as "feral"  which meant they were born in the wild, raised in the wild and no way in hell were you going to pet one of them.  Try and you could lose a finger or an eye and usually both.

As I recall the only people on the block who had a dog was the Rienke family.  They had a white dog with brown spots.  I think his name was Spot.  His life was spent on the end of a chain where he spent the day barking and the only time he quit barking was when he was wolfing down his dinner.  Thinking back there were not many dogs in the town of Nickerson.  Walking home from school, I know the Redford family had a big, mean dog that was on a chain on the clothes line.  Ever so often he would escape and we would see him running through town dragging his chain behind him.  Used to scare the living pee waddin' out of me because I knew if he seen me he would eat me, but thank heavens he never did.

Maybe if I had been able to have a dog to play with I would be better adjusted today.  I guess there is really no way of finding out.  I know as soon as I met my first husband he gave me a little Chihuahua puppy and I have had dogs ever since.  I have two dogs and a cat now.  I have got to try to outlive them, because they would not know how to act if they went to a home where they were not rulers of the roost.  When we go to bed I have to put 5 cat treats on the dresser for Icarus.  Then I give Daisy a Milk bone and then Elvira a Milk bone.  Then I turn out the light and crawl into bed with Icarus protecting me and the dogs run out for a short bark at the moon before they fall asleep.

Thinking back, I bet we never had a dog because every scrap of food had some one's name on it.  The whole country was in a depression so food was scarce everywhere.  But then there was this picture.

There is my mother with a black dog.  I think my dad did not like dogs.  Whatever, it is a mystery that I can not solve since no one is around to guide me.  Maybe I had a dog and maybe it lived outside, so I forgot about it.  Yes!  I bet that is it.  I will stick to that story because I like it.  I bet he was a Collie dog and  his name was Rover!  Oh, finally, I will be able to sleep tonight.

I miss Rover.

Let me be clear on this poverty thing.

Maybe we are getting lost in semantics here if indeed semantics is the word I want.  I very much appreciate the comments I am receiving when I write about my childhood.  "Oh, grandma, so sorry."  "I just never knew how hard you had it."  "This is so very sad,"  The thing is here, I did not have it bad.  Granted we were poor, but back in the times I grew up in, most people were.  We may have been poorer then most, but there were families living in box cars and chicken coops and eating less than we did.  While I never knew these people, I knew of them.  That was enough.

My mother was there and my father was there.  My sisters and brother were there.  My family.  What I remember most about growing up was not what we ate or did not eat, only that we survived.  We survived and moved on to better times, but we survived.  We grew up playing "Kick the Can". "Blind Man's Bluff, " and "Red Rover, Red Rover."  We could always drag enough kids together to play something and when darkness fell and the streetlight came on over on the other corner, we better get for home.

Clod fights were common place and we needed to use our good common sense when choosing a clod out of a plowed field to lob at someone.  If it was too soft, it fell apart in the air.  If it was too hard it could do some real damage.  Of course, it it was too big and too hard it could kill some one.  As you see we all survived to adulthood and in that day and age, that in itself was a miracle.

I remember setting on the side of a dirt road in my little cotton dress and my bare feet trying to build an ant hill for an ant I had found that I thought was an orphan.  I remember pulling dead wood off of a Cottonwood Tree and lighting it on fire and then blowing on it to keep it burning because I thought it would pass as punk for a fire cracker in case I ever found one of those.

I remember wading in the Arkansas River and the water was so clear I could watch minnows swimming.  I could cup my hands and drink it.  And I could lay in the cool water and then jump up and run home in the warm sun and be dry when I got there.  I was brown as a berry .  Of course I was barefooted!  We got new shoes in the fall when school started and when we grew out of them we passed them down.  I have a closet full of shoes now, but I still long for the days when shoes were an option.

I remember setting on the front yard with my brother and listening to the Grand Ole Opry from WSM in Nashville, Tennessee!  I remember Minnie Pearl and Roy Acuff and a host of others.  I remember stars so bright they were diamonds in a black sky and a moon that lit up the yard like a spotlight.

I remember so much that I have no words for most of it and that is what I am trying to get across here; not the poverty, but it has to be told because it was what it was.  So when I tell you about something, try to see past that to the lesson that is there.

Making soap was how we got soap,  Times are different.  Now if you want soap, you go buy it, but it was not always that way.  We rendered out fat because we needed lard.   We played our little games because that is what we passed time on our way to adulthood.  We had a checker board instead of an XBox.  We played Dominoes instead of turning on a television or booting up the computer.

I grew up in the best of times and I am going to continue to tell you about them.  There was a time that poverty was an inconvenience, but never a time it caused me to lose my zest for life.  It was a time to be gotten through and a time to be thankful when it was over, but there is not a childhood memory in this head of mine that is dominated by poverty.  Poverty was for the people we saw pictures of that were guant and sad looking with a look of silent pleading in thier eyes, not for those Bartholomew kids at 709 Strong Street in Nicherson< Kansas!

PEACE!!

Chicken feet? Of course. Right up there with Carp!

I was talking to a friend the other day and explaining to him the facts of survival back in the "good old days." I am pretty sure he thought I was making it up about the carp and all.  He told me that Carp was a trash fish and no one really ate them.  Hmm.  Seems like I recall wading in the river with a big seine and filling tubs with them   Mother had a way to can them so the bones got soft and they were almost like Salmon.  I said "almost".  They looked like Salmon, but they sure did not taste like Salmon.  We liked the Carp best drenched in corn meal and fried in lard.  And we always had bread when we had fish because one of the little kids would always swallow a bone and the only way to get it on down was to eat a piece of bread.  I am amazed today that none of us ever had a perforated intestine, but we didn't.

So few people are around today that actually lived through the times back then in the small town of Nickerson when it was catch as catch can and anything that didn't move real fast was going to be eaten.
Try to imagine 8 of us living in a 2 bedroom house and no income.  The house payment was $10 a month and it came first.  Mother always planted a big garden that consisted mostly of sweet potatoes, onions, beans  turnips, and corn.  The corn was not the sweet corn like we enjoy around here in the summer, but was dried and then ground into corn meal.  The root vegetables were pulled up and stored in the root cellar.  Apples were abundant and several bushels of those ended up in the root cellar.  We ate apple sauce, fried apples, baked apples, and boiled apples.

Mother always seemed to have chickens around and chickens meant eggs, except when "brooding" season was upon us.  That was when the old hens sat and hatched out babies.  Not all of them sat and we still gathered eggs, but I always kept a damn close eye on those beady eyed hens.  They were just as apt as not to fly off that nest and peck me if I got to close.  They never actually did that, but I lived in mortal terror that one day one might.

Usually the hens kept us with plenty eggs, so there were cakes when we had sugar.  If one of the neighbors butchered a hog and dad helped we had pork and we got the fat which was cooked in a cast iron pot and this gave us "cracklings" and lard.  I think out here they are called chiccarones.

Meat was never very plentiful at our house through the week, but come Sunday, we always had meat of some kind .  My favorite was fried chicken because then there would be potatoes and the good country gravy.  Now to the feet part.  Mother had to make a chicken stretch to feed 7 of us, so every bit of the chicken as going into that skillet.  Not the head though.  The feet were immersed in boiling water and skinned.  They went right into the skillet and while there was no meat on the feet they were good for chewing on and the little kids never knew they were not really getting anything to eat.

Sometimes mom would come up with a roast beef.  That was something to die for.  I especially liked the gristle.  I could chew that for the longest time and actually thought it was good.  Amazing how that worked!  Today I only eat chicken breast.  If I cook a roast it better not have any gristle in it.

So to this day I do not eat apples in any cooked form.  I do not like to smell them cooking and so I do not cook them.  I eat them raw and only when they are nice and crisp.  Needless to say, I have given up the Carp for Alaskan wild caught Salmon and the only fowl on the farm here is the geese and they are not going to be eaten.  I steal their eggs and make them into noodles.  That is my idea of birth control!  Chicken breasts is the only part of the chicken I buy or cook.  No feet for me!

I look back on the hardest times and I can not help but realize that my mother had to be the strongest woman in the world.  She took nothing and raised us kids to be functioning members of society.  She took in laundry and cleaned houses to put food on the table and clothes on our backs.  She made me a teal corduroy coat when I was in fourth grade and Lord only knows where she came up with the fabric.  I wore that coat longer than I should have because the kids finally began to tease me, but it was mine and I loved it.  When I hear Dolly Parton sing "Coat of Many Colors"  I always think of my mother.  As I get older I realize everything makes me think of my mother.  The missing her is as bad all these years later as it was the day she passed.  I do not think one ever "gets over" the death of our loved ones, we just learn to live without them and I am now acutely aware that my kids are probably walking in my shoes.

It is called life.

Home, Home on North Strong Street where my memories actually begin to be sort of accurate.

I have noticed that fuzzy little memories of life on the Stroh place and then the Ailmore place change according to my mood of the moment.  Most of the time I remember those days as carefree and happy.  Well there were a few exceptions.  Seems like I was always getting my ass beat for something that I was sure I had not done, but someone gave me the credit for being the instigator of one foul deed after another.  But when we moved North of town life took on meaning.
Miss Donough was my first grade teacher.  She was so pretty and so sweet.  The school was two stories tall and we were not allowed to ever go up the stairs.  I longed to walk those stairs all the way to the top and see what mysteries lingered there, but alas I was 4 years away from that trip.  Little did I know how quickly those years would fly by and then I would be going up the stairs every day and would hate that too.
The first grade classroom was very big.  The alphabet danced around the top of the room and the numbers followed.  At one end of the classroom was the "cloak room."  That meant coat room.  It was also the place where we took off our goulashes and there was a shelf for our lunch buckets.  Now you should know that when I say lunch bucket, I mean lunch bucket.  Some of the rich kids had lunch boxes with designs on the side of them.  Some were black.  Some kids brought paper sacks and those kids could just throw them away when they were done.  While I envied them that luxury I still thought it was wasteful.  We carried a bucket that had once held lard.  It was called a lard bucket when it had lard and lunch bucket when it had lunch.
At the far end of the classroom was the "sick room."  It held a small cot and it was for whoever was sick to lay on until they either felt better or a parent came and took them home.  I longed to be sick and lay on those clean white sheets, but it never happened.  Being blessed with an immune system that never allowed a disease or virus to enter your body is a curse to a kid wanting to see what it felt like to lay on a sheet.  Our beds at home were shared with at least 2 other kids and sometimes more.  Sheets were unheard of at our house.  Mother cut up old wool clothes and made them into quilts which were used both as a sheet and a cover.  Course with that many kids there was a lot of body heat shared.  To this day I can not even "rough it" when I go camping.  I need a sheet over me and under me and a pillow with a crisp pillow case under my head. I love fresh sheets and if I weren't so damn lazy I would wash my sheets every day.  I digress.
At the end of my first year of school, Miss Donough married a man named Mr. Breece.  Miss Donough ceased to exist and Mrs. Breece came into being.  I sadly left the first grade and moved across the hall to the second grade and Mrs. Wait.
This was where I would learn "manuscript" which is known today as "cursive", but is no longer taught in school as a required subject.  Not sure that anyone writes anymore what with the tablets, laptops, and such. It was here I also learned to add and subtract.  The second grade class was also responsible for raising and lowering the flag on the flagpole in the sand box.  Not the girls though.  No, no.  Girls were in training from day one to be good little girls and learn how to be good wives and mothers and raising and lowering the flag was not woman's work.  Strange, but all my life I have been on the wrong end of the stick as far as boy/girl things went.  Second grade passed in a blur.  We were kids.  There were no class distinctions.  We had not yet learned that there were the "haves and the have nots".  We had not yet learned that clothes were for anything except covering our bodies.
We ate what was in our lunch buckets and were damn glad to have it.  Potato sandwich's, wrinkled apples, or a cold piece of carp were just fare for the day.  Just something to keep us fed so we could make it through the day and home to our tar paper shack we called home.  A place to lay our bodies down, a place to rest our head and dream of places we were learning about where there was electric lights, a gas stove and  water that came out of a pipe in the kitchen, all warm so you could wash the dishes or take a bath.   .A fairy tale place that existed just outside our reach.  Soon I would learn that Strong Street was the wrong side of the tracks, but for now I was happy and secure,  and when I was 8 years old the present was all that mattered.  

Did I cause World War II? Some say yes.

This is my mother at about 7 years old.  I would guess that this is a picture taken to commemorate the purchase of the new washing machine on mom's left since pictures of kids and dogs were not real important at the time, but a new waahing machine was!  And the washer seems to be more centered than mother!  LOL

This is my mother when she was in high school.  She was a farm girl with the soul of an angel.  Now I did hear tales that perhaps mother was not the saint we gave her credit for and history did show that before she met my father, she was married to a man named Jack Walden and my oldest sister was indeed a Walden when we were in school and before she married.  What ever became of him is unknown to any of us.  I recall scuttlebutt that he was a gangster from the Chicago area and mother did indeed live in Chicago before Josephine was born.  It was rumored that she had escaped his evil clutches and returned to Plevna, Kansas and grandma Haas had sold a cow to pay the doctor bill when the baby was born.  No one is alive now to ask, so I guess if I want to I can make up a story, but for history's sake, I will not.

This is my mother and father when they eloped.  Now here is another story.  Dad had been married before and he and his wife had 5 children.  There were 4 boys and one girl.  One of the boys and the girl died of sand pneumonia back in the "dirty 30's"  His wife was rumored to have lost her mind and then died or perhaps taken her life.  Dad put the 3 boys in an orphanage.  Earl and Richard were adopted, but Gene remained in the orphanage until he was taken by a family named Banks who did not adopt him, but gave him a home until he was mostly grown.  Some where I have letters that he wrote to my dad while in the orphange which I shall post for posterity, but not now.  They are very sad.

There were also rumors that dad had his own dark side and I recall a man named Costello that he took me once to the house and I waited in the road while he went inside and talked to him.  Frank Costello lived in a very big house across the river.  And that is all I know about that!  We never went there again and what Dad  did was never fully known to us.

This is me when I was tiny (a sight that will never be repeated).Wasn't I the cutest little thing that you ever saw?   I was hatched out in  Nickerson, Kansas  right before Pearl Harbor was bombed by the Japanese.

Now, I ask you, what the hell happened!?  My mother was beautiful and my father looked like he was mostly Irish and here I come as sturdy German stock.  But it is what it is.  I fully intend to delve into my dark past over the next few weeks, so hang on kiddies, we may be in for a bumpy ride!

OMG!! I can see the rocks on the bottom!

So you know how you get when the world is more than you can handle and it looks like the time  (to quote yogi bear) to "Exit, stage right!"  Friday after work I made good my escape to the high country and partook of just a tad bit of hiking in the warm sunshine of the Salida, Buena Vista, Coaldale area.  I also was shown a part of Buena Vista that I did not know existed, the Water Park.  This is an area built on and along the river.

This is the Collegiate Peaks.

This is the hiking area.  Avalanche Trailhead.  That sounds a bit ominous, doesn't it?

It proved to be beautiful and not really cold.  I had to hop over a couple babbling brooks, but what are friends for if not to help me?

And the trees are showing new growth.  If Winter comes, can spring be far behind?

So then to the River Park.

And across the bridge and look down at that water and see the rocks in the bottom!  I can see through the water and there is no sludge or moss or cans and botttles and other litter.  What happened!

So I took a little stroll up the mountain on the other side and there is my car, way down there.  It looks like a Hot Wheels car.  Mine is the tiny one in the middle.

And speaking of tiny, look at those little people below me.  I am Queen of the mountain!

So, back to earth and back across the bridge.  There I met two lovely ladies who asked me to take thier picture.  So I did and then took one for me!  They are from Denver and Kathleen is a Spritual Conselor and Tracy's grandma lives in Pueblo.  Of course, I lost thier card.  Not really lost, just lost to me at the moment, but it will turn up.  In the meantime, you should know that it is chance encounters like this that make my life worth living.  It is so great to meet friendly people when miles from home and exchange a few words with them.  Sorta like ships passing in the night, only it is day!  Thanks, girls!

And then it was time to head back down the mountain to life in the big city of Pueblo.  Time to put the geese away, pet the dogs and cat, eat a bowl of cereal and go to be to dream of what a wonderful Valentine Day this was.  If you want to see the full video ( and it is very long and I put classical music to it), just click here.

Ah, the world of e-commerce never ceases to amaze me and keeps me very busy.

I have been selling on ebay since 2008 (?) and have maintained a 100% feedback despite myself.  I sell mostly bird seed catchers which is a band that goes around the cage to deflect the seeds back into the bottom of the cage.  I sew these to order in the size and color that the customer wants.  If they are buying, they might as well buy something they like.

Occasionally I will exchange many emails to arrive at what I have on hand and what they want for thier home.  Usually it goes something like this:
"What color do you want?"
"What color do you have?"
"What color do you want?'"
"Grey."
"Great!"
This conversation takes 1 1/2 minutes.  But occasionally I get a person who is probably lonely and wants something special.  This was a very interesting discourse and I am still laughing about it so thought I would share it with you.  Names have been blocked to protect the sender.

Dear loumercer3,

my question is this simply: I bought one of the kind that does not have a bottom, but the seeds just fall out the bottom part so no good. It is like a see through mesh and white color. To me non mesh kind is dumb, as you cannot see the birds through them. The mesh does not get torn and is fine to me. Yes maybe not as tough, but I have had no problem and it was half the price - just no bottom part. SO, can you make me a see through mesh kind with a bottom? => I do not care if the boittom is solid material as you do not see it really. I just want the mesh kind, to be able to see the birds better. Others that are mesh are colored, BUT the sheer white looks the best (more neutral and see through) and sellls the most.. If I invented these I would make it as clear as possible, not even white. And have a bottom on them. I do not understand why I see none on the whole eBay like that. So le me know if you can make me this and is it extra cost? I need this size. Thank you, William

I replied:

Dear bazmart,

I do not sew net, mesh or chiffon which is what you are describing.  First it is very hard to sew, does not hold up well and I worry about tiny toenails getting hung up in the net.  Sorry.

Loumercer3.

He sent the same email

Dear loumercer3,

Once more:      my question is this simply: I bought one of the kind that does not have a bottom, but the seeds just fall out the bottom part so no good. It is like a see through mesh and white color. To me non mesh kind is dumb, as you cannot see the birds through them. The mesh does not get torn and is fine to me. Yes maybe not as tough, but I have had no problem and it was half the price - just no bottom part. SO, can you make me a see through mesh kind with a bottom? => I do not care if the boittom is solid material as you do not see it really. I just want the mesh kind, to be able to see the birds better. Others that are mesh are colored, BUT the sheer white looks the best (more neutral and see through) and sellls the most.. If I invented these I would make it as clear as possible, not even white. And have a bottom on them. I do not understand why I see none on the whole eBay like that. So le me know if you can make me this and is it extra cost? I need this size. Thank you, William

And I replied.

Dear bazrmart,

I am sorry, but this is the issue...I will not under any conditions for any price sew a mesh seed catcher either with or without a bottom.

Lou Mercer

And he replied:

Dear loumercer3,

ok thanx for reply. Here is the deal. Only you and 1 other seller make these in bigger size and they said (nicely I may add) that they could not also. My wife has an older singer sewing machine left to her by her mother. She got if fixed for $100 (it is the real good kind everyone wants that is like one of the best old kind). BUT, she won't do it as too lazy (poor me). SO, I will just sew a bottom on it by hand myself. And I think I may find a way to have them made myself (plenty of Guatamalen people in Florida who will work cheap. And be your competitor on eBay (no I am not kidding). Again, you can see the birds through them, so I will bet people will buy them way more than the others. Like I say, the white mesh looks the most see thru more than the color ones, and it sells the most by far. So if I make it even more see thru and add a bottom I will take a good market share. Have a nicer day!

And I replied:

Dear bazrmart,

I wish you much luck in your endeavor. I am 73 years old and would like nothing better than to retire and move up in the mountains away from wifi and all its's entanglements. Too bad your wife is lazy, but like you said, lots of cheap labor around. I think I will raise my prices and help you out.

Lou

 So there you have it.  I may have been a bit strong in my reply, but such is life!  As of yet, I have had no answer to the last email and if I am really lucky he is now out searching for a Guatamalen with a sewing machine who is interested in replacing his lazy wife!  LOL

So it is off to Los Pobres in my new car.

So I got a new (to me) car and what better way to break it in than to go by Nancy Martin's and pick up a load of stuff Ross Barnhart had ear marked for Los Pobres.  I had about decided that it would take 2 trips when Ross showed up and taught me how to cram it full!

This is the passenger seat.

This is the drivers seat and the only one not crammed full.  That is my purse taking up residence.

Here is me and my load buckling up for safety and since I could not see out I was pretty sure I would wind up in jail. 

This was the view from the rear of the vehicle. 

Side window. 

And away we go!

And now we are coming back.  This is a memorial alongside the road .  Been there several years.  Kind of hard to drive 60 mph and get very good pictures!

But look at that empty passenger seat.  Doesn't it look inviting?

So the new vehicle has now been properly introduced to it's future as a work horse for Los Pobres and wherever else the open road calls me.  And guess what?  The gas mileage appears to be about 42 MPG.  I can live with that!

Oh, damn it anyway!!

Today I decided to pick up the phone and call the credit card that I had charged when I got tires for the Ford before I sold it.  My intent was to pay the card off so I did not have to worry about it any more.  So I dialed the 1-800 number and waited.  Soon a voice came on the line  instructing me to "press 1 for English."

Wait a minute!  Press 1 for English?  Who are we kidding here?  Where am I?  Am I not in America, the land of the free and the home of the brave?  The land where the Constitution is written in English.  The Bill of Rights is in English.  The Declaration of Independence is written in English.  My President speaks to me on the television in English.  Press 1 for English?  I think not.

I hung up the phone.  Of course I called back later and pressed 1 for English because I did want to pay the bill, and English is the only language I know.  So here I set tonight wondering if I am unreasonable?  I hear about minorities and I now think I must be the minority.  If I had not pressed English, what language would I have gotten?  The voice did not mention any other language,  just told me to  press 1 for English.

Now, as I think about it, a lot of things have changed and I just did not notice.  I was talking to my son this evening and learned he had lost his cell phone for some reason and he needed to make a call.  There are no pay phones, or so he says and I have no reason to doubt him.  I know there used to be pay phones every block or so, but now I try to think if I have seen one and I don't think so.  Not much need for them when everyone has a cell phone stuck in their ear.

I know vinyl records, 8 track tapes, and cassette players have all been replaced by MP3 players and Lord only knows what else.  Cars have camera's to see behind you when you reverse the car.  Wifi is every where.  Money has been replaced with a plastic card.  Theaters are about a thing of the past.

I long for the good old days when we hung our clothes on the line to dry.  A night on the town consisted of a trek up the long stair way to the second floor to dance at the "Crystal Ballroom"  where the big shiny ball hung above our heads and caught the light as it spun slowly around.  I always thought it was magic.  All the songs were in English.

I know our world is changing and apparently I did not get the memo when English was made a secondary language and I had to press 1 to hear it.  My food has been genetically modified so much that I can leave a tomato on the counter for a month and it looks the same as the day I put it there.  I can leave a loaf of bread on the counter and it just sets there until I either eat it or throw it out.  Can't even make penicillin out of it.  My 7 year old grandson has hair under his arms thanks to growth hormones in the meat products we eat. Technology is such that news from around the world is in my front room 3 minutes later.  I have come to accept this as normal, but press 1 for English just might be the straw that broke this old camels back!

Super Bowl Sunday....and that affects me how?

Once upon a time in a land far, far away, Super Bowl Sunday meant something to me. Oh, and so did fishing, skating, and the sock hop in Convention Hall back home in Kansas.  That was probably the best year of my entire life.  I had a boyfriend at the time named Corky.  Now back in the day "boyfriend" meant something different than it does today.  It meant he was a boy and he was also my friend.  I have to be upfront about Corky.  He was a dancing fool and the two of us won every dance contest we entered.  Remember years ago when Dick Clark had American Bandstand and it was in black and white?  That was us.  Corky would flip me over his back and I could land on my feet and never miss a beat.  I can replay those days in my head and feel young again.
But alas, the days of sand and shovels are far and away gone. Corky is but a distant memory and the sock hops of those bygone years are not related to this old arthritic body because if anyone threw me in the air now I would break every bone in my body when I crashed to earth.  However, the best part of growing older is the  memories, because they get better every year.  I think we won all the dance contests, but I have no little trophy's to prove it.  I can still hear Fats Domino, Chubby Checker, Elvis Presley, Carl Perkins.  My feet still tap to Blueberry Hill, The Stroll, Heartbreak Hotel, and Blue Suede Shoes, Rock Around the Clock and Chantilly Lace.
It is the same moon up in the sky and the same sun shining in the heavens, but it is different.  I was amazed when we put a man on the moon and my heart still aches as I see the Challenger explode with the astronauts on board.  The kids today can read about history, but they can not feel it.  They can celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr., but they can not know the shame and disgrace of "seperate but equal."  We knew when they called it that what it was...discrimination pure and simple.  White dating black back in those days was a death sentence for sure.  My mother lived the dust bowl years.  My father lost 2 kids to dust pneumonia.  I know it, but I don't feel it.  When I was born we were at war.  Today we are engaged over seas, but is it war?
I grew up with an outhouse and now I do not think they exist.  I grew up in the time of polio, chickenpox, measels and whooping cough.  I had a friend in an iron lung.  She died.
I never went to a dentist and had my tonsils out when I was 10 years old.  I was sickly and bled out my ears when my tonsils were infected.  And I wanted to be a missionary.  I wanted to go to Africa and take care of the poor starving people.  That never happened.  Do I have regrets in my life?  Many.  Can I change an iota of the past?  No.
So some times I get melancholy and sad.  Does it stop me?  No.  As I look back down the long road behind me and the short road ahead of me I often wonder if God gave me the chance to change any one thing along that long road what it would be.  I have my answer.  Nothing.

Dental hygiene and a trip back in time!

So Monday I went to get my teeth cleaned.  It is a torture I endure with amazing regularity.  I have a new teeth cleaning lady so we visited a minute.  Now you should know she is a sweet young thing and has no idea what the good old days were really like.  I told her how I had been wearing tri-focal glasses for most of my adult life, but since I quit smoking I no longer need glasses for anything except to read fine print.  She was amazed as most people are.  She asked when I started smoking and I told her that I had started at the tender age of 16, so it was a habit I had for most of my life and I had been devoted to the art of blowing smoke rings and all kinds of stuff.   I told her that I had probably been smoking in the delivery room when I had my first baby.  She of course laughed because everybody knows you can not smoke in the hospital.

Ah!  but there had been a time when you  could.   I recall that in the hospital in the top drawer of the little dresser by your bed was an ashtray and a book of matches.  We had to furnish our own smokes and after delivering a baby one really wanted a cigarette.  The nurse would bring the tiny little baby in all wrapped up and she would hand the baby to me, the new mother who lay there with a cigarette in my fingers and the head of the bed raised for comfort.  Nurses were very concerned about the newborn and always cautioned the mother to "Try not to drop hot ashes on the baby."

I know there are you people out there who are aghast at this and think it is something I made up, but as God is my witness, this is true.  We smoked every where back in the day.  Doctors endorsed cigarettes and said "Throat hot?  Smoke Kools".  If we were in a room all fogged up with cigarette smoke and someone complained, it was there job to relocate, not ours.  We were smokers and we ruled the world.  Cars came with a cigarette lighter and an ashtray.  I noticed that is not happening any more either.  When I started smoking a pack cost 14 cents.  When I quit a pack cost $3.00 if you bought them by the carton.  Today they are $5.00.

I also told her that diapers have not always been disposable.  Everyone of my kids had thier tender little fanny diapered with a cloth diaper that was washed in Ivory Snow because it was " 99.44% pure.  It Floats!"  Course many years later I discovered that this was all a myth.  It floated because the man in charge of stirring it until it "traced" had left the mixer on and left the soap and gone to lunch and the soap had started the "trace" and air was incorporated into the soap and that was why it floated.!"

Diapers came in two styles.  The first was about 30" long and 12" wide.  These were folded in half and then in half again so you ended up with a diaper 7 1/2" wide and 12" long.  The other style was square and you folded it so it ended up triangular.   Men always liked cloth diapers because when the last baby was through with the diapers he had a barrel full of the "best damn grease rags" in the world.  Men never ever under any conditions ever touched a diaper before it became a grease rag.  Men just did not do that sort of thing.  That was women's work.

So now we are living in a world, where children must never ever under any conditions ever be exposed to smoke and the days of smoking any where near any place a hospital might be located is banned.  It is banned almost every where except in your home and then it is forbidden if you have a child.  Oh, and no smoking in your car if there is a baby in it and if no baby and you smoke you have to keep your windows rolled up so the only one you are choking to death is you.

Men change diapers now.  They cook and clean and do all kinds of womany things.  Hell, I think they even use deodorant!  I could be wrong, but I think so.

So, kiddies, our world is changing and we better go with the flow.  I am thinking that if it keeps changing as fast as it did the last 50 years, I may just let loose of my tentitive grip on reality and spin off into space.
But for now, I am off to bed to dream of another time and place where there were unicorns and sugar plum fairies!

January is about behind me, thank God.

Well, it has been a very rough start for this year.  We lost Pastor Jeannine Lamb right before Christmas.  Her sudden passing threw me into a new low both at church and home.  I spent a lot of time over the holiday with her life partner, Kathy.  That helped me work through it some what.  Of course now comes the work of finding a new pastor.  Kevin Olsen is doing pulpit supply for us until we can find an interim ministry so that takes a load off our shoulders.  Does not make life easier though as there are meetings and more meetings.

Also passing was Rae Flanagan, whom I had gone to church with for years.  Very nice and very classy lady.    Lee Dorsey was the last of the people I had gone to church with and my heart breaks for his beautiful daughter, Bernadette and her husband, Jesse.   I also lost a client, Irene.  On the upside, I got a new great grandson.

Ended the year having a new furnace installed.  House insurance and car insurance both jumped up 25%.  Never had a wreck in my life, but my insurance keeps going up.  Not the social security check though,  That just keeps getting stretched further to pay utilities and buy groceries.  We all know how long this cheap gas is going to last, don't we?

As I look forward to the new year left ahead of me, I can hear the limb rubbing on the back of the house roof and know that is going to need to come down and that means more money.  Car has 105000 miles on it so needs to have all kinds of little things done to it.  I think about just selling and moving into town and that scares me.  When I do that there is no going back to the big house in the country with 2 dogs, a cat and 9 geese.  It is easy to downsize at my age, but up sizing is out of the question.

So I am going to set here in my big house surrounded by all my stuff I have accumulated and think about what is going to happen this coming year.  I have lots of big plans and lots of things I want to do, but time will tell as to what happens.  Who knows, maybe next year I will be the one not here and someone else will be missing me!  That is the fun part of life; not knowing.

So for now, I am going to keep loving all my friends and acquaintances and if one of them falls by the wayside I will know I did my best and if the "fallee" happens to be me, they can shed a tear and know that we parted on the best of terms.

We are not promised tomorrow.  We have only today.

Please lock me away in a nice warm place and feed me hot food!

Welcome to the Hospice House of Sangre de Cristo on Abriendo Avenue here in beautiful Pueblo, Colorado.  

This is where I will be spending the next 2 days in volunteer training.  I had 2 friends that were going with me, but that may be changing since this is what happened here yesterday and last night.

I am not a fan of winter and I am sure not a fan of driving in this stuff, but I shall.  That is the only way I know to get from point A ( my house) to point B (Abriendo Inn).  Of course before I can do any leaving of point A I need to shovel a trail out to point C (goose house) and feed the critters.  Oh yeah, and take the sledge hammer to break the ice on point D (stock tank).  And shovel to point E (car port). All this makes me think I should be seeking a point F (nice warm 2 room apartment in an assisted living facility complete with some one to shovel outside, a  lady to clean, a dining room down the hall , and clean sheets once a week.)

But since it is too late for that I guess I will jump in the shower, go out into the cold 14 degree weather with my wet hair and every pore of my body open from a hot shower and hope for the best, which means I will walk spraddle legged so I don't fall and break something.  So wish me well and with a little luck I may get on here tonight and write something really worth reading!

There is something pathetic about Westboro Baptist Church

I got this picture off the Internet

December 29, 2014 was a very good day for myself and a whole lot of people in Pueblo, Colorado.  That was the day Westboro Baptist Church came to protest our gay marriages as well as our legalization of marijuana.  Like any of that was thier business.  Much like us going to protest their protest, but it had to be done.  The numbers were definitely in our favor.  There were 7 of them and there were over 400 of us and I was told later that there were over 50 in the church across the street that never got counted.  Of course adrenalin was high and we all hollered at them and they just smiled and called us fag lovers and such.  As I look back on that now I am overcome with a very heavy sadness.

  

I decided to do a little research into the Phelps family and it becomes even more sad when I learned that these kids are born into this house of hate and are taught from a very early age that they are right and the rest of the world is wrong.  they perpetuate homophobia as well as the beleif  that soldiers are killers and baby rapers.  In thier world there is no good and all is evil.  How can they have any happiness?  What is thier life but one big long demonstation against any kind of happiness.  They spew hate like a Roman Candle spews fireballs against a dark sky.

I know the family started with Fred Phelps and a lot of his podigy remain thier in the compound.  When Fred died they kept him around for several months in hopes that he would come back to life, but that did not happen.  His sister now seems to be the ring leader, but as it appears there is dissent in the ranks.  Outsiders have joined the ranks, but as the kids grow, they want more out of life and escape the confines.  Sometimes they are caught and brought back, but a few remain "at large."  Could you imagine growing up in such an environment?

When I was raising my kids I tried to make them happy and secure and I taught them that everyone was equal and had the right to happiness as long as thier actions did not hurt anyone else.  I tried to teach them what being a christian was and I think they mostly got the idea.  I could never fathom a parent that would deliberatlely stand thier child on the corner and place a sign in thier hand that would hurt another person.  Westboro Baptist is shrinking in numbers and thier protests are of little consequence any more, but I want you to think about this:

What if Westboro had been on God's side and had marched for love, kindness, charity, forgiveness?  What if they had taken that banner and protested murder, child abuse, domestic violence, animal cruelty?  If they had raised a ruckus over the real short comings of society, I might have waved one of thier signs.  If they had thrown groceries at a hungry family they might sleep a little better at night.

And so that is my take on Westboro.  So to bed.

Happy New Year! Or it might be subtitled "Here's hoping!"

So here I am in another year.  Who would have thought this would keep happening to me?  I am recalling a time when when the kids were little and I had a moment of clarity and purchased a life insurance policy so when I bit the big one there would be money to finish raising them.  Nice thought at the time.  So for a few years I made my payments and then seeing that I was still pretty much alive, I cancelled it, but they sent me a term life paid up till 1979.  I was pretty sure that would cover me until I met an untimely death in what ever manner it could be.  You must know that I have not always been this sweet little old lady you see before you and I have also not had much of a filter on my mouth especially when I was upset.
But, to make a long story short, I outlived that policy and several more after that.  Finally gave up on term life insurance as a bad bet on my time here on this big green/blue ball.  And now, rather then making a list of all the wonderful things I am going to do in the new year and all the bad things I am going to quit doing, I am keeping a score card!  Now, even that is a waste of time because I do not remember what I did last year so what am I going to compare it to this year?  So, I am going to just tell you a few of the improvements I have made in my life over the last ...well since I came to Colorado.
Having dropped out of school my senior year, I went to college and received a degree in accounting.
I became proficient on the computer.
I opened a store on ebay and maintain 100% feedback after 6 years.
I started attending church regularly.
I learned to weave and spin.
I quit smoking.
I volunteer my time for others through SCAP, Sangre de Cristo Hospice, Los Pobres, and anyone else who needs me.
I wrote a book and published it.
My blog is successful.
I do a little hiking in the mountains, but not alone because I am afraid of bears.
So, I am guessing I am in better shape this year then I have been a lot of years before.  And I can see a bright future ahead if I just keep my eye on the prize.  Just gotta say it though....

HAPPY NEW YEAR...2015!!