Copied from Sangre de Cristo at some point.

Not real sure where I copied this from, but I do know I was with Hospice at the time, so pretty sure that is where it comes from.  The point is that it hits the nail right on the head.  I have lost a lot of dear friends, family, acquaintances, pets, a few enemies and the list goes on and on, in my life as I am sure it does in yours.  

I recall an advertisement on television where an older woman is in the bathroom preparing for bed and she is talking to someone, I assume was her husband, off camera.  She lays down her hairbrush and turns out the light and the camera pans to an empty bed.  I did not understand that as much then as when it happened to me.  The realization came to me just a few days after my husband passed.  I was devastated, but then life does go on.  There is no do overs when death comes knocking, but we are given no choice but to go on putting one foot in front of the other and living one day after another.  

It does become bearable after a time, but the one we lost will never be replaced.  I think about my mother every day.  I miss Shirley.  I miss my sisters and my brother and all the aunts and uncles.  The first actual death I recall was my calf, Dennis.  Then it was my nephew that was born at home.  Then it was grandma Haas.  I am sure there were others before, and I can not remember all that have gone since and still continue the march to the grave.  But this gives me solace.  This and the one about the departed being a ship sailing off across the ocean.  It is leaving the shore where people are weeping and it grows smaller and smaller until it is gone, but on the other side of the ocean, it is arriving and the people are cheering as it draws nearer!  

I do hope something I have written today in my own rambling little way gives someone an ounce of peace and acceptance.  And some day, when I make that journey, and you learn of my passing, know that I am happy and think of me with just a touch of sadness and a whole lot of joy!

Until then, may the peace that passes all understanding be with you all.

And now she is no more.

She was there and I planned on going to see her yesterday, but then I decided it would be tomorrow.  Tomorrow is now here and it is called today.  And now she is no more.  It is strange how this death thing works.  Some people hang on and linger and put it off and wait for another day.  Just one more day.  Just another hour, or another year or another anniversary.  Or not.  I do not know which is better, but I think she did it just right.

Many times in my hospice days I had set by a persons bedside for hours, or weeks or months, waiting for the Angel of Death.  And when it happened, after what ever period of time, and even then we were not ready.  It was too soon.  The family needed just one more day.  One more hour.  One more minute.  But that was not to be.

What did I learn from my hospice training?  I learned not to put it off until tomorrow.  Tomorrow may be too late.  5 minutes from now may be too late.  And yet I still procrastinate.  I have projects in various stages of having been abandoned for something I found more intriguing.  Another brass ring in this thing called life.  And it is called life for a reason.  It is meant to be lived.  It is meant to be lived now and in this moment, because there is no tomorrow.  Tomorrow never comes.

A friend just called and invited me to lunch and since I have not seen her in a while, I am dropping every thing and going.  This may very well be a tomorrow that came and I did not see it.

Climate change or somebody's butt sucking air?

I watch very little news on the national level any more.  When Trump was elected I made up my mind that I would give the man a chance and let a business man handle the finances of my country.  I do still call it "my" country although my fore fathers came here only 119 years ago.  I still have pictures of the Haas family clearing land to farm.  They are very grainy pictures and were not taken on a cell phone, but they show the progress.

I am proud of my roots.  My grandfather was 9 years old then.  My great grandfather brought the whole family a little at a time.  They settled in the Reno County area, but have since spread out across the country.  They cleared river bottom land and began farming.  Back then, there were no King Soopers, or Walmart and mostly people depended on each other.  My great, great grandmother was a person who took care of people when they were sick.  Great, great grandfather raised turkeys and geese and did custom farming.  I forget what they grew, but it seems like it was sorghum and they made molasses out of it.

I diverse.  Back to the subject at hand, which is the environment.  For years steel mills belched black smoke and there was no concern for the air we breathed, but then the powers that be woke up to the fact that we were killing each other by not protecting the air we breathe.  Thus was born the EPA and it became a world wide concern that we were polluting our environment and we only have one world.  So we passed laws and then we held summits and passed rules for protecting our earth.  It became a global concern.

And then someone elected Donald Trump and his ilk.  He does not believe in Global Warming.  He sets in his air conditioned office, rides in an air conditioned car from one place to another.  And or storms get more violent and more frequent.  We keep cutting down our rain forests and not replacing the trees that clean our air.  We pull out of the global community that is trying to save our world and hide our heads in the sand.

I do not profess to being an intelligent woman.  I hide from things that scare me, like global warming, genocide and anything that upsets my little apple cart.  I do not watch the national news because I am standing over here with my head in the sand.  I can not abide with racism and ignorance.  There are no gun laws.  We just settle our differences with an AK-47.  For God's sake, people, we are sending our children to "active shooter training" in our schools.  Where are the day's of sand and shovels?

Last night I talked to a friend in New Zealand.  Telephones are our link to any where in the world.  But now cell phones have replaced communication in person.  Send me a text.  What happened to coffee klatches?  What happened to a walk in the park?  What happened to a moonlight stroll?  What happened to honesty?  Integrity?  What happened to helping an old lady across the street?  Where is our common decency when we could carry on a conversation with someone and not tell them to go back where they came from?

We play follow the leader here in America.  It is now right and just to lock people in cages because they want to escape genocide in their country.  We build walls when we should be building bridges.  I never dreamed two short years ago that our country could be so divided and that Republican and Democrat could be dirty words.  But here we are.

I am going to church in a few hours and pray for my country.  It is my country too, you know.  I will first post this and then read the comments to my thoughts on facebook.  My friends will be supportive, but there will also be the negative comments calling me "an effin liberal."  Such is life.  I am proud to be who I am and where I came from, but then God made us all and he made us in his image.....or did he?

Strong Street and the Cemetary

This is the Hoffman house which was right before our corner on North Strong Street.  Mr. Hoffman was quite the gardener and he first built a basement house and then built the house on top of it, but they lived in the basement for about a year.

 And here is the N. Strong Street sign.  We were so proud when they put it up because it made us think we were really important.

When we lived here we had a bare board one story house with a cracked cement front slab porch.  There were 2 big catalpa trees in front one of which we could climb and survey our kingdom.  This is the same place under the Catalpa trees that Jake and I used to listen to the Grand Ole' Opry.

There was also a walking stick cactus on the property line between us and the Reinke family.  We used to push each other into it.  Ask me if those things are sharp!

 This is all that seems to be left of the Catalpa trees. Just brush.  I never see a Catalpa that I am not transported back in time.

 I do not remember where this house was located, only that it has replaced one of the houses on Strong Street, because they are all gone now.

Next stop is the cemetery.  This is the tombstone for my sister Josephine's little son that was born dead.  I was there when that happened, but I think I told you about that.  Jack Lamb brought the tiny casket to the house in his car.  We had the service in the front room of her house.  I remember the tiny little face and the tiny little hand holding his blue blanket closed over his little body.  He looked like he was sleeping.  That was so sad. 

In the corner of the cemetery to the left of the entrance in the front was a bunch of brush and in it was these tiny tombstones.  They are hard to read.  I used to walk over there on hot days and go to that corner because it was under a big tree and it was cool there.  I would sing to these little kids and in my photo album I have a picture of the corner as it appeared than.  I took a picture when my brother came back from Germany and brought me a Kodak camera.  Sixty years later and they finally cleaned out that corner and laid these few pieces of tombstones together in an effort to preserve it as it was then.

This is the only grave that actually survived the years.

And so I leave.

 Wildmead Cemetery will always be in my mind and the little friends I had that were my company when I needed them most will remain behind.  I always felt so safe in that place under that tree.

I doubt that I will return to that cemetery again in this lifetime, but it will always be a part of my heritage and while I did not know the kids in the corner I was accepted by them and I am sure some where in another place and time, we will meet again.

Only God knows what goes through my mind, but I am trying to piece it together and find peace. 

Nickerson on the Ailmore place.

Here we go down memory lane.  This first picture is Roy Keating's house just up the road from us.  Roy raised pigs, and I mean really big pigs.  I have rarely seen pigs that big.  They were black and white.  He also had a chicken house.  I gathered eggs while dad took care of the pigs.  Mother had told him what would happen to him if I got eaten by one of those damned pigs.

Going on past and then taking a left turn would bring you to Bull Creek.  Normally it was dry, but this spring it was almost out of it's banks.  This is the same Bull Creek of that bull frog episode that occurred with sister Josephine.  Made me want to get out of the car and wade like I did all those years ago.

 Right past the creek was the Rumble house.  I was surprised that it was still standing, but houses were built to last back then.  Mr. Rumble told me one time that if I learned the words to the song "Buttons and Bows" he would give me a shiny dime.  That was a fortune back then for a snot nosed kid, but so was the song playing on the radio.  I have since learned most of the words, but sadly no one wants to hear me sing!

 I think this is the Barthold house where I used to spy on the sisters drinking tea in their back yard.  Damn!  I know now what an obnoxious kid is, and I sure think I qualified!

This is all for today.  The computer is not wanting me to do this.  

Tomorrow I will journey down Strong Street and go to the cemetery.  I want to thank you for joining me down memory lane as I confront and exorcise my demons.  This is something I have wanted to do for years and knowing you are with me makes me stronger.

I love you all!

Off to a roaring start!

Well, I spent Saturday night in Lakin with Dona and Joey.   Woke Saturday morning and after breakfast we did errands and in due time were on the road to Hutchinson.  All this was well and good until we passed Macksville and Stafford.  Gets pretty few and far between for rest stops at that point.  Of course as soon as that happens the old bladder kicks it and demands attention.

To make a long story short, we solved that problem.  And then I had a brilliant idea!  On 50 highway just a ways past Sylvia is the house my grandma Haas lived in before she moved into Plevna.  Over the years I had watched it set empty and seen it deteriorate.  I had taken pictures of it from the shoulder of the road , but never gotten brave enough to walk up to it alone.  Today I had a partner who was going to help me!  So I pulled off the road and parked.

The prairie grass was waist high, but we forged onward.  I took pictures through the broken windows of the ceiling laying on the floor.  Time had taken it's toll of the old house and it was hard to imagine my little granny ever having been a wife and mother in that place.  

We walked on back to where the chicken house was.  It was in way better shape then the house, but not by much.  With all my curiosity sated it was now time to wade back through the grass to the car.

We arrived in Hutch just in time to wait for a freight  train to very slowly wend it's way through the crossing on Monroe street.  I thought I felt something tickle my neck so I reached my hand up and felt something that was not a hair.  I pinched it between my thumb and forefinger and looked down at a fat little tick!  Visions of a slow painful death from Lyme disease clouded my vision.  As soon as the train passed we drove quickly to Evelyn's house. (As quickly as one can drive when they do not remember where she lives.) In short order we were at Evelyn's and in the shower.

Next stop was sister Donna's house.  Donna and Karen have a new dog,  I forget what kind it is, but it is a tiny one that barks all the time and it is a very high pitched bark.  It is Pomp(somemoreletters) and it is the dog that guards the Queen of England.  It is black and white.

Now it is the next day and I have already eaten two times and am scheduled for another feeding at 5:30,  I went to Nickerson today and have a lot of pictures of the old places I used to know, but I can not download them to this laptop so you will have to see them later.  For now I am going to go do something even if it is wrong.

Have a good one.  More from the road tomorrow or the next day.

Currants are just pretty nasty tasting by nature.

Titled this and then thought I better go out and try one just to be sure my memory was correct.  Yep.  those currants are pretty nasty tasting things.  Well, that is assuming that it is actually a currant bush and not some deadly poison bush that the wicked witch of the west put out there to trick me with.

When I was a kid growing up on Strong Street, the fence row on the way to the chicken house was lined with currant bushes.  As I recall, they went from dead green to a kind of opague looking sort of amber berry.  Just in case I am wrong, I am not going to eat any more of those currants and if I do not wake up dead in the morning I will be very happy.

But if you think the currants are nasty, you ought to try a Gooseberry.  Now the mother in law was very proud of her gooseberry patch when she was alive.  I think it has pretty well dried up and gone to weeds now, because not everyone was as fascinated with those gooseberries as she was.  Oh, when Bret and Shellie were little tykes she let them pick gooseberries for her.  Being kids they had to sample their wares.  First one was kind of funny look, second one was a look of revulsion and the third one never happened.  Why God puts some of this stuff on earth for us to eat is almost more than I can understand.

Blueberries, Strawberries, Raspberries, Blackberries and stuff like that are good.  Eat one and you know immediately, but then try the gooseberry or the currant and just wonder why you did that.  Now I could understand if I was stranded 800 miles from a food source that eating that nasty stuff for survival might be necessary, but I do not plan on being that far from good stuff.

And then there is the Kale to consider.  Now if it is young, tender, organic Kale, I can eat it.  Course I rate it right up there with Lamb's Quarters.  When we were tender little kids mother used to round us up in the springtime of the year and walk the fields in search of Lamb's  Quarters.  We had to pick only the young tender ones and not the big ones.  Of course when one is picking little plants about 3 inches tall, it takes a long time to pick a "mess".  That is what is enough to make a meal.  Instead of saying "meal" mother called it a "mess."  We would take the stuff home, wash it good, and cook it with a little bacon grease.  Today I eat Spinach, but if I could find a bunch of Lamb's Quarters I would eat that.

And on the subject of bacon grease, it seems that the bacon grease we always ended up with was from some old boar hog and it was strong enough to stand on it's own.  If we weren't eating weeds and strong bacon grease, that mother of mine was seining for carp.  Now I do have to say this for the carp, that is a trash fish and I am damn glad I do not have to eat that now.  The only way that stuff was palatable was if she canned it and then in the dead of winter when there was absolutely nothing to eat, she would make patties and fry them in the rancid bacon grease.

Do not think for one minute that I do not appreciate all my mother did for me, because I sure do.  It is just that I have honed my culinary skills and now budget my money so I can buy the finer cuts of meat and the tender vegetables.  I drink homogenized milk because raw milk has tiny pieces of cream that used to get on my lips and I am a spoiled.

I think I will just stay out of the back yard and away from the currant bush and let the birds feast on the fruit.  I may go make me a Bacon Lettuce and Tomato sandwich with the thin sliced maple flavored bacon, store bought tomatoes, and fresh crisp lettuce.  Oh, and mayonnaise.

Be careful what you wish for: you just might get it. 

A Black Widow Spider by any other name....

This is a Black Widow Spider.  It is round like a marble.  This is the female which is larger than the male.  After she has mated with the male she kills him and eats a good portion of him.  I am scared of spiders of any kind but I am scared shitless of this mother!

I learned very early in life to spot this lady.  She likes to build her nest in dark places and behind doors.  Spider webs are soft, but the web this spider builds is very strong.  I can spot one.  I have lots of spider webs in the garage and around the yard, but this one is special.  When you look at it , it looks different than the little webs of other spiders.  I take a stick and catch a part of the web and tug just a little.  If it is a harmless spider web, it will break, but the Black Widow web is strong and will crackle when I tug at it.

By simple showing you this picture and telling you about this mean spider, I will have nightmares tonight.  I have managed to get through my life with out a spider bite or so I think.  I read an article once that told me how many bugs and such the average person swallows in their lifetime and I can not dispute them.  I can live with sharing space on earth with the harmless little garden spiders and even the one that lives in the front yard and carries all her babies on her body so she looks like a fur  ball until you step on her and 659 millions babies run off in every direction.

Now I do not know just what brought on this blog about Black Widow Spiders and I am not going to try to figure it out.  Just rest assured that this is one mean mother, so stay away.

And, oh yeah, sweet dreams!

A day late, but relative nonetheless.

I was about 20 years late getting into the fight for Gay Rights, but when I got on board I gave it my all.  Stonewall was nothing to me in 1969.  I did not know any gay people because there were not any in my world of western Kansas at that time.  Little did I know that my 4 year old son would open my eyes and make me see the injustice of discrimination.  Little did I know that less than 20 years later I would be not only waving the flag, but it would be one I stitched with care.  I knew nothing about PFLAG in 1969, but by 1973 I was a whole lot wiser.  By then I was single and working at the Red Rooster Restaurant with a little guy named Gibby.  Gib was a very good friend of my mother, so of course he was a friend of mine.  Gib was gay.

I had never to my knowledge ever even seen a gay person, but now I was friends with one.  And it was nice to have a male friend that I could go dancing with, or hang out with and not have to worry about a romantic involvement.  Then I started my journey  that has led me to where I am today.  I moved to Colorado in 1977 leaving Gib and my mother and siblings behind.  Soon after the "gay disease" reared it's ugly head.  In June of 1981 the CDC  published a paper about a strange disease that was affecting gay men.  And thus began the AIDS epidemic.  I am not here to give you a history lesson, only to tell you why I am where and who I am today.

Gibby was one of the first to die.  He is buried in an unmarked grave somewhere in central Kansas.  He is only one of many that received the same treatment.  Fear held us in it's paralyzing grip.  There was talk at one point of isolating the "victims".  The CDC scrambled to set up guidelines and finally succeeded in calming the fears, approving new meds and I am happy to say that now it is not even

mentioned as AIDS, but is HIV and it is a manageable condition.  I speak of HIV only because it led me to the gay rights movement.  

In 1983 I married Kenneth and for the next 8 years I lived a fairly mundane existence.  This all ended when the religious right groups headquartered in Colorado Springs put forth Amendment #2 for the Colorado Constitution that basically stated that gays and homosexuals were to be denied civil rights protection.  This was on the ballot for the November 3, 1992 election. It was known as the "Hate State Amendment 2". 

It was worded in such a way that it was confusing to say the least and it passed.  Barely, but it did pass and the gay community was devastated.  At that time there was a catering business on Elizabeth and for some reason we congregated there.  We were all so disappointed because what this bill did was basically declare open season on gays.  The place was filled to overflowing and that night "Pueblo After 2"  was born.  We knew that as gay and straight we had to band together.  As a straight person I could advocate for my gay friends.  Warren, David, Joe, Carolyn, and the list goes on.  Along with  Nancy and Jalia, PFLAG was born in Pueblo.  Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.  It was the local chapter of a national group.  

Events and times become confused in my little mind and I think I should have kept a journal.  But I did not.  I did what needed done with the help of my colleagues. Westboro never stood a chance with us.  Pueblo After 2 morphed in Southern Colorado Equality Alliance.  Southern Colorado AIDS Project was borne of the need to take care of our afflicted children.  

At some point in time I conceived the Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt which is hung at the Rawlings Library the end of  November through most of December.  World AIDS day is observed on the 4th floor every December 1 and I am guest of honor.  

We have come a long way, but there is still work to do.  I was given a lot of awards over the years, but none as prestigious as the mother who thanked me recently for giving her son the strength to acknowledge who he is! That is called "coming out" in case you wondered.

Kinda' makes it all worth it.

Let them eat toast

Back in the late 60's and the very early 70's I worked at the Red Carpet in Hutchinson, Kansas.  I think I was there a total of 6 or 7 years.  My mind does not retain dates well at all.  The point was that I was not married to Duane any more and needed to work to feed 5 kids.  I was cook, kitchen manager and baker.  I decorated cakes as a side job for extra money.  I also worked in the Bakery down on South Main.  I did that at night.

Any way, if you know anything about restaurant work, you know that it all revolves around the cook.  If the cook does not like you, the orders are slow coming out of the kitchen and might not look quite as neat as other orders, so it is a good idea to stay on the good side of the cook.  My waitresses loved me.  Any excuse for a holiday was reason to shower gifts on Lou.  One birthday I was sent to Wichita to the Charlie Pride concert because I loved that man!  Also that entailed a plethora of 8 track tapes being bought and delivered to my hand by my workers.  I miss the 8 track players.

This morning I lay in my bed remembering those days.  And I remembered that one birthday they gave me a 4 slice toaster because I had mentioned that my toaster no longer worked.  It was a very nice toaster, all shiny and clean.  As luck would have it I kept my empty freezer full of bread because that was more efficient than running an empty freezer.  And bread was cheap.  I think it was 5 loaves for $1.00.

I also had a live in babysitter.  Her name was Janice and she was married to the boss's son who was in Viet Nam at the time.  That is a whole 'nuther story.  She was not the most ambitious person I had encountered, but she did keep the kids off the streets at night.

My regular shift was 5:00 AM-2:00 PM.  Then I came home and had a nap and went to work at the bakery at 10:00PM-till the bread was all sliced and sacked.  On Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday I came back to the restaurant and was back up cook, dish washer, salad girl, or whatever needed to be done.  This one particular night, after I received the toaster, I worked backup.  So I was there from 5-10 and then at the bakery until 11:30.

When I drug myself home, it was almost midnight.  The house was dark and everyone asleep.  I let myself in the back door  and flipped on the light over the kitchen sink.  My eyes fell on a plate full of toast on the counter.  And then another!  The whole counter on both sides of the sink was filled with plates full of toast.  So was the kitchen table!  And the stove!  And the wash machine!

I was still staring at the piles of toast when Sammy came out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.  He came over and hugged me.  Then the mystery was solved when he said,

"I made you supper!  I ran out of butter, but I thought you could get some more tomorrow."

It is 50 some odd years later and I still remember the look on his face.  He had made supper for him momma.  He was so proud.  I am not sure just how much toast he thought I could hold, but this was a bonding moment.  He and I were alone in the half lit kitchen while his sisters slept and we ate dry toast in the middle of the night.  Probably the best mid night snack I have ever had.

I do not remember what became of all that toast, but I am sure some where there were birds that enjoyed a feast.  (At that time we did not know that commercial bread was not good for ducks, and crows and other feathered things.)

I kind of miss the good old days with the kids, but I rather imagine they are glad those days are behind them.  But just for old time sake I think I will go make a piece of toast for my breakfast.  I actually have butter!

Should I or shouldn't I?

I woke up in a new world this morning!  For some reason I woke up thinking about dating!  Now you must realize that I have had my share of husbands, but they do not really count.  I can not remember ever really dating.  You know the thing where some guy calls you up and says "Would you like to go out to dinner and then catch a movie?"   No, that never happened.  Usually, I meet some guy and the next thing I know I am Mrs. So and So.

I do recall back in Hutch when I met a guy who played lead guitar in a band and he invited me to come and watch him play and then we would grab a bite to eat.  Sounded good, but in the meantime I bought a restaurant and got involved in the cleaning process  and buying groceries so I could open Monday morning and completely spaced that date out and he must have been ticked because he never called again.  And then I married Charlie and we moved to Colorado.  After a divorce or 2 I met Kenny and that is now history.  9 years after he passed, I met a guy named Sherman.  He occupied 2 years of my life off and on until he died in 2012.  I then "hung out" and hiked with a guy named Dan until I decided that was a lost cause.  We went out to eat one night, and of course it was my turn to pay.  When we parted it was with his words, "Next time it will be my turn."  Now that was 4 years ago and I have not seen him since.

So back to the business at hand.  I think I would like to go on a date.  Now, I am not going to run out and willy nilly date some guy.  I think I would like to date a blue eyed man.  I really like the brown eyed men, but I have not had very good luck with them.  3 of my husbands were brown eyed and while I can get lost in their eyes, I find them to be kind of sneaky and not very forthright.  "Eyes of blue; a love that's true.  Eyes of brown will let you down."

Forthrightness is something I value in a man.  Men that have lasted any length of time in my life were blue eyed men.  Duane was around for 10 years.  Kenny lasted 20 years before he died on me.  And dear little Sherman and I were engaged to be married when he drew his last breathe.  The last guy I entertained the idea of dating was brown eyed and I think he stepped off the face of the earth, because I have not seen nor heard from him in a very long time.  Such is the perils of caring for one of the creatures.

So, back to this dating business.  I think I would like to date, but then I remember all that entails.  I may not be up to it.  I do not want to go out at night, because I can not see to drive, so he would have to pick me up at my house and I do not want anyone to know where I live.  I could meet him at the end of the drive, but I am afraid of the dark.  So it would have to be in the afternoon, but then I sleep through Jeopardy! from 3:00-3:30.  So if I could meet him at 4:00 and we could have a 2 hour date that would be good.  See Jeopardy! comes on again at 6:30.  And on the eye color, if he could have one blue eye and one brown eye, that would be perfect.  Oh, and he needs to be over 5'7" and under 6'3".  Any shorter and he can not protect me and any taller gives me a crick in my neck.  He has to have a sense of humor.  He has to believe in God and I prefer a Protestant as opposed to a Catholic.  That is not a deal breaker, just a preference.  One of my husbands was a Catholic.  So was Sherman.  He has to like kids and liver and onions.

Well, I just reread what I had written and I am thinking, I may be better off if I just go to the pound and get a dog.  A dog will have brown eyes.  A dog will love me unconditionally, as long as I don't beat it.  A dog is warm.  Sadly, a dog will shed, but I have looked at my hair brush and I am doing a pretty good job of that myself.

So, I guess, what I am looking for is someone that will take me out to eat.  Entertain me with intelligent inane chatter, pay the bill and then disappear into a puff of smoke.  I am not real sure such a man exists.  If you see one, throw a net over his head and call me.  I just might be interested!  Or not.

This would be my oldest brother, Richard Nichols.  He was my father's oldest son, by his first wife.

 This is William E. Bartholomew who was my fathers second son by his first wife.  Both of them were in World War II and both of them were shell shocked, Richard more so than Gene.  This picture is from an obituary that Sam found on Ancestry.com.  He apparently lived in Seattle, Washington when he died in1973.

I never really knew my step brothers because they were grown and gone when I was old enough to know I had them.  Since Gene was the only one that was not adopted from the orphanage, he tended to check in with dad occasionally.  I do know he had lived for a while with a family named Banks.  It seemed that they were either from Nebraska or close to that area.    An obituary that my son found on Ancestry shows he died in 1973.  So there was a span of about 20 years that he had a life in Washington.  If anyone has any knowledge of him during that time, I would sure like to know.  I hope he had a family that loved him.  Life is strange.

So I guess I will put that brother to bed since I at least know he has been dead for 46 years.  Rest in peace, Gene.

And now I am off to bed.

It has taken me 77 years, but finally I get it.  My greatest failure in life has been the one that I thought was a virtue.  I have failed in 6 marriages and God only knows how many relationships and never had a glimmer that any of those failures were really my fault, but they were.  Today I am closing the door on all of those and adopting a new outlook on life.  I have watched other women walk all over their husbands and lovers and brow beat them into submission.  I have watched jealousy rear it's ugly head in those instances and watched as those same couples celebrated year after year.  And here I set alone.

Today I am closing that door on another relationship that I thought was a friendship that would endure, but that is not happening.  Why?  Because I once more put my heart and soul into something that was not to be.  I thought I was needed, but I wasn't.  I was used.  That is what I do best....I get used.  I ask for nothing, hence I get nothing.  Along with that relationship I am bidding farewell to a family member that no longer needs me.

You see, I am a trusting person.  If you tell me something, I believe it.  My word is my bond, hence, your word I took as your bond.  I help you up and you return the favor.  That works until I need a hand up, or an ear to listen, or a kind word.  I realize I do have friends that are just that, but I keep remembering something mother told me.  "You will have friends in your life, but if you can reach the end of your life and count all your friends on one hand, you are blessed."  Right now, I am not feeling very blessed.  I am feeling used.

The sad part is that the two people who have brought me to this point (realization) in my life will never know what a sad part they played in my decision unless some one draws them a picture.  They do not read this blog.  They do not know that I even have a vulnerable side, nor will they know it.  I guess I was happiest when I volunteered at hospice.  I was eleventh hour and I knew where my clients were in their journey.  I was blessed to take many to  the edge and over.  I became a part of the family and for the most part I could walk back into their homes and I would be welcomed with open arms.  I liked feeling like I had helped, but I do not do that anymore.  My last client was my last and I will not do that again.

It hurts when I pour myself into something and get nothing in return, so I am not taking that chance again.  I am sure I will go on helping people, but what I will not do is let my little heart become attached to any one or anything.  Life is too short for that.  So to my friends out there who have not handed me the short shaft, we are good.  Not to worry, but the two that left me with this hole in my heart, just know that I am done.  No more.  If I see you on the street I will smile, but do not look into my eyes, because all you will see is an empty heart.

Alive and well and wishing otherwise.

I remember back when I was young and starting my life as an adult.  I was filled with hope and joy at the future ahead of me.  I had a wonderful husband who loved me and our life would be complete if we had a child.  Of course it must be a son.  Nothing else would work.  So after a year or so, I finally got pregnant.  And then I had the baby.  It was a girl, heaven forbid so we had to try again right away.  My husband was adamant that the next one be a son.  Whoops!  foiled again.  The third one was also a girl and by this time my loving husband was fed up with me and my failure to give him an heir.  After much begging and pleading, he gave me one last chance.  I was filled with gratitude at this magnanimous man and the kindness he showed me after 3 complete failures.  This time I did it right!  I gave him his son.

Of course that marriage went South like a fart in a whirlwind!  Not even the birth of his son could save it.  But then there was the divorce and then the brief reconciliation.  And then the second divorce which was delayed a bit because I was busy giving birth to my 4th daughter.   All of this is history and is not relevant to much of anything, except facts.  And you do know that the facts as I remember them and how he remembers them are not necessarily the same.  I was 3 years younger than him when we married, but he was 3 years younger then me in his latter years.  Mother always said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and the same goes with truth.  One man's truth is another man's fantasy,  much like one man's pleasure is another man's pain.  But I digress.

One thing I have always held dear was life!  I was invincible in my younger years and my zest for life was what kept my head above water when I was sinking in emotional pain.  And I survived.  And here I am today wondering just what in the hell all of that was about.  My kids are grown and gone away and have kids and grandkids of their own.  Mother, father, sisters, brother, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends be damned.  They are all gone.  I try to look up the family tree and see someone above me and it just ain't happening.   And it isn't just the people, every thing is different.  I go to Nickerson and the house is gone.  All the houses on Strong Street have been replaced.  It is still pretty much a ghetto, but it was my ghetto.  I go to Hutchinson, where I spent most of the time with the kids and that house is gone also along with the house next door.

And now I am in Pueblo, Colorado for the last 40 years.  My in-laws are all gone except for one brother in law that I never see.  My husband is gone and has been for almost 20 years.  Where does this all end?  All the pictures on my desk are pictures of the past.  Two old grandma's, a mother and father on their wedding day, a brother as he was frozen in time in the 7th grade.  What do people do when they get too old to be useful any more?  Do they just wither away?  I did the volunteering thing. Now what?  Make cookies?  Water the plants?  How long does that take?

So I lay in my bed at night and go over what I have done and it looks like a pretty pathetic showing in the grand scheme of things.  I remember a dark haired girl and the dreams she had of being a missionary. And I escape to that world.   But then I wake up and I look down at my sleeve and I see, coming out of the sleeve, my mothers hand. 

Lost and lonely little dog update

As it turns out, I in my usual rush to judgement, got it wrong.   As it turns out the little lost dog that I assumed had been dumped, is indeed a very loved little dog and was being looked for by his family.  He lives near the intersection and had some how gotten himself lost.  His family missed him very much and were advertising and searching for him.

Whether my article had any part in him being reunited with his family or not, I do not know, but I do know he is home.  I know he is a he.  And I am very happy.  Last information I had was that he was home.  He was limping.  And he was sleeping with his boy.

All is well here in my corner of the world!  And there is indeed a God that takes care of our furry friends.

Lost and lonely little dog.

A day or so ago I was returning home down 27th Lane and saw a little dog setting in the field on the corner of 27th and County Farm.  I thought that strange.  Today I saw him again in the same place so I pulled around the corner and stopped.  It looked at me hopefully and then turned and ran back up the field.  It was not hard to figure out that someone had dumped it.  I walked a ways into the field and tried to coax it to me.  No way.  I was not the human it wanted.  So I got back in my car and did the only thing I knew to do, I came home.  I loaded up some cat food and water and went back down to the field.  The little dog was back in its regular waiting place, but once more ran away.  I put the food down and poured the water in the container.  The little dog watched me.  I took a step towards it and it ran away.  So I got in my car and left.

I will not sleep tonight.  I will be thinking about that little dog.  I wish I could meet the person who left the poor little animal.  I would ask them if when they tossed it out on that corner, if it tried to chase the car and catch up with them.  Did you even look back?  What did that poor little doggie do to deserve being left in a field?  There are coyotes and foxes out here that will make a meal of that helpless little creature.  Oh, do you think it is going to catch something and eat it to survive?  Or some fool like me will come along and it will jump in my car and I will take it home and it will live happily ever after?  I would, you know, but it is waiting for you.  I will say this, you do not deserve loyalty like that.  God has a special place for people like you.

I do not have a dog.  My little dog died.  It was one just like yours.   I still cry myself to sleep missing my little animals and assholes like you throw them away.  The world is full of stray dogs and cats that were cute little puppies or kitties, but then they grew up and may have actually peed on the floor.  Whose fault was that?  Whose job was it to teach them that was wrong?  Or they might have shed on your couch.  Heaven forbid.  What ever the circumstances that left that little dog out in that field all alone, it is not right.  I am going to pray very hard tonight that God will touch your heart wherever you are and whomever you are and you will get in your car and drive back out to 27th Lane and County Farm and pick your little dog back up.  You do not have to keep it.  You can bring it to my house.  Or call me and I will come pick it up.  I am just too old to chase it through a field when it wants you.  But if you hand it to me, I will take it and give it a very good home.

Just in case...my number is 546-1555.  and my name is Lou.

Beauty is skin deep.

I was never what you call pretty growing up.  Even as a teenager, I was on the scrawny side.  My hair was brown and my front teeth were over sized and stayed that way my whole life through.  I was very sickly and spent lots of time with an ear ache and a pain in my side that was attributed to appendicitis.  However, when I was 12 years old I was rushed in for an emergency tonsillectomy.  Strange as it may seem, I never had a sick day after that.  I did remain skinny, weighing in at 92 pounds when I married my first husband at the age of 19.

I have managed to go my entire life without an inoculation of any kind.  I was always so jealous of the kids who had the small pox vaccination scar on their arm.  Now I do not know how I managed to survive and not get vaccinated for anything, but I did.  Well, about 25 years ago I was trying to fly a kite in the field next door and stepped on a nail.  Kenneth took me to the emergency room and the doctor wanted to "update" my tetanus vaccine.  I told him I had never been vaccinated against anything in my life.  He gave me the tetanus shot and I let him because Kenneth was between me and the door.   I left with instructions to make an appointment in his office for my immunizations.  Never kept that date and the matter was dropped.  So I will say this, I am very healthy and rarely ever get sick.  (There was that time I was laid low by a bad batch of hummus from Sam's, but that was man made misery in a tub.)

So back to the subject.  My sister's were all pretty and actually had a shape.  I remained a stick figure on the horizon and when I would complain, mother would just tell me.  "Beauty is skin deep."  To be honest, that did not help much.  Of course as life goes on, things become more important than beauty.  And something that I learned early was that an abusive husband will prey on your weakness.  I had 3 of them, followed by one that was just a user and then I met Kenneth.  Kenneth never told me I was beautiful. He told me I was smart.  He told me I was a worker.  He told me I was dependable.  He told me I was trustworthy.  He told me he was comfortable with me.  He told me he loved me.  He loved my mind. He loved my compassion.  He loved my zest for life.  He loved my cooking.  He loved everything about me and I began to feel beautiful.

And of course Mother came for regular visits.  One time we were discussing life before Kenny and she was telling him how I had raised the kids alone and many times gone without food so they could eat.  Kenny chimed in at that point with, "Well, you could never tell by looking at her that she ever missed a meal!"   He had a way of putting life in a perspective that made it work.

One time I made the remark that  I had never felt pretty.  And beautiful was a word that was never  used in the same sentence with my name.  He looked at me kind of strangely when I said that.  His answer was all I needed.  He said, "Yes, beauty is skin deep, but ugly goes clear to the bone."  And then I understood, that this simple man thought I was beautiful and I have held to that thought through all these years.

I had a man once in my life that saw through my exterior and into my soul.  That only comes around once in a lifetime but it lasts forever.  

It is what it is.

Every morning I wake up to face another day.  Usually it is about 5 AM.  I lay there for a little while thinking about yesterday and wondering about today.  I know there is nothing I can do to change yesterday, but today there is hope.  I think hope is the one thing that keeps me going, but things do not always work out like I had planned.  Sadly, I do not have the ability to control other people.  I know what would make their life work better and bring them happiness, but they have their own ideas.  So I accept that.

I once told a friend of mine "I do not understand why John Doe did what he did.  I thought I knew him better than that."  My friend told me, "You never know a person.  You only know what they let you see."  Of course he was right.  I do not see John Doe any more, but I do see my friend.  Some people become our friends for life, it seems and some are just ships passing in the night.  That makes me sad.

Mother was wise in the ways of the world.  I miss her more than words can convey.  If I was sad, she would tell me "Tomorrow is another day."  It seems my poor little tender heart has been broken so many times that it would  never heal, but losing her was like losing a part of myself.  I have her picture on the top of my desk.  It is a black and white picture.  I have an 8 x 10 that is the last thing I see when I leave the house. It is a colored photograph and I see her gray eyes.  Her and I had the same color eyes.  I assume my father had eyes, but I forget what color they were.  It has been over 50 years since I saw his eyes.

Mother always told me "If you can reach the end of your life and you have 5 true friends that you can count on one hand, you are blessed."  And for many years I did.  But now I am beginning to wonder.  Some of them have gone to a better place (which means they died), some have moved away.  Some have remarried and built new lives.  And some of them just found other interests.  Sad. My 2 best friends are men.  One has been in my life since I came to Colorado in 1973 (?).  The other I met when I married Kenny.  I do not see them often, but we keep in touch.  I guess maybe I do have 5 friends left.  I am hoping they outlive me!

So where was I?  I guess I am just facing my mortality and learning to accept all the death and sorrow that life has to  offer.  The old body may very well be wearing out, but my mind is still sharp and I can still feed myself, so I guess life is good.  One thing is for sure....

It is what it is. 

The demise of the last Apricot Tree.

Many years ago, probably back in about 1994, Kenny and I had a trucking business.  At that time he was working for Clarence Garcia in a small town named Paonia.  To get to Paonia one needs to drive through the Black Canyon, which is near Gunnison.  It was not any place I would want to drive through in the winter, that is for sure.  The job was hauling gravel up to the BLM just out of Paonia.  We owned a park model camper which Kenny stayed in during the week while he worked.  I went a couple days every week because he got lonely.

The town of Paonia is a hippie heaven and there were quilt shops and lots of things for me to entertain myself with while he worked.  He did tell me that cattle roamed free on the BLM and that there were lots of fruit trees that were loaded and fruit was free for the taking.  Choke Cherry.  Peaches. Apricot.  I had no idea what a Choke Cherry was at the time and I did not like Apricots, so that was not a big draw for me.  However, he did like Apricots and proceeded to bring me home a big bag of them and requested that I make Apricot jam.  So when I came home that weekend, I gathered jars, sugar and all the fixings and make him Apricot jam.  The pits I tossed in the dirt over the septic tank.

Imagine my surprise when two weeks later, a million Apricot pits turned into tiny little trees.  Since winter was coming, I heeled them in and covered them with straw.  They survived the cold winter in fine shape and the next Spring I gave everyone I knew all the Apricots they could plant.  I planted 6 for myself which was exactly 6 more than I needed.  Over the years 5 of them died and the one behind the house survived and flourished.  It stood over the house as a memorial to our days in Paonia.   I had to keep the branches cut because it would damage the roof.   And then it got bores. It was time.

I called several tree service places, but no one returned my call.  Then my friend, Kay told me about her tree man.  Aaron Leal.  She would have him call me.  And he did.  And 3 days later this was the scene in my back yard.  2 guys.  One chain saw and no ladder.  Craig and Tony made short work of that big Apricot tree

And then they were done.  

And it was all thanks to this little card!

It was kind of sad to see the tree go and memories of how I got the seeds in the first place, kind of put a damper on my day, but that is what life is all about, isn't it?  I kept a tiny seed that made a big tree that shaded the back of my house from the hot evening sun.  Kenny is gone.  The tree is gone.  I am still here.  I guess there is something to be said for the circle of life.  It does go on, you know.  Whether I like it or not, the sun will come up tomorrow.  The tree will still be gone.  The birds will find somewhere else to nest, and I still do not like Apricots.

Dennis

I remember my very first up close and personal death.  It was not a human, but it was nonetheless very traumatic.  I do not remember how old I was, but I am thinking maybe in the 4th or 5th grade.  We had a milk cow, because back in those days, if you had kids they needed milk and that was how you got it.  I am thinking this milk cow was white with black spots and unless you were there and remember it differently, we will go with that.  At that tender age, I had no idea about how the birthing process worked.  I had watched a chicken lay an egg once, so I knew where eggs came from, but beyond that was a mystery.

I do not remember the cow's name, but I am assuming it was "Bossy" since that was what most of the cows were named.  I came home from school one day and dad and Rudolph Reinke were standing over Bossy.  I was mortified because Bossy should be upright, because that was what cows did.  They stood upright.  A tiny black calf was laying on the ground not far from Bossy.  No one seemed to notice it.  I finally got the 2 men's attention and they moved the little calf into an empty granary.  It bleated at me and I fell in love with the big black eyes.  I was told not to touch it, but I could watch it.

Returning to the yard I overheard conversation between the 2 men that entailed "milk fever", "going to die", "nothing can be done".  While I did not want to hear or watch what was happening, I was far too curious to just walk away.  And finally, Rudolph came up with something that might work.

"I recall this one time and the only thing to do is split her tail, fill it with black pepper and tape it shut."  My God!  Even at my tender age that sounded horrifying, but these were 2 grown men and surely they knew what they were doing.  No one paid any attention to me as I crouched in the dirt several yards away.

They began the chore of splitting her tail as she wailed and bellowed.  Pepper was dumped into the opening and then the tail was taped and the old milk cow lay there with her eyes rolling.  Very soon she was dead.  I had no idea what to do.  No one seemed to know or care that I was prostate with grief.  I needed my mother, but she was in town cleaning someone's house.  So I went to the only warm body I could find and that was the little black calf in the granary.  I told him his mother was dead, but he did not seem to understand.  I made up my mind in that moment that I would be his mother.

When mother got home she found me there with the little calf and tried to tell me about life and what happens after life.  I named the little calf Dennis and he lived almost a whole day before he died and mother then had to explain to me that Dennis was in heaven with his mother.  I do not know what happened to the bodies of Dennis or his mother.  Back in those days there was a business called "the dead animal wagon, " which I assume came and picked them up and took them God only knows where.

It has been over 65 years and I still think about that little calf.  Not so much his mother, but him with his shiny black coat and the darkest brown eyes.  I guess we are pretty much shaped by our younger days, because I still love little calves.  In the field up the road from my house is a pasture.  There cows are brought to spend a few months and give birth to their calves.  The cows are black and the babies are black.  When the calves are born it is a sight to behold, but they only stay with their mother's for a week or less and then they are loaded into a truck and they go away.  I can hear the mother's calling for the babies and it breaks my heart.  I understand that the calves are taken to a place where they are fed milk and fattened up with no exercise.  That is where "milk fed veal" comes from, which is a delicacy in fancy restaurants.

Man's inhumanity  never ceases to amaze me.  The circle of life never ceases to amaze me.  I accept it, but it does not mean I like it.

Today is the first day....

Today is the first day of the rest of my life.  And so it begins.  The Mother's Day High Tea is over and the Yappy Dog Run passed my driveway as I left for church yesterday.  The cups are wrapped and stored in the basement of the church.  This morning I will wrap the tea pots and put them away.  It was a very successful event and I look forward to next year.  The tea is the one time of the year that I get to see a lot of my friends.  This year I had 2 daughters, 2 son-in-laws, 2 granddaughters, 3 great grand sons, my niece Lisa Shea Porter with her husband and daughter and a partridge in a Pear Tree.  The kids got acquainted and a good time was had by all.  But now it is Monday and life moves forward.

When I think about this being the first day of the rest of my life, it seems a  little daunting, but I am pretty sure I can handle it.  All I can say is I had a bumper sticker once that summed it all up for me. It said "If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of myself."  When I was a teenager, I knew I would not live to see 30.  When 30 rolled around and I had 5 kids I was pretty sure 40 was my limit.  40 came and I fell in love and decided I would probably live forever.  Now that I am beginning to fossilize,  I am wondering if age is not just a number?  I have lost a lot of friends and most of my close family.  I am sure there are no uncles or aunts left out there.  The most I could hope for would be a cousin, but I am thinking that is a futile thought.  I have lived in Colorado over half of my life and lost touch of what ever family I had back there.  Do not think I am complaining, because I am not.  I never kept track of them, and by the same token, they never kept track of me.  So there you go!

Now, to the rest of my life.  Many of my friends want to know what I am going to do.  So, let me just weigh out my options.  My 2400 square foot house on one acre of land is pretty much free and clear.  If I sell it, I have to move.  Now where would I move, you ask.  Since I have spent over half my life in Pueblo, Colorado, leaving does not make much sense.  Living in this big house all alone does not make sense either.  I have a cat and 8 geese.  The geese have never lived any where except here, so if I sold the house, the geese would have to stay with the property.  Icarus could move with me, but she has never been a litter box user, preferring rather to use the doggie door and go outside. If I moved into town she would no doubt be ran over the first time the door was opened.

Or, I could get a room mate.  Now, I am sorry, but I can not think of a single soul in my repertoire of friends that I would want to live with and share space with.  I do not want to live with a female who would hog the bathroom and leave things laying here and there.  She would no doubt want to be friends and share secrets, but I am not a secret sharing person.  I thought about maybe a little gay guy, but what if he wanted to throw a party?  I do not want parties and loud music.  I think I am best if I just live alone.  My ideal scenario is just to wake up dead some morning, or better yet, doze off while Jeopardy! is on and just not wake up.  That way, the mortician could just pick me up, the auction house could just sell all my treasures and then...….who knows.

I do not look on death as a bad thing.  Number one, it is inevitable and we are all going to do it sooner or later.  So, rest assured that when that day comes there is going to be one happy woman here!  Before you get excited thinking maybe I have a premonition, think again.  No visions.  No premonitions.  Just the ramblings of an old woman who has been there, done that, and moved on.

Have a good day and remember,

You can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself! 

This one came out of left field!

I spent today making Cream of Carrot Soup for the High Tea.  I also whipped up a big jug of Lemon Curd for the scones.  Well, for the Cheese Scones.  I am making Clotted Cream for the Apple ones.  Since I was cooking all day, it came as a complete surprise to me when I set down to watch the news and wound up thinking about Nickerson, Kansas and remembering my father telling my mother about a cross burning incident that had happened the night before.  I am pretty sure he had not been involved in the burning, but he sure seemed to know all about it and the names of the men who were involved.

 Now you must understand that this conversation was not held at the dining room table, but rather in whispered tones on the front porch.  Our bedroom window was on the front of the house so since I was awake it was hard not to hear.  And the fact that it is now 70 years later kind of dims the memory.  All the people who were alive at that time are long since gone on to their reward, whatever it might be.  To the best of my knowledge, I never knew anyone who lived in Nickerson, Kansas at the time I was there to be anything but white.  Oh, wait.  There was one family who lived in the boxcar down by the tracks that was maybe another race.  I never was sure what race they were.  Seems like they might have been Indian, but I wasn't sure of  what  race that was.

Our family was mostly German due to the Haas family on my mothers side.  Dad was mostly Irish or English or something like that.  I think maybe Great Britain came in to play some where in his genes.  Now if you think for one minute that I know where I am headed with this you are sadly mistaken.  Last thing I remember was I was working on some lemon bars and the next thing I remember is I was up here clicking away at the keys.  I think it all has something to do with the latest school shooting.  How sad that is that kids have to go through training to learn what to do if their school is attacked by a gunman.  Seems in the back of my mind I hear a song playing about the days of sand and shovels.  A day of innocence.  I wonder what our world has come to that this is normal and is accepted as normal.  And then I think to that conversation on the front porch and it makes me sad, that I can remember burning crosses from my childhood much as the kids today will remember the boy with purple and pink hair that shot children in a school.  What is our world coming to that violence is a way of life and that it is accepted as normal?

Even sadder, the boys doing the shooting are someone's son.  Some mother held the new baby in her arms and never dreamed that someday he would grow up to kill anyone.  Probably the worst she could imagine was that he/she would need braces.  Or maybe they would steal a candy bar just for kicks.  The world has changed.  Back when I was a kid, we saluted the flag.  We said "one nation under God." I think we even had a little prayer before school.  I vaguely remember one of my school mates being killed in a car wreck.  I do not remember his name, only that he had gone with his older brother to a National Guard meeting.  That was about the saddest thing that happened in our school.  Mostly life was mundane.  Mother went to work.  Dad went to the pool hall.  Josephine eloped and Jake joined the Army.  And the gypsys were camped outside of town, just waiting to steal a kid, but the never did.