God Bless us everyone!

It is fall of the year and once more time to gather my friends. partners in crime, or what ever you want to call them together.  Here we have Pastor Faye Gallegos and going to her left we find Sister Barbara, Paul Gilbert, Sister Nancy, Sandy the nurse and the empty chair is mine.

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We dined on mashed potatoes, chicken and noodles, then finished up with pudding filled cream puffs.  We drank Chamomile tea so we wouldn't be too rowdy.  And of course there was home made bread. 

We had lovely conversation about the work at Los Pobres as well as what is going on around our church, the churches in the Springs.  We missed Maurine and Max Hale.  They have moved up North and do not travel down this way much.  We discussed shelter, or lack of one, for our homeless population.  I do not entertain much, but this is one of my high points.  I gotta tell you, this started out years ago as a Liver and Onion lunch, because very few people like Liver.  I missed last year for some reason so I was adamant about having my Liver Lunch this year.  I invited the ladies and Paul and then Pastor Faye told me Sister Nancy told her how much she was looking forward to Chicken and Noodles over mashed potatoes!  Since both menus are easy, I went with the noodles.  Paul and I can eat anything that does not eat us first!

Any way it was a day of friendship and catching up.  I cherish those times because they are so few and far between.  So tonight I am tired, but happy.  I just ate a bowl of leftover noodles and I think I am going to go eat that last cream puff before Mikie gets home and snarfs it down!

Good night all and sweet dreams from South Road to your house.  God bless us everyone!

Ringworm, head lice and God only knows what else!

My grand daughter was here this weekend with her husband and 3 kids ages 5-13.  All boys!  It was a lovely visit and I look forward to the next visit.  Her husband carpeted my stairs and did a lovely job.  I want to go on record as saying, the title of this blog is in no way connected to her family.  It just brought back memories of when I was first out on my own and my kids were my complete responsibility.  That was a horror story.

Having spent a couple weeks with mother watching the kids and my working, I rented a house down on Smith Street.  The first thing that happened was I hired the girl across the street to babyset.  Then the car broke down.  I paid $49 to Clell Burnett for a 1949 Black Ford 2 door.  Sam immediately poured sand in the gas tank.  School started and Debbie immediately came home with a ring worm.  I knew about ring worm and how to treat them, but she could not stay in school with out a doctors note, so off we went.  Treatment consisted of shining a purple light on it to be sure it was a ring worm and then a tube of something to smear on it which did not work.  Total cost for that (not to mention my time off from work) was $10.  A car cost $50 and a doctor visit 20% of that.  Hmmm.

Time passed and the neighbor girl stole any jewelry I had, Sam set the bed on fire, and my rental house began to leak.  The landlord told me if he fixed the roof, my rent would be raised.  Apparently I had not read the fine print about the roof being extra!

Mother at that time, had her house at 217 West 5th setting empty and she let me move in there with the understanding that I would make the house payments and all upkeep.  Sounded like a dream come true.  She still owed $11,000 on it.  It was perfect for us.  Bunk beds for the one bedroom and twin beds in the front bedroom.   Huff family lived right up the street with kids my kids age.  They also had a big dog.  They also had head lice!

Now, I will go on record as saying ring worm is a whole lot easier then head lice!  Ring worm can actually be controlled with a cotton ball and a bottle of Clorox.  Head lice requires washing everything in hot water, medication on a fine tooth comb and doing it over and over again.  Nope.  Do not want any more of that.  Seems like if you have one or 2 kids that Lady Luck lets you slide;  5 kids, not so much.  Luckily, back then, immunizations were requested, but not required.  I tried to keep the kids current and with help from the programs at school I managed to get them all into puberty without any of them contracting, small pox, polio, or any of the other fatal diseases.  Childhood illness was kept to a minimum, thanks to God and love of their mother!

So here I set almost 60 years later remembering how I raised kids, and how the are raised today and I can not help but be amazed.  Her oldest son is 13 years old and I think she said he is 5'7" and Lord only knows how much he weighs!  He is actually the same size his grandpa was when I married him!  Big boy.  Bigger than his dad.  Wonder what she feeds that kid!  I know he plays football.  Very polite kids.  At least I think they are polite.  There is always the off chance that they are scared to death of me!  My kids called my mom "Grouchy Grandma".  I wonder what these kids call ME?  They actually seemed to like me.  I could be wrong.

Well, this is what I woke up to this morning.  Another day another dollar, I guess.  Today is the day I am going to get something constructive done.

Yeah, right!

Who's gonna prime my pump?

I recall in Nickerson that running water was more than just turning on the faucet.  709 North Strong Street had no faucets.  Out by the horse tank was a field pump.  When the tank started getting low someone, usually Jake, had to pump the water into the tank to fill it back up so the horses could drink.  At the bottom of the pump hung a can.  That can was filled with water from the horse tank and poured into the top of the pump while pumping in short, fast strokes.  With luck, the pump would "catch it's prime quickly" and water would pump out through the mouth of the pump.  If you understand the workings of a pump you know that there is a leather inside that when pumped up and down draws the water up from deep in the well. Occasionally the leather becomes worn and needs replaced.

The pump at the horse tank was a big iron pump.  The handle was long and we used to like to pump because if we could keep a rhythm going the pump handle would sometimes jerk us up off the ground by the sheer force of the water.  We were also allowed to get in the horse tank and play sometimes.  Can you imagine how dirty that water was in that tank?  That coupled with the fact that the horses might want a drink while we were in there scared hell out of me!  Have you ever looked at horse teeth?  They are big and very yellow and I lived in mortal terror that one of them would eat me.  Life was hard back then.

All the house water for cooking, cleaning, bathing or whatever was carried from the pump outside into the house in buckets.  The tea kettle that set on the wood cook stove was kept full at all times and a cup of tea was just seconds away in case one of the fancy ladies from town came.  (This did not happen very often, and to my recollection, never.  Mother did clean houses and sometimes a lady would come to discuss her availability, but they were usually in a car and stopped in front of the house and honked.)

Ah. but fate smiled kindly us. I do not remember who, why or when, but at some point in time someone decided that mother needed a sink and a pump inside the house in the kitchen.  It was then that we were blessed with what was known as a "pitcher pump."  Now this was the cat's meow in pumps.  It did not need primed!  When we wanted water, we just started pumping and very soon it would "catch it's prime."  Talk about uptown!  It set of the end of a big oblong enamel sink.  The drain pipe ran through a hole in the wall that extended about 8 feet into the back yard.  There the drain water ran out onto the ground where the Muscovy ducks played in it.  Boy, that was one stinking mess, but it was sure handy.

I have to go into detail here about the Muscovy Ducks.  Those are about the nastiest things I have ever seen.  When I had my 17 geese and 37 ducks here I had 4 Muscovy's.  Now to the best of my knowledge, Muscovy's are the only domesticated ducks that can actually fly.  The 4 of them used to fly up to the house, across the fence and roost on the air conditioner.  Nasty.  The hens were little and delicate, but the drakes were twice as big and their necks were as big as my upper forearm.  They did not quack; they sort of quibbled.  I did not like them and I think they actually broke the neck of one of my geese.  They even looked evil.  All this has nothing to do with pumping water, does it?

I attended my first 3 years of high school in Nickerson.  It was during those years that I made 2 discoveries; home brew and boys, in that order.  I had a friend named LaVeta (no last name) whose dad made and bottled home brew.  He liked to go to the big city and gamble on Saturday nights and we liked to stay home and sample his home brew.  Her mother helped us.  She would take all us kids to Sterling and there were boys there!  There were dances there.  Sadly, I could not drink and dance, so the dancing went by the wayside and I learned to worhip at the feet of the porcelain God.  I have not had a bottle of homebrew in 60 years, but I can still taste it.  Once more I digress.

In due time mother graduated from Salt City Business College and we moved to the big city of Hutchinson.  The rest is history.  Louella Bartholomew grew up and not longer exists, or so we think.
Some where deep in my soul, she lives.  Her memories are as vivid today as they were when she was living them.  Homebrew and boys are a thing of the past, but the wants and the needs of that skinny little girl are as alive today as they were in that stick and mortar house at 709 Strong Street.

Peace to all.

One of my favorite things.

Abandoned and Haunted Places is a site on facebook.  Go there and do a search and it will come up.  It is a closed group, but they will let you in just for the asking.  I just came from there and saw a big layout of a mansion fallen into rack and ruin.  I have always been fascinated by old houses and that used to be a big deal back when we were young.  Around Nickerson there were several old houses that were within walking distance that I could go explore and I did.  I would let my imagination run wild and picture the mother and father with the children and the dog.  The family always had a dog.

When I moved to Colorado, this fascination moved with me.  Charlie took me up to the abandoned town on the old LaVeta Pass.  At that time there were several buildings still standing and still intact.  The cemetery was right on the edge of town.  I was fascinated with one grave that was surrounded by a wrought iron fence.  I do not remember any of the particulars, but it was clearly not tended.  None of the graves were.  Cemeteries hold a lot of history and I am sure if I could spend enough time there I could conjure up a ghost or two, but I have yet to meet anyone that shares my fascination.  When I go up to Beulah to see my friend Jan, I always make a drive through the cemetery up there.  I always visit the Caple lot and usually encounter a few deer.  But houses have a whole different fascination.  This is my friend who went with me once, Patty Crehan.  The Caple lot is in the back on the right side of the picture.

This is a house in Longton, Kansas near where my daughter, Patty lives.  It is very well maintained. Or I should say "was " since it burned to the ground several years back.

Now here is something very fascinating!  This house is on the other end of Longton and is surrounded by trees.  It is not well maintained at all, but if you look at the architecture of the two houses, they are nearly identical.  This one was taken over by the druggies, but Patty has assured me that it has since been reclaimed and restored to it's former beauty.  I have not been by there, but next time I go I will.

If there is any one out there with the same fascination for the obscure and forgotten that I have,hmu!  (That means Hit Me Up!  I learned that on facebook.)  It is getting a little cold right now to be tromping around abandoned houses with rotten floors, but Spring will be here some day.  Kenny always meant to take me up on LaVeta, but some how the time was never quite right.  He rode a Harley when I met him and it had a small problem.  The brake cylinder leaked and threw the fluid out on my leg so I had to wear clothes I did not want to wear again.  Of course there was always the inevitable application of the brake when the fluid was all gone and no hope of stopping.  Luckily he sold that before we were both statistics.

So, in the meantime, I will just be setting here waiting for someone to realize that I need someone to go exploring with me.  I am sure I can talk Irene into it when she comes back in the Spring, but maybe not.  In the meantime, there is an old cemetery out east of town and I forgot the name, but I saw an arrow pointing that way when I was in Avondale some time back and driving on a back road, so I know it is there.  And a man once told me about some hieroglyphic's he came across just this side of the New Mexico state line.  He found a lot of arrow heads there. He said it was undisturbed.  He found it when he was on horseback herding cattle.  Might look into that, but it would be nice to find a fellow traveler.

In the meantime, I will just set over here and tend to my knittin' like a good little girl.  Maybe I could go pour through my pictures and organize them so next time I want to find something it will be in my newly organized photo album online and waiting!

Have a good one! 

Happy Birthday to Hammer!

I am not sure how old Hammer is today, but I am pretty sure he is old.  He is married to my oldest daughter.  They live in Longton, Kansas.  They are survivalists to the max.  They have a 40 acre farm, many cats, a dog or two and are right now down to a couple calves.  Usually they buy calves, fatten them up and then sell them to pay the bank the money they borrowed to buy the calves and feed them.  It is not a real profitable operation, but it keeps them off the streets.  They are also raising 4 grandkids which is not a break even operation, but something that needs done.

Hammer had done his 2 tours in Vietnam before Debbie met him.  Needless to say, he had the normal problems that all the boys coming home from there had.  Vietnam was a terrible operation and PTSD is a side effect that is never completely over come.  He still suffers from the effects of Agent Orange as well as the horrors of a war that should never have been undertaken.  Hammer and I are pretty much from the same era.  I know other men who served in Vietnam and all I can say about that is I hope our government learned something from those mistakes, because it was certainly an exercise in futility and anyone who was there still has nightmares even if they say they don't.

I do not know how many years they have been married, but I know it is a lot and I was there that day.  They had been living up in the mountains above Eleven mile Reservoir as I recall, but were in the process of moving down into Pueblo.  Since they were between homes they spent a few days here and in the course of finding a home, they decided they should just trot on up to the court house and "do the deed" which is the equivalent of "getting this shittin' mess over with that Kenny and I had done several years earlier.  I would be one witness and witness number 2 was decided to be a lady named Shirley Smith.  Shirley and her husband, Bill,  ran the UPumpit in Blende.  So off we went.

For some reason, on our way to town we decided that Shirley would be Hammers Best Man.  I was mother of the bride, because that is what I was.  The Judge who was officiating was very understanding.  I am not sure he had ever married anyone in Levi's before, but that is what we were wearing.  Hammer is a big bear of a man with the full beard, biker tattoos and a gruff whiskey voice.  He and Debbie make a great couple.  They went to the motel for their wedding night.  (I know this because I just called her and asked her.)  It was 30 years ago.  Damn!

There has been a lot of water under that bridge and a lot of changing on both their parts.  Well, maybe not changing so much as just adapting to each others wants and needs.  They are talking about moving out here closer to me and I think that would be great.  I guess a lot depends on the 3 grandkids which are currently in their custody.  When life hands us lemons, we make lemonade!  Just the way we are.

Today was also my sister-in-laws birthday.  Not sure how old she would have been because she tended to sugar coat a lot of things.  Sadly, she is no longer on this side of the veil.  Very few of my relatives are.

So any way, Happy Birthday to Hammer!  I know he is on a road trip right now, but I trust he will drive carefully and hurry home to Longton.

Peace! 

Oh, hell man! I was a hippie!!

We are 7 days into October and I am still soul searching. No signs of depression today.  

Thank you, Janet Altman, for this recipe!  This was a de ja vu moment for me when I saw this recipe!  I was transported back in time to Glasco, Kansas in the year of 1962.  Debbie, my firstborn was a wee lass.  We lived in a farmhouse outside of town.  Duane and I and Debbie lived in the house and 3 of my brothers-in-law lived in various trailers in the yard.  The income of that year came mostly from Walnut trees that the men stole from the river that was located nearby.  The buyer would come and pay cash for whatever we had laying in the yard.  Cash was good and as Duane explained, it was not really stealing because the owners of the land did not know they were there.   

Of course, the men went into town and trimmed trees and such for cash money.  We did have to pay rent you know.  Also, they liked to drink and that costs money.  It was the only recreation they had, so who was I to complain?  One night we actually had a Rattle Snake on the back porch right outside the screen door.  One of the workers killed it with a ball bat.  Scared hell out of me.

Back to business.  When there are a lot of families living in a small area, I think it is called a commune.  Of course everyone contributes something to the needs of the commune.  (Oh, shit!  I just realized, I WAS a HIPPIE!  I always thought I was, but now I see it for what it was!)  The men folk fished the Solomon River which had lots of species of fish and they were big.  They also brought home game in the form or rabbits,  squirrels, pheasants, quails and wild honey from the trunk of an old tree.  Of course we bought potatoes, onions, rice and staples from the local store.  Occasionally, I could pick up an old hen or two from the feed store for fifty cents.  Life was good.

Then they met a man and his wife in nearby Delphos.  This old man had 'coon dogs.  In case you do not know, those are the dogs bred and raised to hunt for racoons down on the river.  That was a sport in and of itself.  The idea was to take a pack of dogs ('coon dogs) and go down to the river at night and turn the dogs loose and let them find a raccoon which they then chased down the river until they "treed the 'coon."  At this point all the dogs would try to climb the tree and get the coon down.  If the 'coon actually fell from the tree all the dogs attacked it and ripped it to shreds.  (My God! That sounds barbaric!)    But if the hunters were good they could call off the dogs, shoot the Racoon between the eyes and have supper the next night {more about that later).  Sometimes the dogs would not come when called and the next day was spent finding them because they had followed a racoon off to God only knows where.  I used to lay in bed at night and listen to the baying of the dogs and I could tell how close they were by the tremolo of the barking.  My commune (I just love that word now that I know I lived in one!) had 5 dogs.  2 Black and tans, 1 Blue Tick, 1 Blood hound, and a small mixed breed terrier that was actually Delvin's little dog that thought he was big and wanted to hunt so they let him.

So let me tell you about the first Raccoon I ever cooked.  I still have nightmares about that.  The menfolk always cleaned the game.  They were hunter/gatherers, you know.  So they brought in this cleaned Raccoon on a pan.  I immediately thought of my friendly little house cat that I had left at home.  I salted and peppered it, put a little water in the bottom of the pan, covered it with foil and put it in the oven.  It smelled really good as it was baking.  I made a pot of mashed potatoes and fixed some green beans.  When the time came that it was done I put everything on the table and called the 4 men I was feeding that night.  They oohed and aahed and I ran outside and threw up.  I was still thinking of Fluffy my cat back in Hutch.   (I learned later that I was pregnant again which may have had some bearing on my mental state at the time.)

As time went by we cooked and ate many wild animals.  I must say my favorite was Pheasant which was much like chicken except the breast meat was darker and the legs had leaders which made eating a  leg a challenge and wings were impossible.  That, coupled with the fact that they were shot with a shotgun and you just might bite into a piece of lead wrapped in feathers made the eating a challenge. Quail made a great pot pie.  Wild Turkey (not to be confused with the whiskey kind) was actually very good, but therein again you have wild game that is tough and a real challenge to fix, but there was always potatoes and I could make gravy out of a gnat if I had too.  Squirrels live every where and a good marksman could bring one down with a 22 rifle shell through the head.  They were good eating, but I have since learned they belong to the rodent family, which means they are a big mouse!

Damn!  I miss the commune days and wish I had known then that I was in a commune.  I am going to relive my hippie days, because I did not know I was one.  I guess the only thing I missed was Woodstock!

And with that I bid you adieu and remind myself what my mother always  said, "Life is 20/20 looking back!

Raised by wolves? Yep, pretty much so!

I think back to when I was raising 5 kids with no child support, no welfare card, no health care and rarely the same baby sitter 2 weeks in a row, and I shudder.  Lucky for me it was back in the day when you could actually leave your house unlocked and went to bed and woke up still alive.  We lived at 217 West 5th in Hutchinson which is now an apartment complex.  It was located across the street from Dillons Supermarket.  5th Street was also Highway 96.  Highway 50 and 96 both run directly to Pueblo, Colorado.  But that is a moot point.  (I just love to say "moot point".)

The kids could walk to school if they were in school at the time.  They went to Allan, as I recall and it was about 4 blocks.   Near the school was a lady named Ferguson who had kids that were mean to my kids.  She watched them after school.  If they were not in school they went to Mrs. Bensing's to be baby sat by  her.  She was the regular babysitter for my day time, 6 days a week job.

To supplement my income I waited tables at the bar on 4th Street.  That was the Dutch Mill.  Back in those days you were allowed to dance in the bars.  Usually there was a juke box, but some times the Mill had live bands.  Oh, those were fun!  I must confess that I did a lot more dancing and not a whole lot of waiting on tables, although since they did not serve food, it was just delivering beer.  Mini skirts were the thing back then and I had pretty legs, so my tips were good.

On the nights I worked I had a lady who came from South Hutch to watch the kids.  She had a car.  I am trying to remember her name!  She was a little short, stout lady and she had a beard.  I swear, more hair on her chin than on her head!  Ida Mae?  Does that sound right?  We will go with that.
Addie Mae was the sweetest little lady.  She was about my height and a little heavier.  She always smiled and never spoke above a whisper.  She always brought a handful of candy.    Always had a secret smile on her face.  The kids were scared shitless of her.

"Is  she was mean?"  "No."
"Does she holler at you?"  "No."
 "What does she do?"  "Nothing."
"Does she give you candy?"  "No."

While at the Red Carpet, I hired the bosses son's wife to babysit and since Allen Ray was in Vietnam, I moved her in with me.  She was pregnant at the time.  That was nice.  When I came home from whatever job I had been to, the house was always clean.  The kids were always quiet and if it was night they were always in bed.  Very well behaved kids.  And then one day I noticed a bruise on Sam's face.  Upon close questioning I determined that she had hit him across the face with a stick she used to paddle all of them with.  I immediately called my boss and told him to get her out of my house before I killed her and proceeded to throw her belongings on the curb so they were easily accessible.  Seems the babies I worked so hard to feed and clothe were being intimidated by (dammit! I forgot her name.  Debbie just called and her name was Janice.)   Bob understood.

Evelyn Decker moved in for a while and between us, we got them up to an age where they were traveling back and forth between their father and me.  They even began to go to school in Garden City and then Lakin.  By that time I was in love again and married and moving to Colorado.  By then Susie was starting kindergarten and was the only child I had at home.  Over the years they took turns living and going to school either in Lakin or out here with me.  Sam is the only one that actually graduated in Pueblo.  Central High, go Wildcats.!  He then attended the University before going to Wichita for his post graduate work.

The years in Hutchinson are mostly a blur.  I do not know whether it was working all the time, or drinking or what, but I am pretty sure I did not earn a "mother of the year" award or the "Susie homemaker award".  I did manage to have all of them survive with no broken bones and no jail time.
Would I do things differently if I could go back?  I sure as hell would.  Momma always said "Hindsight is 100% looking back, foresight: not so much."  I would not have stayed with their father, and I am not sure how I would do it differently, but I would have done something.  The one thing I did learn from those years and the years that followed is this:  "I did the best I could with the tools and knowledge that I had at the time."  My momma told me that.  Momma was very wise! Course Momma is also the one that said my kids were raised by wolves!

Footnote:  I did attend college after Charlie and during Henry and before Kenny.  I received my BA with a 4.0 grade average.  I have a diploma around here some where and it says something about me being an Accountant.  I worked one full time job and one part time job while doing that.  And I drank a lot of Mountain Dew!

Happy Birthday Delbert Leroy Bartholomew!

On your left is Jake, on the right is Josephine and there in the middle is little old me.  I must have been almost a year old there.  See the loaded hayrack in the back?  That means it was harvest and the year was 1942 in the fall, right before my birthday.  Jake and I were born 4 years and 4 days apart.

I do not know how he came to be known as "Jake", but I do not ever remember calling him Delbert.  He was kicked in the face by a horse named "Star" when he was 9 or 10.  I recall when my father brought that horse home one night.  It was late.  It was dark and he was drunk.  And mother was pissed.  In all fairness, Star was not a horse, but a Shetland Pony and Shetland Ponies were mean by nature.  Star nearly kicked the side out of the trailer before he even got unloaded.  

It was just wonderful having a pony!  I say that with the utmost sarcasm, because to the best of my knowledge no one ever rode that pony.  No one ever petted that pony.  We fed him.  We fed him a lot!  I lived in mortal terror of being bit by those big yellow teeth.  I think in the back of my mind I know that Dad was a gambling man as well as a drinking man and he won that horse in a poker game.  Not real sure who the winner was in that deal, but it is what it is and we had a horse from hell for a pet.

I was trying to tell you about my brother and I see I got side tracked.  Life does that to me a LOT.  So, I only had the one brother growing up and it was Jake.  He snuck off to join the Army when he was 16.  He crossed off the date of his birth which was 1937 and wrote in 1935.  Of course, since the recruiting officer was neither blind nor stupid, he took one look at Jake, whose face was covered with peach fuzz since he was not old enough to shave, and called mother.  He did join the Army 2 years later.  He served in Germany.  He came home, fell in love and got married.  Got divorced and got married again.  Got separated and searched for happiness where ever he could find it.

Some where out in this cold cruel world are 2 sons of his.  Mother kept in touch with the oldest and we never heard anything  of the youngest.  That lady moved to Missouri.  I will probably go to my grave not knowing what became of them, but so it goes.  On the day Jake died, my middle daughter, Dona Marie turned 1 year old.  Sam was 26 days old.  That was a dark time in my life and we know how those times affect us later down the road.

On October 29, he and a friend were coming home from work on country roads.  They ran a stop sign and hit the side of a loaded gravel truck on the highway.  I do not know who was driving.  I do not want to know.  I saw him that night in McPherson Hospital.  He was unconscious. He died the next morning.

I like to think I have put my dark times behind me, but I haven't.  Hopefully I am dealing with this better then I used to.  There was a time when October 5th entailed a bottle of whiskey and a beer chaser, but I have not done that for years.  And since I am dealing with my new reality, I am going to look back on his birthday as a cause for celebration.  So here goes:

He was born and he held my hand while I learned to walk.  He taught me to ride a bike.  He hit me in the head with a turnip when I was very small.  He went to the Army and wrote me every week.  He sent me a Brownie Camera from Germany.  We listened to the Grand Ole Opry on a car radio on Saturday nights.  He introduced me to my first husband, the father of my children.  He died, but he never left my thoughts.  

I had a brother.  My life would not have been complete without him and today I celebrate that God gave me the most wonderful brother in the world, Delbert Leroy Bartholomew, known to the rest of the world as "Shakey Jake!"  Some day I will see him again and he will be in that same pair of overalls and hopefully Hank Williams will be picking on his guitar.

If he had lived, what would his life have been?  I know he joined the church just 2 weeks before he died.  I know his friend who was in the truck with him, Johnny Rogers passed away the day after we buried Jake.

Rest in Peace in the arms of Jesus, my beloved!

Happy Birth Day to Samuel Rueben Seeger!!

Many years ago in a land far away, lived a simple woman who dreamed some day she would have a son and she knew she would name him Samuel Rueben.  The first year she had a daughter and named her Debra Louann.  The next year she had a daughter and named her Patricia Lynn.  The third year she had a daughter and named her Dona Marie.  The fourth year she had a son and when she told the sister in the Catholic Hospital in the Catholic town his name was Samuel Rueben they gasped and crossed themselves and told her that could not happen.  Samuel Rueben was a Jewish name and she was a Protestant.  She insisted.  Now you need a little background on this simple creature so here it is....

Back in those days religions were set in stone.  She was not Catholic.  She was not Jewish.  She was not anything in particular, which made her a Protestant.  Back then it mattered.  Her husband came to the hospital to peer at the baby boy through the glass and his work was done.  He would be back to get her in 5 days.  He did not care what it's name was so she was alone in her protestations that the name was Samuel Rueben.  The sisters refused to write the name.  Finally, the day came to leave and the baby had no name.  She knew she had to do something so she named him Earl Edward, but in her heart he was Sam.  They let her go home with the baby now that it had a "proper name."

Her husband was stunned that the baby was not named Samuel Rueben, but Earl was his given name, so he accepted that.  It was 4 months before her mother asked the baby's name.

"What is the baby's name?  I know it is Samuel, but Samuel what?"

"His name is Earl Edward."  And thus came the tear filled confession that she had let the Catholic sisters bully her into naming him something besides Samuel Rueben.

Never was the baby ever called Earl by anyone.  He was called Sam.  It is now 54 years later and he is known in the work place as Sam.  He is known at home as Sam.  He went to school as Sam and Earl Edward is only used on legal papers like wills and such.  He was named after his father who was Earl, but he called him Sam.

You might ask why I did not insist on putting it on his birth certificate, but you would have to have known me back then.  I was a very weak person back then and second guessed everything I did.  I tried to please everyone around me.  I still fight a daily battle to know that I am really worth something in this world.  It is called co-dependency and is a complicated little personality disorder.  I read books on it.  I went to a couple meetings on it.  It is very common in conjunction with living with an alcoholic.  I married 3 alcoholics in rapid succession and divorced them in rapid succession before I decided it was my problem and not theirs.  People who know me now just think I am an overbearing b----, and they may very well be correct.  That is alright.  Some people actually like me!

So there you have it...Another confession from the warped mind of Lou Mercer.  The more I write about things, the more I understand myself.  Hopefully, some day, I will no longer be a work in progress, but will be a normal person with normal wants and needs.  When that day comes, I hope I am no longer afraid of spiders, because I gotta' tell you, that is a big one!

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference."

Welcome to day 3 of the worst month of the year.

I am setting here listening to the fans running in the bathroom where the now defunct washer sets and in the bedroom downstairs where the water eventually stopped.  Last night the washer float stuck.  Since nobody was paying attention, it continued to over flow until Mike went down stairs and found water gushing from the ceiling into his tool box.  That got our attention.

I stood in ankle deep water to unplug the washer and turn off the cold water valve.  Yes, God is good or I would be a fried tomato today.  Now I face a day of dealing with the insurance company and hoping that this can be taken care of in a timely manner.  I want so bad to put the little Laugh Out Loud emoji here, because I do not think "over flowing water" and "the ceiling of the basement" an ever be a good thing.  It would be nice if it would just dry up and go away, but I hear little voices in my head saying "wet dry wall", "black mold" and things like that.  And no where in this scenario do I see the words "timely manner" appear.

But here is the deal, it is what it is.  No way around it.  I just flashed back to my second husband when I used the words "It is what it is".  That hit a chord in his brain that turned him into a raving lunatic, but there in again, "It is what it is."  Back to my dilemma. Today is the day I had planned to freeze my Pueblo Chile so I can have lots of green chile when company comes.  They count on it.  I will see how long the insurance guy takes.

I do have a theory, though.  I think dark thoughts draw bad Karma.  Rather then dwell on how bad October is, I need to concentrate on the good October brings.  First my birthday.  Surely I have made someone happy some where and so rather then railing against my birth, I should actually be celebrating.  Tomorrow is Sam's birthday and while all my kids have been blessings, he is the man child who will take care of me in my old age.  Yes, we will do it that way!  I am not going to be sad, I am going to be happy.

I will deal with my brother's birthday in just a couple days and this year I am going to only find good in it.  Watch for that one on Saturday.  I loved that boy and think of him every day.

Now for good thoughts on the flood of last night.  That damn floor was needing cleaned any way and it got a very good cleaning last night! I used all my towels to soak up the water and now have no washer to wash them in, but it is what it is.  There is a laundromat some where that will welcome my business,

 So I am going to pick up chile's today and deal with the insurance and thank my God above for mopping the floor!

Peace to all!  It is going to be a beautiful day!

And so it begins.

Happy Birthday to me, yesterday.  Just about everybody else my age is dead.  Gives me a lot to look forward to, doesn't it?  Those of you who follow my blog have probably figured out that I have a small problem with depression.  Not many people in my everyday world have figured that out.  This week marks my birthday, my only surviving brother in law's birthday, my son's birthday and ends on the 5th with my brother's birthday.  My brother has been gone 54 years.  I still remember it like it was yesterday.  It never gets better.

I remember the day I married my first husband (October 30)  and my last husband (December 23).  I remember the date the last husband passed but not the first one.  I have a mental block about a lot of things and that is probably the only thing that actually saves my sanity.  I just know I hate the whole month of October.  Unlike a lot of people, I tend to grieve inwardly so nobody knows.  I may be talking to you about the most mundane thing in the world and I am smiling, but I am seeing Jake standing in front of me with his lopsided grin and the scar on his right cheek.  I am hearing Hank Williams wailing in the background.  WSM from Nashville every Saturday night. It never goes away.

I realize blogs like this make my kids sad, because I am sad, but what they need to remember is this is my past.  I was not always their mother.  I have to deal with this on a daily basis.  I do not want sympathy, I just want understanding.  I will be alright.  Where there is life there is hope.  I do not need to go out and eat.  I do not need flowers, I just need my time.  This will pass.  It always does.

This month, I am undertaking a new kind of volunteer work.  It is not like Hospice where every client ends up dying.  It is one that involves dealing with people who are actually trying to get off the streets and into a home of their own.  I am not sure where this path will lead me, but I am going to go slow and find out.  Usually I jump in with both feet and tilt at windmills, but not this time.  Someone will lead and I will follow.

So, as I deal with my demons this month, be patient with me.  I have a theory that God is not through shaping me yet and I am sure of one thing:  God knows what he is doing and he is going to bring me out on the other side a lot better person than I was before.

He has a way of doing that, you know!

It is time to talk about that damn cell phone.

"And God saw the earth, that it was good.  And he created man...." and had it stopped there, we could have all lived happily ever after, but he did not.  He gave us a brain and free will.  And the cell phone!  And he did it pretty much in that order.

I remember back before Strong Street in Nickerson, we lived in a little 4 room house on a road with no name in the Ailmore house.  It was a little square house with a combination living/dining room, kitchen, and 2 bedrooms.  Dad always had his own room and us kids slept like little sardines in iron frame beds with cotton stuffed mattresses and covered up with wool blankets.  It was during World War II I am thinking.  The floors were wooden planks.  No linoleum for us.  I went out the back door and into the pump house to take turns with Jake pumping water for the old cow who gave us milk.  The outhouse was off to the left of that.  I am not sure it had a door, but that is not relevant to this story.  I am hear to tell you about the Lord inventing cell phones and how it has changed my life.

We had a wooden box phone on the wall and I wished to hell I had it today.  I could sell it and retire.  The point here is if some one wanted to talk to us they picked up the receiver and Mrs. Humphrey (and that was her name) said "Number please."  You told her the number and she plugged your cord into the number you wanted.  Lines were crackly, but you were connected.  Over the years this has changed and we now poke in the number we want and the connection is made.  Not  good enough.

We now have "cell phones".  These things have evolved until every one is now connected with a "smart phone."  We can call any where to any where else on our smart phones.  We can speak into the belly of the smart phone and send a text message.  Or make a reservation on a plane to nowhere.  Or set an alarm to wake us up in 7 minutes.  Or watch a movie.  Or listen to music.  Get direction to some obscure place.  Well, maybe you can.  Me, not so much!

I can find the button to turn mine on.  I have yet to find the button to turn it off.  Or the volume key, so I can hear it ring.  I can see a tiny little thing flashing and some one said, "Oh, you have a message."  Well that message shall die with the phone.  I can not see the tiny little icons well enough to decipher what they are without my glasses and by the time I find my glasses the screen has safely hidden itself and  God only knows where.  When it rings, I think it is my stomach growling because I can not hear it.  Well, unless I am in church or some place quiet and then that sucker can make a sound like a tug boat in a foggy bay.

My house phone has now been relegated to the humble job of finding the damn cell phone so I can put it in my purse where in can flash and carry one like a new puppy in a field of daisies.  I call it and if it is turned on and I can actually hear it ring I can then see the message "8 missed calls."  With luck I can find the "missed call list" and find out the 8 calls were me looking for the damn phone.  You know I would throw the damn thing in the river if I thought it would stay there, but it has a life of it's own.

And now it is almost 5 o'clock in the morning and I just realized I do not know where that evil little piece of plastic is located.  I like to think I don't care, but what if I missed a call?  What if someone wanted to actually talk to me?  What if someone needed ME! So, I am going to go see if I can find it and turn it off.  That is assuming I know how to do that and that it will let me!

Have a good day!

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: It is time to talk about ghosts.

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: It is time to talk about ghosts.: I have been kicking dirt around this planet for over 7 decades now (assuming a decade is 10 years.)  I have seen many things and been many ...

It is time to talk about ghosts.

I have been kicking dirt around this planet for over 7 decades now (assuming a decade is 10 years.)  I have seen many things and been many places, and not all of them made a lot of sense; ghosts being one of those.  I am here to tell you about my encounters.

When Earl D and I were first married he was a fly by night tree trimmer and we traveled Kansas.  He gave an honest day's work for honest pay, but we moved around a lot.  My first ghost encounter occurred out side of Burlingame ( I think) near Topeka.  We stayed in a motel located on the Marais des Cygnes River.  While he and his brothers were working I liked to go fish off the bank which was very near the motel.  That was some good cat fishing I am hear to tell you.  We had an electric skillet and could cook in our room, so it was all good.

It must have been the second week we were there he did not make it home from the bar, which was located about 100 feet from our room.  I decided to go to bed.  I woke up about an hour later to a cold hand gripping my throat.  This scared hell out of me.  I threw the covers back and slid to the edge of the bed.  I could not make my legs work.  I flipped the light switch and nothing happened.  But that cold hand still gripped my neck.  I can relive that encounter over in my mind and at no point does it ever make sense.  The whole encounter lasted only a few moments, but when Duane walked through the door it abruptly ended.  I was so white and shaken it scared even him.  We left there soon after because I was afraid to stay alone.  What ever I encountered that night was pure evil.  It was cold and I was afraid.

That was my first and only ghost encounter until now.  A couple weeks ago, my grandson asked who had the code to the house.  You and me!  He then told me that he had come home earlier that day and some one was in here.  What did they look like?  He never actually seen them, but he knew he was not alone and they left right away.  (Strains of Close Encounters ran through my mind.)  Fast forward to Saturday night.

Mike had told me he would not be home Friday or Saturday.  Saturday night at 12:10 I heard the front door open and and close.  Footsteps sounded on the stairs and I decided he must have changed his mind.  It sounded like 2 people instead of just one.  That was strange.  The next morning I got up and Mike's car was not out front.  That was strange.  I then figured he must of came home and picked something up.  About 8:00 the front door opened and Mike came in.  No, he had not been home since Thursday.  No, he did not come in last night and leave.

It was then that he reminded me of his encounter with nothing a couple weeks ago.  He thought I might have been asleep and dreamed it, but I knew what time it had happened because I had just made my nightly potty break and I was awake.

So this is where we now stand.  I am not living here alone.  The presence seems to be a friendly one, which is good.  Someone at church suggested I have someone come and "smudge my house."  Not going to do that either.  If it was that ghost I encountered in Northeast Kansas, I would probably burn the house down, because that one felt evil.  This one does not.  Maybe it is someone who just wants to be sure I am alright.

So I am going to do nothing.  I just wondered if any of you have had this sort of experience?  If you have, message me on facebook so we can talk.

Sock hop, Convention Hall, Hutchinson, Kansas , 1957

Back in 1957, a boy walked up to me and asked me "What is your front name? "  I thought that was strange, but I told him "Louella ".  His front name was "Corky."

Oh, to return to that year!  I was 16 years old.  American Bandstand was the goal of everyone of us little teeny boppers back then.  The most important item of attire back then was a clean pair of bobbi sox, a full skirt and crinoline petticoats.  My dancing partner was Corky Dipman and we won every time we danced.  I loved Corky with my whole heart and had I died in my 16th year, I would have left behind the perfect world.  The highlight of that summer was when Corky took me to Wichita to Joyland amusement park.  The fact that we rode so many rides that I ended up barfing from the top of the Roundup, was not enough to dim the memory of that day.  The fact that we skipped school to go and were the only ones there made it even more wonderful.

I went back to Wichita many years later and found Joyland abandoned and rusting.  The carousel  horses were gone from the Merry Go Round,  and the tracks for the Roller Coaster were rusted and twisted.  Tumble weeds grew where our feet had walked.  I could still hear the laughter and see Corky smile.  Ah, the days of sand and shovels!

I think he was my first boyfriend and I do not know why we broke up.  I think he actually started going with a girl who had more to offer then flying feet.  I think I may have become interested in home brew that my new friend LaVeta had to offer.  And she knew lots of boys from Sterling, Kansas and they were not jocks.  I never much liked the sports scene and the boys with the letter jackets even back then.  I did like the home brew and the cigarettes, though.

Shorthand was my favorite subject in school.  I envisioned myself being a secretary and I loved the shorthand tablets.  What I liked best was the size and that the back cardboard cover had all the shorthand symbols printed for me just in case I forgot.  I still have that kind of tablet for notes, but they no longer contain the shorthand symbols and that is kind of sad.  I never did master the typewriter.  One girl in class could actually type over 90 (?) wpm.  That means "words per minute."  I think 24 was the best I could do.  Sadly, to be a secretary in any place that mattered, one had to be proficient in both typing and shorthand.  Alas!

Sadly, school held little fascination for me and I envisioned a life full of rainbows and butterflies.  Well, you see how that turned out, don't you?  I started my restaurant career with my hands buried in a sink full of dirty dishes.  I dreamed then of being a waitress.  When I moved up the chain to waitress, I dreamed of being the cook.  I finally became the cook.  And the baker and cake decorator. Now I am a seamstress!  Go figure!

But, as I look back on my life, it was good.  It was all good.  Even the bad parts were good.  My name went from Louella Beth to Lou Mercer.

My oldest daughter always said "What don't kill you, will make you strong."  Lot of wisdom in that girl.  Maybe I never made it to American Bandstand with Dick Clark, but I made it this far in life and that right there is about the best I can hope for.  I figure American Bandstand made it a lot of years without me for a reason.

I think God had other plans for this little girl.  Not real sure what they were, but here's hoping I did whatever I was put here to do.  If not, I hope I get it done pretty damn quick!  

Coming to a close?

As I enter this last quarter of the year, I also enter a time that makes me sad.  It begins with my birthday, and then Jake's birthday 4 days later.  2 of my kids were born in October.  My brother died in October.  I got a divorce or 2 in October, but most of my divorces were good things.  Actually, all of them were good things.  Mother always said that old people, and sick people are like the leaves on the tree.   People die in the fall when the leaves fall from the tree.  Actually, people seem to be dying around me with an amazing regularity.  Not all of them are old, but a lot of them are.  I guess I am old so I may be in this years Autumn leaf drop.  Maybe, maybe not.  I just know fall is my least favorite season and October is my least favorite month.

Mother died in the Springtime; Kenny in the Winter.  The point is, death is becoming a regular visitor and I do not like that.  I have one sister left.  No brothers, no uncles, no aunts.  I am now the older generation and I do not like that.  I used to have someone to guide me and lead me and teach me the things to say and do, but now I fly by the seat of my pants and my wisdom is not always the best.  There was a time I could spout wisdom and Bible verses and quote the leader of the day.  Now, I just don't seem to give a damn.  My time is mostly spent moving stuff from one pile to another in anticipation of some day having a garage sale and getting rid of enough junk that I could possibly move into a small place in town.  That and napping through Jeopardy! is about the extent of my ambition.  Good thing I am good at napping, because that is about all I am good for.

At one point I thought I would write a sequel to my first book, but I have been stuck on chapter 5 for 4 years now and every time I think about picking it up, I have to reread the whole thing to jog my memory and then it is time for another nap.  It seems to be a vicious circle.

At one point I thought I should start dating, but I expect way to much out of a man.  First, he has to be neat, which I am not.  He has to be ambitious enough to want to take me for a walk, but able to understand that I am not broken to a leash.  Opening car doors is nice.  I would love to go dancing.  That is something I did all my life, until Kenny.  Poor little guy, had not a lick of rhythm in his whole body, so dancing was out.  Not sure I remember how to do that anymore, but I would love to try.  Conversation is a must.  I love to talk and I love to listen.  That does not mean I will remember anything that was said, but something might find fertile ground.

I do not know how I made the leap from my dread of October to dating, but I did!  I do my best thinking early in the morning and now it is going on 8:00 AM so I have pretty much shot my wad for the day.  Oh, well, maybe tomorrow will be better.  In the meantime, here is a poem that somebody, some where wrote and some teacher made me memorize it.  It has a lot of wisdom in it, so take it for what it is worth.

"The wise old owl sat on the oak.
The more he saw, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke the more he heard.
We should all try to be like that wise old bird." 

Holy crap! Can you say arachniphobia?

I know humans in other parts of this world will not understand the phobia that is now in process here in southwest Colorado,  but I do and it strikes fear in my heart and causes me to stick a little closer to the inside of the house.  To make it short, I am scared shitless of spiders.  That fear is known as arachnophobia. Right now the Tarantula migration is in progress and if you think I am going to venture very far from this sanctuary I call home, you are sadly mistaken. I just watched a news cast that only adds fuel to my already Saint Vitus dance fear.  The lady was explaining how the Comanche National Grassland is home to thousands and thousands of Oklahoma Brown Tarantulas'.

Now she explained how sweet they are.  They are not really migrating, but they are looking for a mate and then they will hatch out a whole bunch more of these things.  Their biggest enemy is a thing called a Tarantula Hawk.  (That vision ought to make me sleep better at night.)  The Tarantula Hawk is actually a giant wasp and it swopes down and paralyzes the spider, drags it to the burrow and lays eggs in it's back.  It also feeds on the live, paralyzed spider for weeks while the eggs are hatching.  Gross!

I have always been scared spitless of spiders and the list of which ones I am scared of more then others varies from which one I am seeing at the moment.  I did see a Tarantula crossing the road up on 25th lane once.  I did swerve to miss it, not out of compassion for the spider, but I was afraid the car would turn over if I hit it or worse yet if I straddled it, the thing might jump up on the crankcase and make it's way into my car and then there would be a lot more screaming going on!  I am pretty sure that they creep around this house when I am not looking, but I am alright with that as long as they do not let me see them, but if one wants to wave his legs around there is going to be some blood curdling screams emitted from the depths of my soul.  I do not know if they have ears or not and for the most part I really do not care.

My fear list begins with spiders and then comes centipedes, followed by snakes.  Rabid dogs and bats are alright as are most birds.  I do buy my insecticide by the gallon.  See, all that stuff belongs outside and my two lower levels tend to be pretty much a toxic waste dump.  I gave up my garden because I saw a snake under one of the squash plants.  I am here to tell you people that I may not be normal, but I do love most of you and I am a compassionate person at times.  That having been said, I shall start my day and see where it goes from here.

If you want to see the migration, you need to drive out to La Junta and head towards Trinidad.  I will not be joining you.

 Here is the link.

How would you like to live in my head?

I woke up this morning with this song by Frankie Laine playing in my head and  thinking of when I left my first husband.  I do not for the life of me know why he had picked this song out of all the songs in circulation to describe me.  I certainly did not feel like a temptress of any sort as I loaded my worldly belongings in the trunk of a green 1957 (?) Chevrolet Belair.  Nor did I shine with pride as I backed the car down the driveway .  All the kids were jumping up and down in the back seat.  As I look back on that day I realize just how many things have changed.

I would be required by law to have everyone of them in a car seat.  That is a good thing that has happened.  I stopped and filled the car with gas and then pulled onto 50 Hwy heading east.  There were several stops along the road so the kids could pee.  Tiny bladders do not understand waiting until a rest area is available.  That was alright, because traffic was light at that time.  Very few cars were going any distance and we were on a 200 mile trip.  At some point I pulled out a package of bologna and a loaf of bread and we had a picnic.  And that evening we pulled into my mothers yard.  My new life was beginning.  Thank God for my mother.

The next morning I faced the fact that I was now on my own and I had a family that needed both a place to live and food to eat.  I knew my husband would not help me in any way.  In his reasoning, I was the one who wanted out, so it was my responsibility to provide a place to live and everything that this little brood of mine required.  I had no skills and no training, but I did have a will to work.

Years ago I had worked at Skaets Steak Shop as a dishwasher, so I went there.  I was immediately hired so I had my foot in the door. I knew if I was going to survive that I could not do it on a dishwashers wages.  So a part of my first paycheck went to purchase a white uniform.  That was standard attire for a waitress back then.  White uniform and white "waitress" shoes.  And a bottle of shoe polish.  With those things in hand I went into the Red Rooster Restaurant and told them I was experienced.  I was hired on the spot.

So I waitressed at the Red Rooster in the day and Skaets at night.  It was at the Red Rooster  that I met a young man who would turn out to be a very good friend of mine and teach me acceptance of all things.  We remained friends until his death.  It is because of Gibby that I became an AIDS activist. I have always thought people are placed in our lives for a reason and we will learn from them if we are open.

Soon I had money to rent a little house.  Working 2 full time jobs left me in a stupor most of the time.  So on my way home one day and on the spur of the moment, I stopped at the Red Carpet Resturant.  I knew waitress work did not pay as steady as cook wages, so I applied for a cook's postition.  I had never even been near a grill in my life, but being a good liar, I landed the job.  I quit the Red Rooster and Skaets Steak Shop and went full time at the Red Carpet.  That job actually paid insurance!  I worked from 2 until 10 at night.  Fry cook was fast, hard work and I loved it.  But I knew that the heart of any restaurant rested in the hands of the dinner cook.  That was my next move.  When Emily quit I stepped into her shoes.

It was then that I learned how to cook in quantity.  I was still fry cook and cooked the orders, but I also made all the gravies, sauces, potatoes, and home cooked meals.  I also made the dinner rolls, cinnamon rolls, hash browns, French fries and anything else required to fill the steam table.  I came back at night and backed up the fry cook.  I hired a live in girl to watch the kids.  Now, this is all background and has nothing to do with what I had on my mind when I started this entry.  I was thinking about uniforms.

When I go into a restaurant now, it is anybody's guess what the cook or the waitress (or wait person) will be wearing.  Usually it is some sort of t-shirt or shirts that have a logo on them.  Back in the day, the waitress could have left the place of preparing and serving food and gone to work at her second job as a nurse.  Waitresses wore clean, white, starched uniforms.  They wore white, polished, lace up shoes.  Sometimes the owner furnished an apron with the logo of the place on it.  Nurses wore little white hats and that was the only difference.  Time was spent every night getting the uniform ready for the next days work.  A dingy uniform would get you sent home.  A spot that would not come out better be painted with shoe polish, because a spot meant you were dirty and you were a food handler after all.

Oh, and the smoking thing!  Every table, booth or stool had an ash tray.  Some times the blue smoke hung in the air until I thought I would choke.  It was better when I was cooking because I could keep the ash tray on the shelf between the grill and the french fryier.  The smoke was pulled up into the exhaust fan and if I was careful and did not drop ashes on the grill it was a good day.

 As you know, that all changed and the ash trays are now collectors items.  White uniforms are not to be seen any where and the white shoes are definitely a thing of the past.  The kids are grown and gone.  The husband is long since deceased.

But my mind still clings to the old days.  I go back home and my sister and her partner own Skaets Steak Shop.  I watch the cook and I watch the waitresses and I wonder if I could work an 8 hour shift now.  I rather doubt it.  They do tell me that anytime I want to move back they will find a place for me.  That gives me pause, but I think I am better off just staying here where I am and doing whatever it is I do.  At least when my back hurts I can set in my chair and when my head nods and I dose off, nobody is disappointed.

By all intents and purposes I should be lonely, but I am not.  I have the cat and the dog.  I have the geese and the weeds.  I have the sun in the morning and the moon at night.  ( I guess you know to click on anything underlined and printed in blue.)

The dog, the cat and the little old lady.

OK.  You win!  I suddenly came to the realization that I have become a little old lady who talks to her dog.  Not only do I talk to the dog, but I speak in complete, grammatically correct sentences.  And that is not the worst part.  What suddenly caught my attention was when I found myself waiting for the dog to answer.  Now I have always talked to the cat, but the cat and I have a special relationship.  The dog is a different matter.

You see, cat's are people oriented  and can in reality go crazy if they are closed up with no human contact.  They appear to be very aloof and not in need of human companionship, but they are phonies to the max.  My cat sleeps with me.  All night in the bed, just she and I.  In the morning I give her a treat for being such a good cat ant we then set down at the computer to write or check ebay or what ever.  She sets on the keyboard.  She is very independent, but clingy at the same time.  It is hard to type when she is stretched out on the keyboard, but it can be done.  I know if I try to move her I am going to get bit.  That is just a given.  It is best to let her get tired of laying on the keyboard and wander off to some other time and place.

The dog is another story.  He is currently at my feet and wide awake.  When I peer down at him he cocks his little head.  Sometimes I move my lips and he thinks I am talking and he can't hear me.  I always feel a little guilty when I do that because he is such a devoted little cuss and he does not want to miss a word.  (God grant me the ability to say something intelligent from time to time so the dog does not lose faith in me.)

Now, I know I have a lot of friends out there so I am going to ask you a question and I want an honest answer.  Do you talk to your animals?  If so, what do you talk about?  Do you think your animals understand what you are saying?  I have noticed that when I talk to the cat, I have a more moderate and mellow voice and I discuss mostly political stuff or church stuff or things that really don't matter.

It is different with the dog.  I become more animated and the dog gets more excited.  I can actually get him to jump around by changing the inflections in my voice.  If I speak in a monotone, the dog just looks at me, but if I appear excited, he starts to jump around.

From all of this I have drawn one conclusion...I really need to get a life.  Maybe I need a boyfriend.  Now I am rethinking the boyfriend.  I am a little old for that.  Man friend.  But not to old.  And he is sure going to have to like dogs and cats.  Oh, yeah and geese.  And the neighbors goats.  And I hope he can cook and carry on a two sided conversation. Or at least beat me at Jeopardy! occasionally.  Or at least be a gracious loser.

It has been a really long day.

Modern technology may be my downfall.

I just came through a weekend that was very trying.  On Friday my cell phone decided to freeze up.  Being tech savvy, (sort of anyway) I took the battery out and left it on the counter for 10 minutes.  I then put it back in and closed the cover.  Nothing.  I changed chargers and charged it some more.  All this time I got absolutely nothing except the name of the phone on the front.  I tried taking the battery out again.  I held the power key down.  Nothing worked.  I did not panic because I still had the house phone.   And then it rained on Saturday evening.

Now the house phone did not work.  That happens every time we have a deluge.  No problem.  I still had the Internet.  I contacted Century Link and told them I had no house phone.  They made arrangements to come on Tuesday and asked for a way to communicate, meaning an alternate phone number.  It is hard to explain to some one that you are telling them via chat that you have no phone they can call.  So I gave them Mikie's number knowing full well he would be out of town with no way to contact me.  But they asked.

I was still able to communicate via facebook.  For the first time in my life I was really thankful for social media.  Monday morning I got up knowing I still had facebook.  Not!  The Internet was now down.  Luckily the phone line had dried out and I now had that means of communication.  And then God sent me a miracle.  The house phone now had a dial tone!  Course the cell phone was laying there with it's guts spread across the counter and the word "Pantech" glowing on the screen.

As luck would have it, by the time I got back from town I had a message on the house phone that the technician would be able to come a day early!  And the Internet was back up.  Sadly the cell phone had now lost even it's name.  To make a long story short, the Century Link man came and I explained about the phone going dead when it rains.  He worked some of his magic up on the corner and said that should take care of that problem.  And I now have a direct line to call for help.  Hooray.

You should know that I never gave up on the cell phone.  I kept fiddling with it and holding different buttons.  At one point I actually got a message in tiny, tiny type that said "Do you want to reboot your phone?"  Oh, hell yes!  I was able to select my option and immediately a big picture of a forest came up and the words, "YOU ARE ENTERING AREA 51 (or o57) DO YOU WANT TO CONTINUE?"  I pressed the power key to select and that was the last thing the phone ever did.  Apparently it is out there some where doing something.

I called the cell phone carrier and by the end of the week I will have a new phone.  Hooray!  And last night my son called.  I told him about my problems and when I explained that the cell phone was toast he said "Do you have a smart phone?"  I told him "It can't be very damn smart because it can not turn itself on!"

He thought I should do a blog about this, so here it is.  Today I am content with only some of my technology working.  I have a house phone.  I have the Internet.  I have a dog and a cat.  I feel like Judy Garland!      https://youtu.be/SrUuHutYlj8

Have a good one.

South of Nickerson?

When dad worked for John Britain, it seems like the farm was South of Nickerson.  When I look at a map of anywhere, I immediately become directionally challenged.  Seems the only time I was sure which way I was going was when we pulled off of 50 Highway into South Hutch, crossed the river and drove North on Adams to mom's place on Jackson.  When we left Hutch to head west to Colorado, I was fine.  As long as the sun was in my eyes and I knew what time it was, I was good to go.  When we pulled into Pueblo, I was fine in my house, but when I leave, it is God only knows what direction I am headed.

So when I talk about across the river in Nickerson, I am pretty sure it was south of town.  The only time my dad had much to do with me was when he took me, and sometimes Jake, to John Britain's farm when he went to work.  It was not really a farm, it was an acreage that was used to grow crops.  The crop it grew was wheat.  When the rains came, there was a slough that filled with water and ran across the land.  Jake and I liked to play there and he built little wooden boats for me.  Jake was actually 4 years older than me.  I think his job was to keep me amused while dad was busy doing whatever it was he did.  I think it must have been either planting the wheat or getting the tractors and combines in running order for when the harvest came.

The day for going to the farm was always planned well ahead, as was the date of harvest.  I have always been fascinated with the wheat because that was at that time the mainstay of Kansas agriculture.  The fields would turn green in the springtime of the year and everyone watched the progress of the tiny green shoots.  They soon covered the ground and then began to grow upward towards the sun.  The fields were checked regularly for progress and soon the wheat would begin to "head out".   As it began to turn from green to an amber and then to dry, it was checked more often.  Dad would rub a head between his hands to determine several things.  One was how full the head was.  Another was how dry the wheat kernels were.  And then the time came that he and John determined that it was ready and harvest would be in so many days.  And then the work began.

The combine was greased and readied for the field.  Trucks were lined up and every man, woman and child had a job to do.  Dad and John ran combines.  Mother drove a truck.  I remember that one year she had to take one of the younger girls with her (I think it was Mary, but it could have been Dorothy.) She had to work.  Josephine stayed home with us younger kids.  Hell, she was just a kid herself, but that was back in the days when about the only thing to worry about was starving to death.  Jake carried fresh water to the workers.  He had to pump it with a hand pump on a well in the yard.  Somebody brought sandwiches at noon and again at night to keep the job going.  The process was slow and the old trucks crept into town and lined up with the other farm trucks to dump their grain in the elevator.  I never knew how they kept it all straight, but some how it worked.

Harvest is a damn serious business in wheat country.  I think now it has been mostly taken over by custom harvesters.  The farmers just have to be able to predict a year ahead to know when their crop will be ready.  They plant in cycles which vary by just a few days depending on who your harvester is.

Somehow it never left my mind and when I go down in the Spring, I watch to see how far along the wheat crop is.  If I go later in the fall the fields looked like they were raped.  And then winter the fields are barren.  I am not sure, but I think they used to plant in the fall and then graze cattle on it.  Then the wheat would "spool" and make double or triple the crop.  One seed would produce several stalks of wheat in the spring.  Not real sure about that because my job was to play in the dirt and watch the chickens lay eggs.

I have been gone from Kansas over half of my life, but some how I know life is going on without me.  Out here, I watch the chile pepper plants and the workers in the fields bending over in the hot sun, nurturing the plants that are so vital to this area.  Home is where the heart is and sometimes I wonder just where my heart actually lives.

It is a conundrum! 

Never let your right hand know....

"Never let your right hand know what your left hand is doing", was something my mother always said when she was imparting her wisdom to my tender ears.  She was referring to acts of kindness or charity.  We should never brag of our work.  Or at least that is what I took it to mean.

But it also applies to our world outside of the church and I never really understood what that meant until I started paying attention to our politicians and public leaders.  What brought this to my attention was a headline I just saw over on my news feed.  "Unnamed prominent person fights to keep Epstein records sealed."  Now I know what she meant!

I am pretty sure I can guess who it is, but then again, maybe not.  Oh, wait!  Do I care?  Not really.  Our politicians today are all so screwed up that it is just a matter of whose sins are bigger and how many bodies are hidden.  And all of those things are covered up and if not covered, then buried in public view.  Does anyone remember Chappaquiddick?  Watergate?  Clarence Thomas and the infamous Coke can?  Did any of that change history?  Nope.  Not one iota.  More importantly, do the participants remember what they did?  Hell no!  It is old news.

Our nation is in crisis and we are bombarded with news of pedophiles, sexual assaults, disrespect and anything to keep our minds off of what is really going on in our nation.  Our government is spending money like it was free and the upper echelon does not even pay taxes.  But we do!  We set here like a bunch of ducks in a barrel waiting to be harvested by bigger guns than our military carries, because we have our second amendment rights!  Give me an effen break!

Now I am not here to give you a lesson in morality because most of you should be old enough to know right from wrong, but it seems a lot of our leaders in this tumultuous times are keeping a lot of secrets and on an almost daily basis we read of one of our reputable leaders falling from grace.  Oh, trust me, there are a few things I did back in my wicked past that could come back to haunt me, but this would mean somebody has a way better memory than I do because I have pretty much forgotten my dark days.  That, coupled with the fact that I have out lived most of my cronies, allows me to sleep soundly at night.

Washington is a hot bed of corruption and we turn our backs and walk away.  It used to be we could "vote the rascals out", but with Russia in charge of our ballot box,  we stand little chance on that front.  But you know what I think?  I really feel that some where in this hot bed of filth that is now our government, there are a few decent people who really care.

My mother was a Republican and she was a good person, so I am sure that not all of them are bad.  But we have to research our candidates from the township election clear up to the presidential ballot.  From the city, to the county, to the state, to the federal.  Every damned one of them.  Vote like your life depended on it, because with our environment in the shape it is in, it does!

Another one my daughter pulled out of her hat was  "What doesn't kill you, will make you strong."  That one pretty well puts it all in prospective for me.

Imagine for a moment....

Imagine for a moment that you are on your way to the grocery store.  You are listening to the radio which is just background music at the moment.  You are thinking about supper and anticipating the kids coming by.  A barbeque, if you will.  Steaks, salad, iced lemonade and the Tres Lechen cake awaiting the fresh fruit.  It is going to be perfect!  The kids are a delight and very responsible.  The grand kids are always a treat!  You are not planning on leaving the house, just watching a movie and enjoying the kids.

Your phone flashes a bulletin incoming, so you pull over to the side of the road.  You have an uneasy feeling, but you always do, because you know it is not going to be good and you volunteer at the crisis center.  That is where trauma victims are sent.  You are the lady at the desk who tries to make some sort of normalcy out of complete chaos.  You are one of several.  There is usually not much going on in a town this size, but it is best to be prepared.

"Active shooter at the City Park swimming pool.  All law enforcement are active.  It appears to be a lone gunman with a high velocity rapid fire gun of some sort.  Stay tuned."

And you do stay tuned, but you have altered your route and you are heading for the center.  As you pull into the parking lot you see more people arriving.  You hurry inside thinking that you must call the kids.  Soon.  Now you have other things to do.  The place is filling up and you have a job to do.

Now stop and think.  Scenes like this are becoming an every day occurrence.  Maybe not in your town, but all across our land.  One man (and I am sorry, but I have not read of a woman perpetuating one of these crimes.)  Some where someone has decided that it is in the best interest of himself and God only knows who else, to pick up a high powered rifle or a rapid fire gun and go shoot people.  Aside from the people who are killed or injured and their families and friends, lets take this even further.

You are now directly affected.  You will know the victims and/or their family members.  The news will pre-empt your regular evening news.  The barbeque is now on hold.  And of course, in the back of your mind you are replaying the last conversation with your daughter-in-law.  Were the kids going to the pool?  You do not remember.

You are now more directly affected.  Your plans have been changed, not by anything you changed, but by a stranger who changed your world, but only for a day or 2.  But let's take this even further.

Your daughter in law had taken your grandson to the pool before heading over to your house for supper.  You are now directly affected even more.  Was he there?  Had he come and gone?  Were they both safe?  Or were they both dead?  You are numb.  You can not function.  The only thing that will give you back a sense of anything is to hold your loved ones in your arms.  Until that moment happens you can do nothing, but pray.

It is on the news now.  It is over.  8 children were killed by a man with a gun.  Many more were injured.  The gunman was captured and disarmed.  Small consolation.  Where is your family?  Where is your grandson?  Where is your son?

The only thing that could be worse then your family members being killed is if your family member did the killing.  We are living in a fast paced world where the news unfolds before our eyes and within a matter of hours the authorities have answers.  What started out as a trip to the store has now ended up in total chaos.  What happened to the order of life?  Grow up. Get married.  Have kids to grow up and get married.  Do we plan on chaos?  No, we do not, but our society today makes chaos a reality and an expectation.

We are not allowed to change things to prevent this either, are we?  We can not pass a law about gun control or background checks, or any thing that might infringe on some body's right to the second amendment.  What about this scenario even hints at the second amendment?  A well regulated militia is a far cry from what we have now.  Oh, we have a well regulated militia, but it is not these nuts with guns that are contributing to that scenario.  These men who take it upon themselves to kill innocent people are not operating in a vacuum.  They deal daily with people and they need to be accountable.  If you encounter a mad dog on the street, you call the animal control.  If you encounter a raging man with a gun, you should be able to call someone.

I guess what I am trying to say is this.  When you think someone is a loose cannon, tell some one.  When your brother in law is ranting and raving about killing the scum and draining the swamp, tell some one.  The worst that can happen is you are wrong.  The best is you may prevent a mass shooting.  We have got to police our environment, because no one else is doing it for us.  I see no end in sight for this debacle.  Congress is owned by the NRA and the NRA says there is no problem.  How many years did it take with the Koch brothers poisoning our environment before we finally got a label on their products?

Research your candidates.  Don't just rely on a television advertisement.  When you recommend a person to make laws to protect us, make sure that is what they stand for and while they are in office, hold their feet to the fire.  Make sure you point out to them what you want and what you will not stand for while they are in office.

Peace.