Finding Our Way; Moving Forward After the Death of a Husband.

The restaurant was the Three Thieves many years ago.  It was a favorite place for Kenny and I to have a dinner out at least once a month.  It had a notorious history as being the place where some guy had met with a hired assassin to plot the death of a business partner.  Sadly I do not remember the names, but it is all water under the bridge at this time as it was at that time.  We just loved a good steak and we could always get one there.  The salad was also to die for with the house dressing and Blue Cheese Crumbles.  I always had the baked potato and to me the skin is the best part!  Kenny always said only a glutton ate the skin.  His first wife told him that and he relayed the message to me, but I did not give a big rat's ass and I ate it!  He let me.

Last night I returned to what is now the Park East Restaurant for a dinner with six of my new found friends.  This is a very select group of women, but we all have one thing in common.  We have all lost our husbands and we all collaborated on a book put together by Beth Bricker Davis.  We each wrote our story of losing our husbands and moving forward alone.  We are an elite group only in that we are part of the book.  Each of our stories is unique, but each has the same beginning and ending.  There is no living happily in the real world.  Every day and every memory is ours, but they are all the same and the endings are the same.  We all go home alone to our respective homes with whatever life we live, but we all have our own memories of what was and will never be again.

I sat across from a lady named Marla Carleo.  Beside her was Shirley Higgins, who sometimes plays her Bass at our church. Next was Joyce Turbyfill and then Cathy  Trujillo was on the end.  On my side was me (Lou Mercer) followed by Beth Bricker Davis and then Alicia Bourdon-Goure.  Of the group, Alicia is the only one who has remarried.  I have tripped the light fantastic down the proverbial aisle 6 times, so I guess that is about it for me!

A toast to the success of our venture and then time to reminisce and catch up on each others lives.  Before last night, they were all just pages in the book.  Now we are forever held together by a bond forged by Beth Bricker Davis and a book that seems to be doing fairly well.  I am proud of Beth for coming up with this idea and then having the tenacity to bring out the best in all of us.  You do know that organizing a bunch of old widow women is akin to herding cats!

And we all  have our own copy of the book.  It is available on Amazon at click here.  Or you can buy it locally at Montgomery Steward on the end of Main Street right here in beautiful Pueblo, Colorado.

I do hope to maintain a friendship with these wonderful ladies.  We are now forever held together by a silvery cord that slips the bonds of earth.  I do hope you can pick up a copy of this because each experience is unique and while it can never make the death of a spouse easier, it can show that you are not alone.  

So, off to church I go this morning and I am going to thank that big ole' God up there for leading me out all alone last night, because that is something that I just do not do.  And while I hope you are never in my shoes, odds are you will be.  Just remember that out there in that big old world there are other people who have been there, done that.

May your path be sprinkled with sunshine and your nights filled with moonbeams! 

Buy book here!              (back row) Beth, Alicia, Marla, Shirley, (front row)Lou, Cathy, Joyce

The beautiful Colorado sky!

Every morning without fail, I leave my back door and head out back to the goose house.  When I built it, it was a duck house.  An influx of foxes changed all that.  At the height of my goose/duck raising , I had 37 ducks and 17 geese.  I also had a very big pond which was lined with heavy plastic.  It was about 35 feet long, 30 feet wide and 5 feet deep.  They loved it and swam in it all day long.  I still have pictures of it some where, but that is history and I do not like to live in the past.  Very slowly the foxes began to sneak in and carry off a duck now and then.  When I realized what was going on, it was too late and the houses behind my empty field prevented use of a gun.  One of the neighbors who lived down there, told my step daughter that he had shot over 10 foxes in one week.  But that is history.  I now have 8 geese and no ducks.  None of this is relevant, however.

This morning as I stood in my back acre, I reveled at the beauty of the blue Colorado sky.  Not a cloud in sight.  It was not cold, just a little cool, which is to be expected this time of year.  It was just that the beauty of the Colorado sky struck me as the hand of God at work.   It is so wonderful to live here in the center of the United States of America that I could not help but thank God above for delivering me to this place!  I fully intend to live out my remaining days right here on South Road, but can I?

I watch the news.  I know that south of here, children are locked in cages because their parents are trying to escape the drug lords in South America.  North of here, the Indigenous people who lived on this land since before Columbus or whoever came and they were eventually pushed back to reservations.  The government has penetrated into every aspect of our lives so that we are no longer allowed the security of our own planet.  In lands across the sea, bombs and war are an every day occurrence.  Running water, heated homes, electric lights at our fingertips are not givens over there.  I do have a radio in my bedroom that will bring me messages if the depot ever implodes.  It will also let me know if a tornado is on the horizon.  It was installed in my home over 30 years ago by the government.  They have changed the battery twice.  It is tested every Wednesday at noon.  I also get a calendar every year from the same place that furnishes the radio.  I am sure that it has some purpose, but I really do not know what it is.  Perhaps it is the government spying on me.  If so, somebody is pretty hard up for someone to spy on!  There is very little outside activity in my home and the bedroom is pretty well a "dead zone."

But back to the sky that is such a beautiful blue that it makes my heart ache!  If our government could spend the money on taking care of our weakest citizens that they spend on securing our borders and monitoring the rest of the world, wouldn't it be a beautiful world?  My grandfather came here 120 years ago with nothing but the clothes on his back and a hand held by my great grandfather.  I love my family history, and I love to go back to Plevna, Abbyville, Huntsville and all the places my grandparents lived.  Some of my fondest memories were made around the oak table at the little house in Plevna where I lived with my grandma and great grandma.  The school is gone now.  Last time I was there, only the gymnasium was standing.  The Hinshaw general store had burned.  That left the bank, the phone company and one gas station.  The Smith house was gone and 3 trailer houses were on that lot.  The Congregational Church still stood next door to our house.

The sky in Kansas and the sky in Colorado are different.  Colorado is a deeper blue.  Kansas sky goes on forever. The night sky in Kansas is not polluted by city lights and I can hear the coyotes yipping  across the prairie.  There are more stars then one could ever count.  The sky is total black with only diamonds sparkling against the velvet background. but it is the sky that fills my soul.

At least that is how I remember it.

Front sight is 2020!

It used to be that hind sight was 2020, but now when the clock strikes midnight we will be looking forward to 2020!  Well, some of us a little more than the rest of us.  I have made this leap 77 times and I find it is not luck, or whether I ate Black-eyed Peas or not, but more just a luck of the draw.  Before I found out I had to eat Black-eyed Peas in order to secure my good luck for the coming year, I had pretty good luck.  Then I started eating them and my luck stayed the same.  Could it be an old wives tale?

And speaking of old wives tales, the grandmothers were full of them.  I tend to think of them more as wise tales as opposed to the wives tales.  Here are a few for your consideration.

"Where spider web grows, no beau ever goes."
"Once bit, twice shy."
"Broken mirror brings 7 years of bad luck."
"Step on a crack; break your mothers back."
"Any thing that can go wrong, will go wrong."  (This is called Murphy's Law.)
"Spill salt you have to pick it up and throw it over your shoulder to ward off the bad luck"
"13 is an unlucky number."
"A black cat crossing your path is bad luck."
"Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning."
"Red sky at night, sailor's delight."

This list goes on and on, and I am pretty sure that I violated every one of them!  And yet here I am, alive and well and facing another year.  But, you know what?  Life is good.  Where there is life there is hope.  My momma told me that and I have lived by that my whole life.  My life has had it's ups and downs, but I would not change one single thing about it!

This is my take on life: Every man I married and every man I did not marry, was for a reason.  I learned something from everyone of them.  Some of the lessons were very hard and some still bring tears to my eyes and there are things I would know now that I should have known then that I can not change.  Every person I met along the way to today made an impact on who I am now.  Some of my lessons made me a better person; some of them taught me that life is reality.  But that is yesterday; and yesterday is gone.  I will not pass that way again.  There are no second chances at some things.

So Happy New Year!  We will toast a cup of kindness now to Auld Lang Syne; however you spell it and whatever it means!  Today is a new day and tomorrow will be a new year.  Every New Years Eve, I forgive myself, and every New Years Day, I try to do better.  Maybe someday I will get it right.

One more thing I know is that when I finally do get it right, the big guy upstairs is going to jerk the rug out from under me and holler "Hurry up and get in here while you are good to go!"

Peace to all and remember,

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

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: All I see is a pink ball...

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: All I see is a pink ball...: It is Christmas all over the world, and contrary to popular belief it is Christmas at my house.  I do not have a tree and all the trappings...

All I see is a pink ball...

It is Christmas all over the world, and contrary to popular belief it is Christmas at my house.  I do not have a tree and all the trappings.  There is no Christmas music wafting from the stereo.  And last night I missed the service at church for the first time in many, many years.  But it is still Christmas morning here.

Yesterday I went to a friends house for lunch.  I dined with Ross Barnhart and his brothers and most of their wives.  His cousin was also there.  It was lovely and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.  Today I am staying home.  I have some things I want to do today, but right now I am thinking back to Strong Street.

I know we lived there for several years, but I am not sure how long.  My favorite Christmas is the year I received a pink ball for Christmas from Santa Clause.  Santa always left our gifts on our chairs at the table.  That year I received a coloring book, a box of 8 Crayola's, 2 chocolate candies an orange and a pink ball.  It was about the size of the orange and it was the most wonderful ball in the world!  When I dropped the ball it bounced very high.  I threw it against the house and it bounced back.  It was so wonderful, but of course , that did not last.  It was just a matter of time before the wonderful pink ball picked up a sticker and no longer bounced.  The last time I recall seeing it was deflated and living in a mud hole.  Soon the coloring book was all colored, the Crayon's broken and missing from the box.

The last Christmas I recall was the last one I want to remember.  Jake told me Santa was not real and he knew that for a fact because Momma was going to let him play Santa and give out the presents that year.  I did not believe him, so I asked him what I was going to get and he told me.

"It is a tin doll house with a mother, father, brother, sister and a dog. A black dog." And that was what I got.  Jake had assembled it by pushing the metal tabs through the slots and folding them down to hold them in place.  And sure enough, there was a pink mother and father, a boy and a girl, and a little dog.  It had a couch and chair, a table and 4 chairs, and a tub and stool and sink in the bathroom.  The kitchen had a sink, refrigerator and a stove.  Jake told me he would get me more stuff someday.  But it never happened.

Some how the wonderfulness of the doll house was over shadowed by the sadness the Santa was not real.  All those years, it had been my momma cleaning other peoples houses and saving money a little at a time to surprise me.  It made me sad to think of her doing without so I could have something I really wanted.  I came to hate that gift more every day.  Momma never knew, but I did.

I hated the poverty that was our life.  I hated that my father did not ever touch me or carry me like he did Mary, Donna and Dorothy.  I told myself that he probably did, when I was little, but I do not remember that.  He spent a lot of time drinking when I was growing up and I attribute it to that.  Sure doesn't help these many years later.

So today, I am staying home, alone.  I am alone because I want to be, not because I have no one.  I have 6 children who have mates and children and some of those children have children which means I am a great grandmother.  I have nieces and nephews.  I have very good friends.  I just want to be alone, so I will.

I wish you all a very Merry Christmas, and pray that you all enjoy life to the fullest.  I know I am going to do just that!

Peace!

It is legal here in Colorado, so.....

Yesterday my middle daughter arrived here from Kansas.  This is a piece of information that seems trivial, but marked a big day in my life.  Oh, she has been here before and I am always happy to see her, as I am all my offspring.  But yesterday was special in more ways than one.  I had lunch with Michael McQuire and Teresa Cordova from church.  Michael and Jimmy, his partner, gave me a homemade fruit cake with lots of frosting and pistachios, which I love.  Thank you boys for a special gift.  Then I hurried home as I had a plan for the afternoon.  First I called to see where Dona was in her journey, and then I planned her surprise!

As you know, Colorado is home of the free and the brave, as is every state in our union.  It is also legal for marijuana!  Now, I have never tried marijuana as a recreational drug, but I do make a pain cream out of the leftovers furnished to me by a dear friend in Canon City.  Some how he extracts the hallucinogenic properties and he is left with something that looks like a bunch of dried up leaves pressed into a block.  I then take that, cook it and turn it into a pain cream that will put your sciatic into a deep sleep almost instantly.  Very good stuff.  It contains none of the hallucinagenic  of marijuana and I have many people who swear by it, me included!  But that is beside the point.

I know my friend, Shirley,  used "gummies" to help her sleep, so I know pot has properties that are beneficial.  I have heard of marijuana brownies and how the high is different so I have been researching that aspect.  YouTube is full of information, so Saturday I made "cannabutter."  (I should interject here that a friend of mine had provided me with a big bag of weed a month or so ago.  His instructions to me were to turn it into something that could then be turned into cash.  I told him I could not use it in my pain cream so we agreed that edibles was the way to go.)  Thus began my venture into the world of marijuana edibles!

First another friend showed me how to remove the "buds", grind them into something I forget the name of and then take the "trash" that was left and use it for my pain cream.  Every part of the plant is used for something.  So I put the pain cream stuff aside and proceeded with baking with the "canna butter" when I got home from church.  First I made chocolate cookies.  Then I made chocolate cake bars.  I left the bars in the oven a little too long so they came out harder then I would have liked.  I will do those different next time.

So the unsuspecting daughter was met at the door with a cookie.  At 4:20 (which in itself is symbolic) she ate one half of a 2 inch cookie.  The following is the observation of subject:

1.  It tasted like "weed", but that is not a bad thing because it IS weed.
2.  At 4:50, she felt giggly.
3.  At 5:00 she was "stoned".  It was a very good "stoned", whatever that meant!
4.  She remained in the euphoric condition of "mellow" until she returned to her normal state at 7:20.

Now it should be noted, that during that time frame, she and I visited in our usual way.  So, I think I can safely say that this experiment was a success!  I think my cookies will be useful.  I do need to work on the preparation of the product, but that will come with time.

So all you people out there who think I am just your usual run of the mill grandma, please keep in mind that I still am.  I approve of marijuana for its medicinal properties, but I do not use it.  If you want to use it, I am here to help you enjoy it in a safe way and in the comfort of your own home.  I am not quite ready to take this to market, but I can see how that can happen.  It may be that this is as far as I go with it, but who knows.

In the meantime, I will put my baked goods in the freezer and when the time is right, I will proceed.

Or not.

Apparently I am pretty stupid.

Apparently I do not know the law.  See, I always thought that if someone was "delivered a summons to appear in court" that it meant they had to show up when called.  I further believed that if I were in that position, I would be required to tell the truth.  Now I never did claim to be the smartest bulb in the box, but some things are drilled into my head and have not left, lo, these many years.

I was raised that my country was a country of morals and scruples.  A country of immigrants.  A land of opportunity where I could be anything I wanted to be.  A free education.  I can recall the voice on the radio many years ago that declared.  "The war is over!  We have conquered the enemy."  It meant little to me than because my world was Nickerson, Kansas.  The only enemies I knew about were the cougars that screamed down on the river and the Gypsy's who camped outside of town to steal children.

Washington, D.C. was many miles away.  After Roosevelt had his "fireside chats," Harry Truman was President.  He was a "home grown boy."  I think his wife tried to be a singer, but failed.  Or so I remember it.

The point is this:  From Roosevelt until now, I remember all the Presidents.  I always respected the President because that is how I was raised.  I also respected the minister at church and the principal of the school.  Public figures were to be respected.  They were honest and open.  They loved their wives and respected them, or so it seemed.    There was no scandal in our little town, or at least none that touched my life. (I did hear once that the dentist's wife had too much to drink and drover her car into a ditch.  He later divorced her and married his nurse, but even that could have been heresay in my little mind."

The point is this, I was raised in a different world.  We respected our elders.  We respected our leaders.  We stood up when the flag was presented and we placed our right hand over our heart as a sign of respect.  We never questioned it.  We just did it.  It was the right thing to do.  The days of sand and shovels are behind me now!

I have never voted a straight ticket in my life.  The first election I voted in was for John Kennedy.  I voted for Jimmy Carter and Barack Obama.  The rest were Republican votes.  Well, not Donald Trump. I figured Hillary was better qualified, not that I liked her personally, but I decided early on that if Trump would not produce his income tax returns, he was not honest.  Seems I nailed that one.

Now, I know I am going to piss off a lot of my Republican friends, but I wonder if they are really thinking straight?  The man has been in office for 3 years now and has yet to produce a tax return.  He will not even stand up and defend himself in an impeachment hearing.  He has ordered his minons not to appear.  The world laughs at us!  Our environment is going to shit!  Every day that I turn on the news I am amazed at what he has pulled over night.  I do not feel safe in my country and I am not proud of what we have become.

What bothers me most, is what this administration has done to our country.  His son, daughter and son-in-law hold positions of power in government business both here and abroad.  Immigrants are dying on our southern border.  There is no regard for life.  No respect for women.  No respect for minorities.  Russia is our friend while the Indigenous citizens have been shoved onto land that is polluted by the Keystone Pipeline.  Our schools are funded by our teachers!

I could go on and on, but it is pointless.  If you are my friend and you think I am radical and nuts, count me out of your circle.  I like to think that my true friends will see a little bit of wisdom in what I am saying.  But if you are content to set in your warm houses and cuss the homeless, count me out.  If you can look at our migrant population with disgust, cross me off you mailing list.  If you can look at Mitch McConnell and smile,  delete my phone number.

Our country is in the shitter and we all know it.  If you think I am right, let me know, but if you think I am a lunatic, it has been enlightening knowing you.  Enjoy your selfish bigotted life.

Peace and prosperity to my loving friends.

In a perfect world.

I have a little grandson who is going to be 4 in February.  In a perfect world he would be my great grandson, but as you all know, this is not a perfect world.  He is very smart, or at least I think so.  My mind does not recall how old my oldest child was when I was divorced and began supporting myself by working 2 and 3 jobs.  The point here is that I never kept the baby books up to date.  I do not remember when any of them started walking, nor what their first words were.  I do not recall when they started stringing words into sentences, nor when they picked up a pencil and wrote.  In a perfect world, I would have done that, but in the reality that was my life, a roof over our heads and food in our tummies far outweighed the baby books.  We all survived.

I had 5 children,  8 grand children, and 11great grand children.  I now have 6 children, 7 grand children and 10 great grand children.  There have been no deaths, just a reshuffling of status.  Kenneth and I adopted one of the grand children, which makes him a child now instead of a grand child.  This also makes his son a grand child instead of a great grand child.  And that , my friends is how I now (at 78 years of age)  have a 3 year old grand son.  And this also brings me to the point of this story.

For privacy sake, I shall call him Little Boy.  Little Boy goes to pre school and is very smart.  My children went to Grandma Bensing who was paid to keep them alive for however many hours I was at work.  Little Boy is 3 1/2 years old and knows his alphabet, his numbers and speaks in sentences.  He spends 2 days and one night with me.  It seems to me, that every week he is growing and maturing into a little old man.  I do not remember how my kids grew.  It seems like they were little and then they were big and then they were gone and I never saw it happen.  I have their school pictures and I remember some of the things they said that surprised me, but I just do not know when it happened.

I remember once when Susie was tiny, they wanted to take her to school for show and tell.

I remember when we had a fluffy puppy and they gave it a bath and when the hair got wet it scared them because "Fluffy's bones are poking out!"

Debbie was always the little mother.  Came from being the oldest, I guess.  I sent her to Church group one Saturday.  It was on the river.  She left the group and walked up to my working place which was about a mile and a half up main street.  They could not find her when it was time to leave.  I received a frantic phone call wanting to know where she was.  At that time she was walking and no one knew where she was.  But I do not remember how old she was.  Probably 10 or so.

I remember Sam carrying on long conversations with the cat.  I remember being at the bank with him one day and he wanted something and I told him I did not have money.
He said "Why are we here?"
"This is where I bank."
"Get some money from here."
"There is no money in here."
"Well what kind of bank is it that has no money?"

Dona and Patty always slept together wrapped in each others arms.  Patty would fall asleep when I brushed her hair.

Sam had a speech impediment and could not make the "h" sound.  This made the teacher think that his father was a hard working man who should be providing for us better because he "did three jobs" instead of "Daddy does tree jobs."

I never missed a program at school, or a conference, or an outing, or a birthday.  I just did not write it down.

So now when Baby Boy does something, I am amazed.  He speaks in sentences.  Wednesday night he counted his toes.  Several times.  He had 10.  I have a pair of skeleton shoes which separates my toes into 4 compartments on each foot, the 2 small toes going in one slot.  He counted my toes.  I had 8.  He counted again and I still had 8.  He counted his.  He had 10.  I finally had to take the shoes off so he could get an accurate count.  Good memory and reasoning skills there.

He likes to eat Chinese so we stop and I order one meal with the fried rice in a separate bowl.  That is all he wants.  His dad is a meat eater; he could care less. My kids ate anything that did not eat them first.

He raked the yard yesterday with the mop.  His dad grew pot in the closet down stairs.

His dad took him fishing and he caught a cat fish.  When Bret asked him why he did not take the fish off the hook, he said, "Because I am too afraid."

It makes me very sad when I look back over my life and see what I missed raising my kids.  I should have had time to write things down, but the time did not come until later in life and now I have to rely on memories.  Most of my memories are shrouded in a cloak of sleep deprivation and running from one job to another.

I only wish I had taken the few moments it required to jot it down, but at that time other things took precedince.  Now it is too late, and when I die the memories will die with me.

And that makes me very sad.

Jake Smith and his grinding wheel.

Now this is a grinding wheel!  It is not the one in Jake Smith's back yard, but it is pretty close.  His had a bicycle seat on the end where the pedals are located.  He used to set there and pedal which caused the stone to rotate.  He would hold an axe blade against the side.  When the first side was sharp, he would turn it over and sharpen the other side. He would finish by dripping water on the blade and the spinning stone.  When he was finished he had a blade that was so sharp it could be used to shave and he tested it by removing a patch of hair from his arm.

Granted he could not make a living by sharpening axe blades, but it did help supplement the income he and his wife received.  She cleaned houses for some ladies in town to help make ends meet.  He was a retired police officer, or so I heard.  He would occasionally "strap his  service weapon" on his belt and scare us kids.  He was quick to tell us how fast we would be dispatched to the other side if we did not get out of his yard.  And to emphasis that he meant business, he would twirl the pistol on one finger.  Then he would set down in the chair that was located by a tree, lean back against the tree and have his afternoon nap.  

One afternoon, Jake and one of his cronies waited until he was sound asleep and then they crept up and carefully encased the old guy in ropes so when he woke up and started to tip his chair back down, it did not tip.  He pulled the ropes over his head, tipped the chair down.  Sadly when he stood up to walk, he found his feet were tied and catapulted to the ground.  He did not find this nearly as funny as us kids hiding over in the weeds behind the shed did!  Damn lucky he did not shoot us that time.  He knew who did it, but of course we all lied and said, "No!  Jake went bike riding and he is not back yet."

Life was so simple back then.  Sorry to say I have not seen one of those wheels in years and the one I saw was in an antique shop and priced far out of my range. Nor do I own an axe.  I do possess a 10 pound sledge hammer and a hatchet.  The hatchet was a pricey little purchase, but there are times when that little guy comes in very handy.  I used it a couple times to separate a chicken head from the body, but I do not do that any more.    My favorite way to butcher chickens was to grasp their feet, step on the head and jerk upward.  It was quick and painless, but barbaric.  Kenny's mom used to tie thier feet together and hang them from the clothes line.  She then streeeeeeeeeeeeetched out their head and proceeded to cut their head from their neck with a butcher knife.  Now THAT was barbaric!  I could scald and de-feather a chicken faster than anyone in the county, but that is history and I now buy my chicken breasts at the local frozen food section.

I just remembered why I started this blog!  I came across my hatchet the other day and noticed that there was a nick on the blade and that the blade was dull.  I have an electric grinding wheel in the garage with coarse and fine wheels.  I used to use it to sharpen my hoe, but since the snakes have taken over the garden, I do not plant any more and that area goes to weeds for the geese.  I am sure at some point in time I am going to have to do something, but for now, I am just going to have my humble breakfast of grits and cheese  and think about something else.

May Jake Smith rest in peace setting in his chair, propped against the tree, dreaming of his bygone life as a peace officer retired and sharpening axes and knives on North Strong Street, in Nickerson, Kansas.

My daddy did not have a gun.

He did not have a gun.  What he did have was a buggy whip and a 2 x4.  My brother tasted both of them.  I did not.  I did live in mortal terror that I would.  I could tell when he was mad or that something was bothering him because he would rub his thumb and fore finger together and talk to himself.  He was a strange man.  He did not seem to have any friends that I knew about.  He had a few acquaintances.  He also had a couple farmers he worked for on occasion.  John Britain and Ed Crissman.  Mostly he just hung out at the local pool hall where the "ne'er do wells"  hung out.  He worked there some afternoons.  He did let me go in there once when nobody was there.  He actually played a game of dominoes with me.  Of course he won.  He always won.  Score was kept on a stick with a series of holes.  Each time one of us made a score the stick was moved forward a  number of holes.  The score was always a multiple of 5, so 10 points was 2 holes  and so on.  I still enjoy playing dominoes, but rarely find anyone who knows how.

I always thought my dad was a very big man, but I think he was 5'10" which is not tall at all.  He had a ruddy complexion and hair with a reddish tint.  I inherited neither of those.  My sisters and brother did, but I was a miniature of my mother.  I had brown hair and hazel eyes that turned to blue or green, depending on my mood.  Dad's skin was light and mine was darker.  I tanned very easily and the sisters burned easily.

My father did not like pets.  We never had a dog and the cat mom kept as a mouser was not allowed in the house.  Mother did have a canary at one time.  It had a cage that hung on an iron post that kept it off the floor.  The cat did come in one time on my watch and made short work of the canary.  Mother was livid.  Seems the bird was the only thing that really gave her pleasure in her mundane world.  She had received it from Grandma Haas.  Not sure mother ever forgave me for that little fiasco.  I do know she never forgot.

Dad never interacted with any of us kids but Mary.  Mary looked a lot like Dad with his rather ruddy complexion and the hair that had an almost red tint, but not quite.  Mary was always delicate.  I do not mean sickly, because I was the sickly one.  I had my tonsils removed when I was 10 or 11 and then became the healthy person I am today.  Donna and Dorothy were bordering on being pudgy, but Mary was just delicate.  There is no other way to put it.  Josephine was the oldest and she was a half sister.  Jake was the son.  I was the oldest daughter born to the union.  Then came Donna, Mary and Dorothy.  That made me the middle child and I lived the "middle child syndrome" my whole life. Still do.  I am not quite happy with anything I do so I try harder.  Just can not do anything completely and revel in success.  I always fall just a little bit short.  You would think after this many years I would give up on that!

Don't know why I got this in my head today, but here it is.  Guess I will go downstairs and do something constructive.

Randy Travis calls this "Pickin' Up Bones."  Just makes me wonder if we ever really escape our childhood?  There are only 2 of us left now.  We live 400 miles apart and visit sporadically if at all, but it is enough to know she is there. And I am here.

World AIDS Day & the Quilt

I do not know when Pueblo began the commemoration of World AIDS Day.  I do know that at that commemoration there were only 2 people.  They went to the Arts Center and put black ribbons on several pictures.  Then that evening the 2 of them held a candle light vigil.  She was the sister of a young man who had passed from AIDS and he was a victim.  I never knew his name, but I still see her today.  It was through her that the Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt was conceived.

The next year there were 5 of us.  3 of us were parents of a gay child.  The third year there were 2  mothers and my daughter Debbie with her biker husband Hammer.  For some reason we thought we had to stay until midnight all the years before.  That year, Hammer told us we were nuts because it was cold enough to freeze the b@^^s off a brass monkey and there was no one that knew we were there. He was right!

From those humble beginnings many things transpired.  Someone started the Names Project AIDS Memorial Quilt early on.  It lives in California.  It is constructed of individual panels measuring 3' x 6', which is the size of a regular grave.  I conceived the idea for a smaller version of this constructed of 1' x 2' panels.  The Pueblo AIDS Memorial Quilt was dedicated at the Sangre de Cristo Arts Center on December 1, 1997.  For several years, that was it's venue until we started having World AIDS Day here.  The library is now it's home through December.  It is still stored in my basement.

The big quilt in California is now too big to be displayed any where.  The last showing of it was on the mall in Washington D.C.

NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt

The NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt, often abbreviated to AIDS Memorial Quilt or AIDS Quilt, is an enormous memorial to celebrate the lives of people who have died of AIDS-related causes. Weighing an estimated 54 tons, it is the largest piece of community folk art in the world as of 2016. Wikipedia

Tomorrow at 2:00 we will gather to recognize World AIDS Day.  Part of that celebration will be to recognize the loss of one of our leaders, John A. Tenorio.  He passed one year ago the day after Thanksgiving.  John was my friend.  I was the mother he lost and he was the brother I lost.  Our friendship had gotten off to a rocky start many years before, but we had both come to realize that this was a friendship blessed by God and misunderstood by man.

Sunday we will add his panel to the quilt.  It is simple.  The fabric is one of the plaid shirts he always wore.  The Christmas card he sent out the first year he was a grandfather is in the pocket.  There is a picture of him and his brother, Len in the city hall parking lot.  It does not tell a story.  It is not a work of art.  But it does hold a lot of tear drops, because I miss that boy more than words can say.  It is just something that will mark the life and death of John A. Tenorio.

May he rest in peace knowing he leaves behind a legacy that will never be forgotten and an empty place in our hearts that will never be filled.

Kids' say the darnedest things!

Back when the television set was still black and white, before color came along, there was a man named Art Linkletter.  He was a "host" and one of the shows he hosted was "Kids say the darnedest things."  This was a show in which he interviewed children in ages probably from age 3 up to maybe 6 or so.  You know, the ones who are not old enough to have a filter yet and living in the age of innocence.  He would ask simple questions and sometimes get complex answers.  His books can still be bought and I am sure they still sell very well.  I doubt that Art Linkletter is still on the upside of the sod, (and that having been said, I will go check it out and probably lose my train of thought!)

{In early 2008, Linkletter suffered a mild stroke. He died on May 26, 2010 at age 97 at his home in Bel Air, Los Angeles, California.} Well, that clears that up.

I used to buy his books, but I have since given them all away.  I suggest you check online and either buy one, or check one out at your local library.  You will be in stitches.  But back to the intent of this blog.

A brief history of my life for anyone not knowing me well.  I have 5 kids , 4 of which were born over the span of 5 years, one being born 3 years later.  When I was 50, my husband and I adopted one of the grandsons.  He is now grown and I have a grandson who is almost 4 years old.  In a perfect world he would be my great grandson, but it is what it is.  He spends one night a week with me and goes to preschool at my church's day care and preschool.  He has learned a lot and that night and 2 days that he is with me has taught me why God gives us kids when we are young.

The point of this is that by raising my kids and working I missed a lot of the cute little things they said and did.  Now that I am old, my powers of observation have developed to the point that I can actually interact with a little kid and appreciate their minds.  Jiraiya is no exception.  Potty training was something I had forgotten.  Seemed like I just took my kids out of diapers and into little bitty underwear, but it must have been more than that.  When the process with him became full blown he would suddenly call out "  I gotta' go poop!  Want to watch?"  And proud grandma would.

The phone was something he was never fond of talking on, until now.  No more conversations with daddy without conversation with him.  He tells me what the dogs are doing.  What the rabbits are doing.  And he always says "I love you gramma."  He actually looks forward to our time together.

The point I am getting to is that he now has reasoning powers.  He now wants the dog to ride in the back seat with him.  OK.  Yesterday we went to Walmart and I bought him 5 finger puppets.  He watched youtube on the kids channel and when he saw them he sang the whole song for me and everyone in Walmart, "Daddy finger, daddy finger! Where are you?  Here I am , here I am! How do you do? "  All the way through , mommy finger, brother finger, sister finger, baby finger.

We had some time to kill so I thought I would visit the ARC, so I pulled in and parked.  When I went to get him out of the car seat he very matter of fractally said
" I will just wait here."
"No, you have to go with me.  I want to buy a dress."
"I will be fine, gramma"

He was so grown up that I gave up on the ARC visit since I really did not want to kill time (or buy a dress) and got in and started the car.

"Gramma!  I want you to get your dress."  The point of this is first that he thinks he is old enough to be left alone in a car in a parking lot.  And secondly, he remembered that I said I wanted to buy a dress.  The whole conversation was very mature and well thought out.

I am sure my kids and I had conversations that were burned in my mind, and they do pop out from time to time.  I do remember some of them, but there is nothing that will give you a wake up call like carrying on a two sided conversation with a kid 75 years younger than you!  They are so innocent in the ways of the world.

So, anyway, Happy Thanksgiving!  And remember to give the good Lord thanks for the bounty and thank the Indigenous People for giving up the land so we could have what we wanted!

I am now a checker at King Soopers!

I love to go to the grocery store and wander the aisles looking for what ever I might be able to cram in my pantry and forget about.  I also love to visit with the checkers when I go through the check out lane.  King Soopers is always so clean and I can find what I need fairly easily.  So Saturday afternoon I wandered into the one on 29th Street.  I knew they had turkey's on sale and I need one for an upcoming catering job in December.

Of course I had to park far from the door because they were busy.  And they are busy because they are a top notch destination store.  Little did I know my world perception was about to change!

It did not take long to find what I needed.  The turkey was on sale.  No, they do not carry bean sprouts any more.  No, they do not carry the seasoning stuff for egg rolls. And the Dole salad in a bag with the 5 veggies is not there.  So with my turkey and napa cabbage I headed for the checkout.  There I met my demise!

The few checkers had lines 4 blocks long!  Ah, but here I found "self check machines" that were waiting for me!  I am sorry but those thing intimidate the hell right out of me, but since it was apparent that this was my lot in life I approached one.  The first item I scanned was the turkey.  "place item in the bagging area" was announced by this machine.  Since the damn thing weighed 18 pounds I did not want to wrestle it around very long, so I placed it in my cart and reached for my next item, which was a napa cabbage.  No!  It repeated the order to "place item in bagging area."  I tried again.  "place item in bagging area."  By this time the woman inside the scanner was losing patience with me.  I finally put the damn turkey "in the bagging area" which seemed to please her no end!

Back to the cabbage.   Of course it did not have a bar code.  After waving it before the scanning area and having no luck, the man behind me stepped up to help.  He called up a screen which had more choices.  He chose produce, which called up another screen.  Not finding the Napa cabbage he poked something else.  By this time  I had given up totally and he continued to check my items, while I stood there mumbling about not wanting to be a checker at my age and I was actually retired.

When it called up the screen where payment was needed, he did step away and let me pay.  Good man.  He offered to "help me to my car with my purchases."  His name was George.  A very nice man.  However, my puritan upbringing dictates that I not pick up men in the grocery store, so I demurred.  Of course the parking lot of a grocery store is a damn good place to get mugged and he may have been a safer bet than the strangers out there.  He did smile at me and tell me that he shops there every Saturday afternoon about this same time.  Hmmmmmmmmmmmm.  They will probably have something on sale next week that I cannot live with out.  We will see.

Back to the subject of this blog.  I never was a checker in a grocery store, nor did I ever aspire to be one.  Yesterday I took Jerome to Walmart to buy his groceries.  Once more we were confronted with  many banks of self check outs.  He refuses to use them.  I got in line just in time for the checker to open the aisle right beside me!  Dodged that bullet.  I was out on the street in 5 minutes or less.  Jerome had wandered off to find someone to check him out and arrived shortly after me.  The God's must have been smiling on us.

I shall resist the self check as long as I can.  My choice is to shop at Albertson's or Lagrees' where they do not have self check.  The checkers at Lagrees's know me by name.  They know my grandson.  I have left my purse in their parking lot 2 times and found it in their office when I did.  They are up the road just one mile, so that is good.  Maybe they are a little higher than in town, but like Kenny always said, "Better support them or we will be driving into town for a loaf of bread."  So I do.

Course I may make a trip into King Soopers next Saturday just for kicks and to see if George is hanging around the self check looking for someone to help.  My puritan upbringing be damned!

Wish me luck on that! 

Taking the dating thing a step further!

I am setting here on the computer thinking and I have Pandora playing on my classic country station.  Just heard Garth Brooks and now Randy Travis is buying a pretty negligee for me to wear while he is "Picking up Bones".  All this does is take me back in time to the few times when a man piqued my interest since Kenny passed 17 years ago.  First know that music plays a big part in my life, but not just any music.  I love country and mostly I love the old country.  Jake and I listened to the Grand Ole Opry on a car radio on Saturday night long before television brought it into the front room.  I remember when Dolly Parton was on Porter Waggoner show while her hair was brown and her boobs were nubbins.  Yep!  I go way back.  And Kenneth and I shared that love of country.  He came home once to announce that he had heard the song that would be "ours".  Here it is.  You have to listen to the words.  And it went both ways.  But that is water under the bridge!

I decided about 7 years ago that I should start dating.  Now rest assured of one thing, that was no easy decision.  I have lots of friends, both male and female, gay and straight, but to let a man inside my world on a one on one relationship was not easy.  Sherman was fairly easy.  He asked nothing and expected nothing so we fell into an easy relationship of lunches on spur of the moment, walks along the levy and coffee at Starbucks.  He was a Republican devoted to Fox News and his chosen music was Classical.  But I am pretty sure God put me in that relationship to save him from himself and I have shared with all of you how that ended with his very slow and painful death from cancer.  To make a long story short, he left the Republican Party, embraced all my charities, and gave his worldly belongings to Los Pobres, leaving me the residual of his estate with instructions to feed the poor and clothe the needy.  And he asked me to marry him.  We shared one kiss in the 3 years we were together and that was after he proposed and I accepted.  Had we met under other circumstances it might have been different, but we did not.

Then I started hanging out with a man who would become my hiking partner.  Once again, no physical contact, just hanging out.  He was a Bruce Springsteen aficionado and I was not.  Bruce Springsteen, in my opinion only had 2 songs; "Born in the USA" and " Streets of Philadelphia".   He insisted that if I would just try I could come to worship at the Springsteen alter, but it did not happen for me.  I did enjoy our hikes and miss that part of the relationship.  No physical contact at all with that one. Hmmmmm.

The last flicker of a flame I felt was a man who seemed perfect in most ways.  The fact that he was a jazz enthusiast was kind of disappointing.  Jazz is just music and while I can appreciate a wailing saxophone, a tinkling piano and the blast of a trombone, there are no words.  I need words.  I need "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain".  "Don't Come Home Drinking with Lovin' on Your Mind." And "Seven Spanish Angels" sends me into a torrent of tears.  Words.  Sadly, this man did not know what an asset like me could have been.  Dropped me like a hot potato!  But life goes on.

And looking back over this blog, I think I will skip the whole dating thing.  I have a cat.  I have a dog.  I have a grandson who comes once a week and spends the night.  I have friends who go to lunch with me and a few who listen when I talk and see the lonely little me under the bravado that is the Lou Mercer legend.  I have my God who leads me here and there and uses me for what he wants. So I end on this note!

The road we all have to walk.

There is nothing to make one face their mortality like the death of a relative or close friend.  And when that person is younger, that really sends a wake up call.  I have lived all my life with the knowledge that there are 2 things that are inevitable; death and taxes.  Of one thing I am sure is that this statement is correct.  Everything that happens in life comes with choices, but not these to things, especially the latter.  Taxes are dodged by a lot of the upper echelon, but that old death card is here to stay.

I came into this world a naked little baby with nothing to call mine.  Lo, these many years later I set here in a 2400 square foot house with a garage out back of the same size.  Every inch of this acre is festooned with sheds, fences, bushes, trees and other "stuff" that I have accumulated.  The house is a storage area for things I have accumulated over the years.  Some of it is good stuff, some collectible, but the most of it is just things I can not bring myself to throw away.  I am going to have a giant rummage sale some day.  Sure I am!  When hell freezes over!

So this morning, when I woke up and looked around, I came to a realization of how this is actually going to play out in real time.  Right now I am healthy so I am allowed to live here in my squalor and think I am really important.  So that is what I do, but rest assured the day will come when I will either trip and fall down the stairs or up the stairs and hurt myself.  I have already fallen up the stairs a time or two, so my fate is sealed.  When I hurt myself, as is inevitable, my kids will come and declare that I am no longer capable of living on my own and whisk me off to one of their houses to "take care of me."

All my treasures will be rummage sale items.  What does not sell will be donated to some charity.  The house will be sold and the proceeds put in an account some where to be used to "take care of me."  One of them will put the car up on blocks and stored until I am "able to drive again" which we all know is not going to happen.  I have committed the unforgivable sin; I have gotten old.  There is no coming back from that disease.

There are actually times when I think about selling the house and moving into a condo in town, but even that is a stop gap.  Human beings are frail by their very nature.  I shudder to think how many animals I have taken to the vet and dispensed to the Rainbow Bridge.  Wouldn't it be nice if that could happen with us humans?  Wouldn't it be nice if I could be here puttering today and then just gone tomorrow?  Not going to happen.  Their are laws against that sort of thing.

So, today is another day to get through on my journey from the cradle to the grave.  Who knows, it may actually be a good one!  In the meantime, let's just listen to this little song I found over there on youtube!  I'll never get out of this world alive!

Rest in Peace, Aunt Maudie

In 1960 I met my first husband in Hutchinson, Kansas.  He and 3 of his brothers lived over on 2nd street in a small house beside the foundry.  Virgil was the oldest and he had a wife and 2 sons in Germany, or so I heard.  Delvin was not involved.  The same with Duane and Larry.  Larry was the youngest.  Duane, I married in 1960 and Larry and Maudie married a year later.  At the time the men were working for a man named Bean who owned a tree trimming business.   At some point the men decided that it would be better to move from city to city and trim trees and move on.  So that is what we did.

The next few years are a tad bit hazy in my mind, but I do know Maudie and Larry had a daughter.  When I became pregnant with Debbie we decided that we should settle down and be more stable, so we decided on Hutchinson.  Soon after I had Debbie, the men decided they wanted to move to Garden City.  Maudie's family was there and her daughter was now 1 one year old.  So the Seeger families moved west.  And then came the fruitful years where we had our babies and filled our families.

Maudie and I remained friends and sister-in-laws through the years.  Sometimes we were not in touch, but sometimes we were.  Our kids spent their youngest years as cousins and remain cousins to this day.  I am still Aunt Louella.  This makes a long story short.

Having given  you a bit of a background, I now want to say to the family, I am so sorry for your loss.  Your mother was a unique individual and I regret that I never stayed in closer touch with her, but know I will always remember our younger days together.  Your mother was a unique individual!  I will never think of "Aunt Maudie" wearing her hair in anything but a "bee hive" and know that her bee hive was always the highest and fullest bee hive that could be achieved.  I do not know when she changed her hair style, but I am sure she did.

Maudie was a very strong willed woman and I am sure that never changed.  I admired most the marriage she had with your father, "Uncle Larry."  They remained together through thick and thin and back in the early days, there were a lot of "thin" days.  Family was very important to her and I am sure that she was important to her family.

The Maudie I knew surely mellowed over the years.  There are stories I could tell that would curl your hair, but I shall keep those and only take them out and look at them from time to time.

So mourn your loss and then get back to the business of living, because that is what we all must do.  I shall mourn the young woman with the high, high beehive and the red fingernails.

God be with you at this time.

Aunt Lou

A quick look at my new design.

Lord only knows what I have done here.  I found a lot of buttons to click on and may have gone a bit over board.

Love, Lou

I been thinking about dating.

It gets a little lonely here in this big house all alone.  To counteract that, I was thinking about dating.  You know, some guy picks me up, takes me out to eat (and I do love to eat!) and then go some where like a movie, or a play or drive around and look at "stuff".  We could even take a walk along the River Walk downtown.  There are all kinds of things to do.  Then he could bring me home and walk me up to the door.  We could look at the moon and say goodnight.

With this in mind, I have begun to look at the crop of men out there.  As most of you know, I am well past the age of consent.  This having been said, so are any of the men I would consider dating.  Moving along, I am pretty sure that were I decide to actually date one of the creatures, I need to update my wardrobe.  I do not recall the last time I actually purchased an item of clothing other then underwear (full cut cotton white) or socks (cotton ankle high white).  I wear mostly tee shirts which are slowly becoming threadbare and grease spotted.  I own 2 button up blouses.  I have worn the checkered one twice and looked at the other one once.  Mostly I wear jeans, but I do have several pairs of slacks for church.  So a ward robe update is necessary if I want to impress anyone.  Seems like a lot of work just to be socially acceptable.

So, to get to the crux of the matter, I flipped on the television the other day and happened onto a channel that I did not even know existed.  Perhaps God poked my remote, but I was treated to several episodes of "Forensic Files".  First one was an affluent family, husband a dentist, wife beaten to death in her bed.  Spoiler alert, the husband did it because he was trying to save on child support and had 2 mistresses who needed attention.  Another man killed his girlfriend, dismembered her, cut her bones in half and scattered them in a forest.  Her head he tossed in the lake.  But DNA did them both in at the end of the investigation.  One of them was so stupid that setting up the crime scene, he had the ladder to the upstairs bedroom window backwards! I do not know just how many of you have tried to climb a ladder backwards to an upstairs window, but I am pretty sure it can not be done!

Any way, that afternoon of binge watching people killing other people, made me rethink this whole dating thing.  Other than serial killers who would kill me just for the fun of it, most of the murders are committed by some one who loves you!  These people have kissed and held their victims in a scenario where intimacy is involved.  Several of them had children! Did you read about the guy here in town who killed his mother, cut her up, put part of her in a suit case and threw it in the dumpster?  Or the guy in the Springs who beat his fiancée to death with a ball bat?  So, back to this dating thing...

It is kind of nice to set here with my comfortable wardrobe, in my little house that needs a good cleaning and not have to worry about going out in the dark with someone who just might be the last trip out I take.  It would be nice to have some one actually care enough to call and say goodnight, but it is really not necessary.  I have kids that check on me.  I have friends  who drop by occasionally.  I have a cat and a dog.

I used to walk around Runyon Lake, but then I noticed there were a lot of druggies hanging out there and I stopped that.  Now I just walk around out here.  No one knows when I leave and no one knows when I come back, but I am pretty sure if something happens to me, it will be a random act and not some guy that I decided to "date".  

Yep.  It is going to be another long day!

What kind of kids are we raising/

I was raised to respect my elders.  Did not matter how elder they were, what they were doing, or why. By the very virtue of my thinking they were older, they were to be respected.  If they were crossing the street, I was to offer my elbow.  If they did not take it, that was their business, but by God and all that is holy, I was to make it available.  And if I saw some one carrying something, I better off to take part of the load.  It did not matter if I knew them or not.  I was to offer and be respectful, and Lord knows I try.

I guess this is why I was so upset tonight when a lady friend of mine who lives in Colorado Springs called me to share a story that happened to her today.  Over the weekend, she and her daughter had cleaned the yard and had many bags of debris in big trash bags.  This woman is 84 or 85 years old.  A retired minister who has spent her life helping people.  She lives on San Miguel Street which is a quiet residential area.  She knew the trash man was coming tomorrow so she had to get the bags and the trash cart out to the street this evening.  She has a bad knee so she has trouble walking any way and moving bags of debris is not a light job.  She got the cart out alright and began dragging the bags.  They were heavy and cumbersome, but she persevered.  Halfway through her endeavor, several young men came out of the house across the street.  They stood on the curb visiting and looking her way occasionally.  Never once did any one of them offer to help.  One of them got in his truck and drove away.  The two remaining continued to talk and glance her way.  Then they parted company and the one who lived there went into the house and closed the door.

She called me to tell me about this.  I was amazed that anyone could watch an old woman struggle and not offer assistance.  The one man is a neighbor of hers!  Have we become so complacent that other peoples burdens mean nothing to us?  What has our world come to that this is happening?  I assured her that had I been there, I would have helped her.  I have raised 6 kids and not a one of them would ever not come to the aid of someone in need.

God teaches us to love our neighbor and it that context it means love everybody, but when you see an older person struggling and that person lives across the street from you, it really is your neighbor.  I think God wants us to help every body.  I just wonder who raised those men?  I wonder if their mother needed help if anyone would help her?

As you have done this to the least of these my brethren, you have done it to me.

Or not.

Box Car Willie

I love youtube and usually have it playing in my background.  The other day I lucked onto the life story of Box Car Willie.  I do not remember dates, but he was one of the old singers and very successful in that endeavor.  He grew up in a shack with his mom and dad just a few feet from the railroad track where his dad worked.  The man could make the train whistle sound and it was so authentic that it was like the train was right in front of you.  And guess where that man took me?  Right back to Nickerson.

The railroad ran right across Main Street from East to West.  It came from somewhere and went to Hutchinson.  Kind of ran parallel to Highway 50 as I recall.  I have found in later years that it runs to La Junta, Colorado and turns south there and goes some where.  I used to ride from Garden City, Kansas to Hutchinson with my kids when I lived in Western Kansas.  But back to Nickerson.

In grade school I had a friend named Eveline.  She had very black hair and eyes.  Mother always said she was an Indian.  I did not know.  She had one sister and her name was Georgia.  They lived in a boxcar that set where the water tank for the train was located.  In Kansas, and I suppose all the places the train ran, there was a water tank every 7 miles.  The first trains had to take on water as they were steam engines.  Water had to be kept ready for whatever time the train came through.  That is why all the towns are 7 miles apart.  Some of them survived; some did not. Nickerson was one that did.

A lot has changed.  I know many years ago there had to be a man who shoveled the coal and kept the engine running.  I am sure now that if there are coal fired engines they are fed through some sort of mechanical means.  Now how I got off on this tangent is more that I can figure out!  What I want to tell you is how I would lay in bed at night and sometimes here the train whistle far off in the distance.  It was always the loneliest sound in the world.  The whistle would also bring on the howls of the wolves.  Train whistles and wolves have been ingrained in my mind as long as I can remember.  There is not a train track near my house now, but sometimes on a clear summer night with my windows open I can hear a faint whistle and it takes me back.

I recall when I started high school that I had to cross the tracks to get back to the road that led to my house.  That road was actually a county road that ran North to Sterling.  I lived one block off the highway.  Sometimes the train would be lumbering through and I could stand and watch it pass.  There were times that I could see men through the open door of the box car.  One time there was a man setting in the open door and he waved at me.  He wore overalls and he looked very sad.  After that I talked to Jake Smith who lived on Strong Street and he told me about how the hobos and tramps "rode the rails."  He said sometimes the "bulls" would pull them off the train and beat them to death.  Not sure if that was true or not, but in my impressionable little mind, anything was possible.

Then my brother, Jake, took me around to show me some of the signs that hobos left on peoples fences or trash cans to either denote a friendly person, a mean dog, or a hot meal for the asking.  They would make a mark to communicate and the other hobos knew to ask or pass that house by.  I do not know  if there are still hobos or not and I do not know how to find out.  I do know in later years the railroad owners hired people to keep the hobo's off the trains.

Life is so sad, isn't it?  Who knows what stories these men (there may have been women too) could tell.  I wish I could go back in time and talk to one of them.  I am pretty sure had I tried my mother would have beat me to death, but what a rich history that time was, and I was not smart enough to know it!  But back to Box Car Willie.  He brought the railroad to life.  He brought poverty to our door and he took the history of the box car  to England.  He was a scruffy little man, but he could pack a house.  They do not make them like that any more.

That era is gone and soon there will not be anyone to remember.  Sometimes my heart is very sad that I do not have knowledge of what I was living at the time.  My grand kids will never know what the outhouse was or that water had to be pumped from a well in the ground, or that the homeless people of today are the ancestors of the men who rode the rails.

Peace! and prosperity to all.

This about says it for me.

I have spent my whole life searching for something.  Always looking for the outfit that would make me beautiful, the meal that would satisfy me, the car I would love to drive, and clear down to searching for the man that would make me complete.  Some of those things I actually found, but no longer have them.  I do the looking back and regretting a lot, but it does not seem to do any good.  Then I found this picture on facebook and it pretty well sums it up.

I have the big house.  I have the car.  I have more clothes then I will ever wear, eat what I want when I want.  I had the man who made me feel complete for 20 years.  Now I am alone and I have the perfect opportunity to find myself.  It is time to deal with that little girl on Strong Street, the battered wife, the neglectful mother, the absent sister, and the wayward daughter.

Many years ago I put all my emotions in a closet and now I find that I would like to take them out, examine them, forgive myself and move on.  I suppose life itself is built on a learning curve and I am just grateful to have stayed on this spinning ball long enough to understand this.

I can not save the world.  I can not even save one person, but I can save myself.  Maybe some day there will be room in my life for another man, but it is not now.  I am going to look at myself in the mirror and not see wrinkles and scars.  I am going to see a kind, loving woman who wants to save the world, but I am going to start with myself.  This pretty much sums it up! (click blue)

Wish me luck!

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: I survived October.

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: I survived October.: I survived with my mind still intact and I must say, I did not have nearly as much trauma as October usually brings.  Yesterday was the 54t...

I survived October.

I survived with my mind still intact and I must say, I did not have nearly as much trauma as October usually brings.  Yesterday was the 54th year of my brother's passing.  The month also marked my birthday, as well as 2 of my kids, my first wedding anniversary, my brothers birthday.  Halloween is not the only thing in October for me, it just marks the end of a lot of bad stuff.  But it is now time to move on!

I have one sister left and she called me last night.  That was nice.  I want to get down to see her and when the geese are gone I will be free to travel.  At least I hope so.

I accept all the bad stuff and remember that first there was good stuff.  I had a wonderful brother.  I had a wonderful first husband and father to my children.  A lot ended in October, but there were lots of bright beginnings.  I have spent many years reliving a lot of garbage, but today is a new day.  I have dealt with my demons and put them to rest.  I shall spend the rest of my life counting blessings instead of recalling sadness.  With that in mind, I am going to a big birthday party on November 9!

It will be Rose Torres 60 big ones!  I do not like to go any where at night and sure do not want to go alone, but I am going to bite the big one and do this.  It is times like this that I would like to have a man in my life that I could press into service, but such is not the case, so there you go!  First there is going to be dinner and I do love to eat and my favorite stuff to eat is Mexican food made by people who have been doing it all their lives.  Then there is going to be a dance!  Kenny was not a man who had any rhythm in his body, so I have not danced since I married him in 1983.  This could be humorous!  I bet if John Tenorio were still around, he would go with me!  If you are reading this and have any ideas feel free to call and tell me.  Otherwise I am going to be out there dancing alone, but I am going!

So, back to the real world.  Tomorrow is our craft fair at the church.  Our kitchen will be open and I have made red and green chile, breakfast burritos, and lots of cookies for the bake table.  I do not know what time it starts, but I have to be there at 8:30, I think.

So with my new mantra of "Yesterday is gone and tomorrow is far away, so live every day as if it were your last!" I shall wind this up, run through the shower  and chase rainbows!

Peace!

What has this old world come to that this is news?

Can you believe this?  click here

I remember growing up when we had to carry lunch to school because mother could not afford to pay for hot meals for all of us.  I do not recall what we had for lunch, but it was in a paper bag and we were under strict orders to bring the bag and all of the contents home after school.  The next morning we carried the same bag to school.  Waxed paper and everything was reused.

Looking back I can see the discrimination that was alive and well even then.  The tables for lunch were set up in the hallway down the center of the first floor.  They ran all the way between the first grade class room and the second and third grade  classroom.  We were not allowed to eat at the end closest to the kitchen.  Our designated place was at the end of the table nearest the stairs that started at the door of the fourth grade class and ran up to the 5th, 6th, 7th and 8th grade classrooms.

Since the Bartholomew kids were the only ones that had to carry their lunches we ate alone.  The expanse of table that ran from where we were to where the "hot lunch" kids ran was an expanse that I never conquered.  Every night I prayed that we would be rich and could afford hot lunches, but it never happened.

Every morning the smells from the school kitchen rose through the whole school.  Mrs. Ritchie could make my mouth water and my stomach cramp with those aroma's that wafted through the halls.  As sad as this may seem to you, I can still feel the humiliation of those days.  There was no such thing as a "free lunch".  Mother explained that if she had the money to pay for lunch for 3 or 4 of us kids that she could buy groceries to cook food for the whole family.  I did not understand that back then and thought she was just mean, but now I do.  Mother always said "Hind sight is 20/20 looking back."

We would steal sideways glances at the "hot lunch eaters" and as long as I had a sister with me, I was alright.  It was just that when I was alone, it was like I was on an island in the middle of the poverty ocean.  I did not resent the kids that could afford hot lunches, but I resented the fact that I was not allowed to set near them.  It was kind of like I had a disease and might contaminate them.  I want you to know that I can put myself in Anya Howard's shoes the only difference being that I lived it 5 days a week when school was in session.

I have since grown into a woman and sometimes talk to people who can remember back when they carried a lunch to school.  One lady told me how her lunch usually consisted of a potato sandwich.  Another carried carrots.  A man told me "nothing".

Today, I can laugh about those days of poverty.  I have not missed a meal in years and it shows.  I love my mother fiercely and I am very proud of my heritage.  I am proud that I grew up in Nickerson, Kansas on the dead end street called North Strong Street.  It is that backbone that drove me to make sure my kids had hot lunches and never missed a meal.  It is that background that makes my heart ache when a little girl is embarrassed by a woman that could have and should have paid for her meal.
Where is our compassion?  Are our hearts so cold that we can not see the hunger in a little girls eyes? I have tried to convey to my children love thy neighbor, do good to them that spitefully use you, and pray for those who persecute you.  I think they get it.  And I will pray for the cafeteria lady and the rules that made her do what she did.

Every day is a new day and a chance to do better and help our fellow man.

Plevna, Kansas holds my roots.

Gagnebien, Haas, Beck, Miller, Hatfield, and the list goes on.  When Haas members began to arrive through Ellis Island, they went straight to the "Beck Home" in Nickerson, Kansas and then branched out into the surrounding area, mainly Abbyville, Huntsville and Plevna.  Homesteading was active at the time and Nickerson was pretty well taken, causing them to branch further out in Reno, County. I have a family album that shows the Haas family cutting cottonwoods on the Arkansas River.  My branch of the family did not come here until 1884.  As I recall my grandfather was 6 or 9 years old when he went through Ellis Island.

I can still recall with fondness my Uncle Goll, Uncle Coon, Aunt Lizzie and my dear sweet Aunt Lena.  For some reason I thought my grandfather came to America in 1900, but it was actually 1884.  He was 12 years old at that time.  He married my grandma I 1900.  His father would be my great grandfather, Johann Jakob Haas.  Great granfather actually fathered 16 children by two women.   I come from a long line of weavers. tailors, vine dressers, bakers, and of course, farmers.  But all this is irrelevant to this post.

It must have been about 1970 or so that Dorothy and Ernie moved into a farmhouse outside of Plevna.  I know Little Ernie was just talking good.  I went to visit fairly regularly, but usually when Ernie was at work.  Little Ernie was always a special little boy to me although I had a nest full of my own.  He called me Aunt Do Do, since he could not pronounce Lou Lou.  "  I love you, Aunt Do Do."  Once he came running out of the bedroom to announce "Aunt Do Do, there is a hop grasser in my bedroom!"

Ernie had fenced off a portion of the yard and made that a pig pen.  I do not remember where he worked at the time, seems like he worked for Morton Salt.  Could be wrong.  The important part was that he was gone all day and Dorothy was pregnant.  One weekend he decided to build a new sty for the pigs so he got his lumber and drill.  Please know, that lumber and drill should never be used in a sentence with the name, "Ernie".  In typical fashion he held the 2 x4 up with one hand and drilled through it into his other hand.

They had a station wagon at the time so Ernie laid down in the back, kids were some where and Dorothy began the flying 20 mile trip to the hospital in Hutch.  Ernie would call out every few minutes, " I am still alive.  Drive carefully so you don't wreck.  Hurry!"  Dorothy told me that was her most harrowing trip in her life.  They sold the pigs soon thereafter and moved into town.  Think they moved out on Duffy Road at that time.

For many years we had a Haas family reunion at the school gymnasium.  Everyone brought a dish and we just kind of caught up on each other.  They tore down the school where I had attended my freshman year, but left the gym intact.  Hinshaws Dry Goods store burned.  I went through there once many years ago and the Smith house was a trailer park of sorts, meaning there were several mobile homes on the lot.   The Congregationalist Church was still there as was Grandma Haas's house.  The bank was still there.  I have got to take a day and go there next time I head East.  Course I remember when I stopped at Grandma's old house and got covered in ticks!  Do not want anymore of those.

Towns were built 7 miles apart back then because the trains needed a water stop.  Kansas is full of those little towns, or the remains of them.  Some of them survived, but many did not.  I love to look at my family book and try to envision what life was like back then.  Grandpa Haas married Josie Miller in 1900.  Uncle Gol married Aunt Helen who was Josie's sister, so I have double cousins out there in Southeast Kansas.  

My family is so diverse and far flung that one time I met a boy at a dance and came home to tell mother how great he was.  Her response was  "Forget it!  He is your cousin."  End of that romance and I do not even remember his name, so that is that.

I think I will plan a trip back home and go touch base with the old places in Plevna.  Aunt Lena is gone.  As far as I know the house where grandma lived is still standing.  Maybe I could find one of the Hinshaw twins!  Dean and forgot the other one.  Dean was dark complected  with dark hair and thin.  The other one was fair skinned with freckles and reddish blonde hair and a little on the heavier side.  I have forgotten my friends names!  Janet something.  Charlene Smith.  Damn!  A complete blank!  Maybe I will forget that trip.

Sure wish my momma was here.  She would remember.  

The Mesa is changing and so am I.

I moved out here in 1982, one year before I married Kenny.  We lived in sin.  I thought if I could live with him for one year and not get my "knickers in a knot" and walk out that I could probably make him my 6th and final trip to the alter.  As you see, I am still here, so that was a wise decision.  Either that or it was meant to be.  But that is not what this is about.

When driving out here on the 50 hwy bypass the fabric of the whole landscape has changed.  Coming out Santa Fe Drive and turning east on the highway has stayed fairly unchanged, although the 2 bars on the Southside of the highway are shuttered and have been for years.  The one known as "Bear Country" is the only one I was ever in.  There used to be a functioning lumber yard (forgot the name) and it is now vacant.  Right after crossing the bridge, there was a produce place on the north named "Cheatum' and Chiselum'".  It was rumored that some guy killed his wife and cut her up in there.  He then dispersed her parts into trash cans around town.  I am just reporting the news as I recall it, so do not ask for details.  The house across the street is now a car wash the produce stand is a strip mall.

The Headquarters restaurant was where anyone that was anyone went for coffee every morning.  It turned into a Wendy's and is now vacant.  There was another hamburger place that turned into a bank.  We now have a total of 5 or 6 strip malls,  5 or 6 marijuana outlets.  KFC is a pizza place.  While most of the landscape has changed, some of it has remained the same.  Candy's Tortilla is still here.  Chet's is now Lagreese's, but is still a grocery store.  Mesa Vet is still there. Frank's Meat Market. Taco House. Giadonne still has a restaurant, but has torn down the ice cream stand and put in a marijuana store and a Bands in the Backyard amphitheater.  Johnson's auto parts changed hands.  The milk barn is a liquor store.  Mesa Hardware remains the same.  Of course the Mesa Kitchen still sets in the corner of 25th Lane and the highway along with Jr's and the drug store.

I do not like to do the "remember when" thing because it just makes me feel old.  I guess I have been in this same house for 37 years which seems like a very long time because some people do not even live that long, but to me it is only a "little while back".  I was a wife, mother, grandmother.  Now I am a widow, mother, grandmother, great grandmother and I am getting tired. I am an  inch and a half  shorter.  My dreams of what my future will be have changed several times.  When I was young I wanted to sing with a country western band and go all around the country singing in bars, now I just want to listen to my cd's and caterwaul away when I am driving.  Haven't been dancing in 40 years, so probably not going now.

Mother always told me that every thing changes and that hind sight is 20/20 looking back.  I think I have lived a pretty good life and I have definitely outlived most of my enemies.  I think I am ready to maybe set back and let whatever happens, happen.  Tired of chasing rainbows and butterflies.  Maybe they can chase me a while.

We will see!