The sound of silence is killing me.

https://youtu.be/bGLHadex0B0

I wake up most nights just after midnight.  It is then that I do my best thinking.  Last night was no different.  I have nothing in particular to worry about, so I just lay there and think and inevitably end up back in Nickerson and I can hear a lonesome train whistle coming from the track that ran about 3 blocks from the house.  Mostly what I hear is silence, but the silence is broken occasionally by a coyote.  Rarely it is a wolf, but rarer still is a panther, or mountain lion drifting up from the river.  I love the river and I especially love walking the banks of a river or creek.

There is so much to see, or at least there was back when I was a pubescent girl with a vivid imagination.  Maybe it was just that back then the river and the cemetery were the 2 places I could go to escape the tedium of every day life.  Mom let me go to the cemetery with no qualms, but she worried when I walked along the creek.  Now granted Cow Creek ran past Nickerson on one side and Bull Creek on the other.  Access was restricted when those 2 flooded which they did every Spring.  The fact that the third and final escape was the Arkansas and it was always running high.  I went back to Nickerson a few years back and was surprised that nothing had been done about flood control, so they were pretty much busy building little dirt dams here and there to keep the water out of their houses.

There is just something about a quiet stream far from the city.  Little spiders skate across the surface where the water is still.  Tiny minnows gather in still places.  Baby frogs find their first water legs in pondlike places.  The abundance of flowers and mosses gives hope to a world that is still living away from the crowded city.  I am terrified of snakes, but in the wilderness they do not bother me at all.  I just back up and go a different way.  I am in their territory and that makes a world of difference.  When I find one in the goose house, it becomes my duty as superior human to kill it.  In the wilderness, I am the intruder.

Do you know what a crawdad house looks like?  If you come upon a small hole with balls of mud piled around it, that is a crawdad house.  I used to think a crawdad was a tiny lobster, but late in life I learned they were the cockroach of the creek.  I still like them.  When they are in the water they mostly travel backwards.  When Bret was 4 years old I took him fishing at the park and he caught a crawdad.  Actually the crawdad caught him because it had a grip on his hook and when he let go, he fell to the ground.  Bret was terrified of the "crab".  Jiraiya and I found one by the ditch a week or so age.  He and his daddy went back and found it and it was nearly dead, so Bret put it in the duck water.  The next morning we found its lifeless body near the duck water.  We had a funeral complete with rivers of tears for the poor little crab.

If I live to be 100 years old, I will never forget my life in Nickerson, Kansas.  I go back there sometimes.  I do not know any of the people there, but I haunt the places I used to walk.  Bull Creek was a dry creek bed last time I was there, but I still recall how it could fill the banks and overflow across the fields when the Spring rains came.  I  remember my brother catching a bull frog and putting it in my skirt with instuctions to take it to the house and find something to put it in.  I was mortified that it would bite me.  As luck had it, I opened my skirt to show it to Josephine and it leapt into the house.  She almost beat me to death before I recaptured it.  I think I told you she was mean.

I want to go back home next Spring.  I will drive 96  Highway and the State Patrol will have a man at every bridge, because the creeks all flood in the Spring.  It is just something that we can count on.  Since Kansas is flat it floods easily.  I love Colorado, and my life is here, but I think when I die, my soul will live in Kansas.

At least I hope so!

Farewell to Uncle Manley and Aunt DoLores.

Back in 1960 when I married Earl Seeger I picked up 11 sisters and brothers in law.  Most of them I never met, but some I did.  Manley was one I did, but not his wife, Doloras.  I knew Manley lived in Denver.  Let me see if I can name all of them: Harold Manley Seeger, Cleo Seeger, Virgil Seeger, Raymond Seeger, Jesse Seeger,  Dorothy, Betty, Dona, Alma,  Delvin, Earl, Larry.  I have a call in to one of the girls, because I think there was one more. ( I had forgotten Jesse.)

The point of this is that we found out recently that Harold Manly Seeger and his wife DoLoras passed away in an Aurora assisted living facility in Aurora.  They died 9 days apart from the Covid 19.  This is a very trying time in our history.  This not anything I want to contract that is for sure.  When people start demonstrating and telling me they are tired of being held back from living their lives I find it very troubling.  There is no vaccine and without a vaccine or a cure we are pretty much at the mercy of a pandemic that will kill a lot of people.  I am not really anxious to die with something like this.  Pretty sure I still have a few good years left in me.

Now I know pretty soon they are going to lift the restrictions, but let me tell you, I am still going to wear my mask, wipe everything down with the Clorox wipes I have because I do not want to become a statistic.  I do have to say that not being able to go to church I have completely lost track of what day it is.  Bret is supposed to write the day on the chalk board on the back door.  That way I know what day it is, but some times he forgets.  I had 4 Wednesdays last week and that is not good.

I have a niece who voluntarily went to New York to work there.  Her name is Lisa and she is a very good girl.  When Desert Storm came she was one of the first there.  And Desert Shield found her still in Iraq.  She is one of my heroes.  I host a Mothers Day Tea at our church every May and she attended last year since she is now living up North in the Denver area.  We had planned a big "Lou's family attendance " this year, but up jumped the devil and my high tea has been cancelled.  Many disappointments in life and this is just another one.  Next year will surely be better.

But back to Manley and DoLoras.  Manley was the oldest and at one point he came to stay with Duane for a few weeks.  Of course by that time we were divorced, but I always remained friends with his family.  His sister, Dona, lives in Colorado and his younger brother, Larry lives in Kansas.  I saw Larry last summer, but have not seen Dona for several years.

So now I am rambling and reminiscing.  I will be glad when this mess is over.  It is not the idea of having to stay home, it is the fear of going out.  So, you all be safe out there.  I will be downstairs doing "stuff".  I am trying to consolidate my fabric and sort it into some sort of useful form.  It rained last night and that is good.  I just need to remember that today is the day that the Lord has made!

Peace to all.

I glimpsed my future and that shit ain't gonna happen here!

Remember a while back when I was flirting with the idea of dating because I thought it might be nice to have a gentleman friend to hang out with?  Plead the blood of Jesus over that thought!  I saw myself at the grocery store yesterday and Lou Mercer is not ready for that!  We are in week number something or other ( I have actually lost track of time) of this social distancing and not getting closer than 6 feet to any other human.  I am a rather gregarious soul and do enjoy people so this has been very trying for me and probably a lot of other people.  But, back to the subject.

I went to Lagrees yesterday to pick up a couple items that I needed.  I always start on the produce aisle.  I picked up a bag of lettuce, a tomato, and 3 bananas.  Next stop was the mark down shelf.  There was already a gentleman there, so I waited.  He picked up each bag and ran his fingers over the plastic covering of each item in every bag.  He deemed three of them as good enough to go home with him and I watched as he took them over and put them in a grocery cart that was attended by a lovely lady that I figured must be his wife.  I saw he already had several of the bags in the cart.  A cursory look at the rack told me he had taken anything that was worth paying for.

I caught sight of him several more times in my journey through the store.  The lady never let go of the cart and when he would venture off to check something out, she remained with the cart.  Very soon I formed a vision in my mind of what life with this guy would be like.  I would be in charge of the cart and he, as the bread winner, would be in charge of what went in the cart, and also what I would eat.  I pictured the home with him collecting the mail and sorting through it and letting me look at the advertisements that arrived.  He would pay the bills while I stood quietly by.  I wondered if the woman had any wants or desires of her own.  I know I have plenty!

The jest here is that he was the man of the house.  He decided what they would eat.  My job would be lord only knows what.  I made up my mind from that 15  minute peek into some one else's life that no way in hell do I need a man.  Been there, done that, and like it like it is. I want to push my own cart and put in it what I want to eat.  I really do not mind picking up a bag on the discount shelf and finding day old produce in it.  I usually always buy my bananas when they are ready to turn because they make better banana bread.  When I buy eating bananas they are usually pretty green.

I did not see them leave the store, but I am betting money, he was driving.  Now, I am pretty sure that  they have a tidy house, they eat good and no doubt watch the same shows every week night that they watched for the last 40 years.  Maybe I am just getting old and set in my ways, but I would like to steer the boat, so to speak, every once in a while.

Granted it would be nice to have a man around to talk to and share my day with, but I have baggage and I am pretty sure any man I find in this day and age is going to have his own baggage and I just am not ready for that.  I sometimes eat breakfast for supper and sometimes my noon day meal is something I just ran through the blender.  Or more often than not, a nap instead of eating.

I am a packrat, by nature.  I buy my own car when I need one.  I love my company and I am pretty sure it is going to stay that way.  The square dancing lessons are over.  Fishing out the back of the boat is over.  Classic Country music still plays on my stereo and always will.  Last man friend I had gave me a jazz cd.  Wonder where that went?

So, stay home.  Stay safe.  And stay single!  That will be my mantra!

All that is missing is the sign nailed to the front door.

It is day number something of the shut down and social distancing and I am about to go stir crazy.  First there is this matter of not knowing what day it is.  I used to go to church and so I knew when Sunday and then Monday was.  The grandson came on Wednesday and Thursday.  That is past history.  Can't even spot the weekdays by what soap opera is playing, since they are all screwed up also.

So now I have a white board on the back door and whoever knows what day it is has the chore of writing it for me to see.  So far this week I have had 6 Wednesdays.  Looking forward to Monday.  I know when people get old and have help coming in, it is the job of the caregiver to assess the client and part of that is to ask them what day it is.  That works really well if one of the people knows for sure.  I have however devised a plan to figure out what day it is.  I look down in the corner of the screen on the computer and get the number of the day.  then I look at my fireman calendar and find that number.  This works well as long as I am on the right month.  And then there is the act of remembering the day until I get to the next one.  What I should have done was start marking off days, but they all seem to run together.

I spent yesterday down in the sewing room and actually got the cutting table cleaned off.  Also found a quilt top which I quilted, bound and now have it laying across the back of my recliner ready for my morning nap.  When I got up this morning, I was excited for several reasons.  The first, I am on the right side of the sod.  I cleaned the bathroom yesterday, so I do not have to do that today.  I thought I would maybe go out and burn some limbs I have out back.  Maybe I will rake around a little.  I need to go buy some Aamdro because I have a giant red ant hill right by the bottom step of the deck.  These are the mean ones.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          
Not sure this program is still working, but going to publish this.  Just want to keep in touch with the real world.  Better times are coming!  Hang tight.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

Good Morning World!!! I love you!

For a few weeks now I have been kind of moping around.  This virus has had me in it's grip along with a few other things.  My little heart has been heavy.  I actually lay in bed and think of reasons not to get up and wish for the day that eternal sleep will become a reality.  But no more!

This morning I woke up to the beautiful sunshine that God has given me.  I woke up with a peace of mind that told me that no matter what today brings, or tomorrow or the next day, I will handle it and thank God that I can.  I know my mission on earth has not been fulfilled and God has lain out a clear path for me to follow.  While I do not know what is next in my life, I know I will follow that path.

Right now, it all looks pretty bleak, but this will change!  The sun is the still beautiful light shining in my window.  It shines on my kids first and then comes to stir me.  My cat is trying to crawl on my keyboard and usually that irritates me, but not today.  I am thankful I have a keyboard and a cat.  I am sad about my dog, but at least I had him for a while.  I am sure he and Shirley are together and my wounds will heal.

My church is still closed and while I do not have the comradery of the congregation, I do have the everlasting arms to hold me.  I know that professions of my faith will catch some of you off guard, but those of you who really know me will not be taken aback.  It is probably almost sacrilegious to think that a woman with as many ex husbands as I have could ever make it to heaven, but you are wrong.  I am a good, compassionate, caring person.  God knows that!  And when it is all said and done, he is the one that matters.

I thought I was lonely and actually entertained ideas of dating!  I actually had one particular little fellow in mind, but he was not a willing participant and for that I thank him.  Companionship takes two, it is kind of like a dance.  But you know what?  I have been known to dance alone before and will probably do it again.

For now, there is only one thing I need and that is my mind.  You would be amazed at what goes on in my head!  I have moved mountains and conquered the world.  I have loved and been loved and that will not change.  I do not know what tomorrow will bring.  I do not know if this virus will catch me here in my little home, but I do know that whatever cards I am dealt, I will play.

There is probably not a person reading this that knows that 60 years ago I almost succeeded in a suicide attempt.  It was a one time thing and I never tried it again.  I thought about it, but that was all.  I know there are people out there now who are struggling and I just want to say this:  If I can help, give me a call.  I can not solve your problems, but I can listen.

If you need an ear to listen, leave a note in the comments down below.  You can leave your email or phone number.  I am on facebook.  It really is a wonderful world out there!

Peace to all!

My kingdom for a horse, or son, whichever comes first.

I woke up this morning at 2:30 thinking about my first pregnancy and marveling at how times have changed.  I married Duane Seeger back in 1960.  I was 19 years old and I had known him for 3 weeks.  In hindsight, I think I might not have made the wisest decision, but then it was a good run and I got 5 kids out of the deal.  He wanted a son.  He explained that to me when he proposed.  I kind of wanted a son too, so it seemed a match made in heaven.  So we spent the first year trying to get pregnant and the next 4 trying to stop!

In 1962 I had Debbie.  1963, Patty.  1964, Dona.  1965, Sam.  We took a break, got a divorce and then had Susie and got another divorce.  I have actually sent several divorce lawyers through college.  But that is not what this is about.  This is about how the whole business of delivering a baby has changed.
I remember when Momma had my little sister, Dorothy.  It was right before harvest and back then women laid in bed for 10 days (or so it seems).  When harvest started mom had to drive one of the trucks that hauled the wheat to the elevator.  She was nursing, you know, and no one else could do that, so Dorothy laid on the seat beside her.  The rest of us kids were left at home at the mercy of Josephine.  Women did not go to the hospital to give birth.  It was done at home, usually with a midwife in attendance;

Side note here:

Origin

Middle English: probably from the obsolete preposition mid ‘with’ + wife (in the archaic sense ‘woman’), expressing the sense ‘a woman who is with (the mother’).

And you must remember that women were second class citizens until the last century.  A good horse was more highly prized than a wife.  A man could always get another wife,  but a horse was hard to come by!

Lucky for me, I went to the hospital for all my births.  The first one, Duane dropped me at the front of the hospital and called the next day to see what I had.  He came 3 days later to take me home and rail at me for not having him a son.  I kind of liked her and she was really cute.  For the next 2 years, we repeated that scenario until I finally got it through my thick head that he REALLY wanted a son and I finally had one in 1965.  He did not want him named after him and he had no idea what he DID want.  I had always coveted the name Samuel Reuben.  Everyone knew that.  So I told the nurse my choice and she was aghast!  It was a Catholic hospital and that was a Jewish name. So I caved and named him Earl Edward.  Back in those days I would not have said shit if I had a mouthful.  I have gotten a backbone since then.  Today he is still called Sam.  He was always Sam and he will remain Sam.  Somethings do not change.  

Now I had a son and Earl Duane actually came to the hospital to pick me up.  Boy was I surprised!  Sadly, our life and relationship did not change because I gave him a son.  But life did go on for both of us.  He has been gone for many years, but one of the girls still lives on the land in Lakin, Kansas.  

Now, I must confess, when I crawled out of the bed 3 hours ago, I was thinking about Wakeeney,  Kansas and events that had transpired there, but I digressed.  I must remember to do a blog about places we lived and how the rental of apartments had changed from back then.  Right now I have to go do other things, because I am old now and my duties have changed.  

The old testament comes to mind at this moment. Not sure of chapter and verse, but I know I knew it at one time....

Go forth and mulitply!!!!

I been rode hard and put away wet!

Husband number 3 had a hard time understanding his second wife.  That was me!  He found it necessary to go to my mother and complain to her that I was not totally dependent on him and did as I "pleased" most of the time.  He had no say so in how the kids were raised, blah, blah blah.

Now you need to understand that at the time I married him, I owned my own home, operated a resturant, (Lou's Kitchen) and supported 5 kids with no child support.  The man was nuts for ever marrying me in the first place and he sure was not interested in being a father to someone else's kids, so I did not know just what he expected.  The kids spent a lot of time in Garden City with their dad and since he paid no child support, I figured that was alright.  He was their father after all!

But back to the current husband and his need for a clingy, dependent woman.  Sorry, buddy, I have never been clingy, nor dependent.  I knew who paid the bills and I knew whose paycheck went into the bank for that purpose.  So when he sought my mother's advice he might as well have beat his head against a brick wall.  She just explained to him that I had been screwed over a couple times and that I had a hard time trusting anyone to "take care of me."

He was upset that I did not jump up all happy and cheerful first thing in the morning.  She told him that if that was the case, he should just leave me alone until I was ready to be happy, cheerful little thing.  I do recall several times when he was so hung over he could not function, but that was alright, that was him.

When he went into the spiel about me managing my own finances and not making the kids dad pay child support, she explained to him that since that was a futile endeavor it was best that he just not meddle n my finances.  

" You know, Charlie, it is kind of like when you ride a horse.  You gotta take it easy on the horse and when you put it in the barn, you have to groom it and cover it so it won't get sick.  You see, poor little Louella has been rode hard and put away wet!"

He decided at that point that my mother was as crazy as I was.  He just couldn't understand the dyamics of an independent woman.  So we came to Colorado where he was sure I would worship at the alter of Charlie.  In all fairness I tried to be the mousy little thing he wanted, but that just wasn't in my chemical makeup, so we divorced.  Then we remarried and then we divorced again and both moved on.  

Now I am not sure why this is on my mind this morning, but it is.  So now you know and you can do what you will with this worthless little bit of knowledge.  One thing is for sure, I have no secrets, so if anyone wants to blackmail me they are S O L.  I trust you all know what that means.

The one thing I have learned in this life is that no one is responsible for my happiness, but me.  My last husband and I were happy until the day he died, but I think that was because we respected each other and were happy with ourselves, which left us free to be happy with each other.  If I could find another man like that, I would be all over him,   But I think God broke the mold after he made him.

So peace and prosperity to all from the broken old nag here on South Road!

I remember the Quarantine signs.

Quarantine was a word that struck fear in our hearts.  That was back in the days of Nickerson.  Mumps, Measles, Diphtheria, Chicken Pox and then came Polio.  I do not know what all we were quarantined for back then, but it was just common knowledge, that if one of the kids came down with anything, the whole house was isolated.  You did not have to ask anyone, you just did it.

You should know this upfront; I never had any of the childhood diseases.  I was born with the constitution and the immune system of a horse.  While the other kids languished  on their sick beds, I carried on my life as normal, although I could not leave the house because I would be a "carrier."  I have a theory on why this was.

I was never laid low by the childhood diseases, but I was constantly in the sick bed with inflamed tonsils.  My tonsils would be so red and swollen, that mother worried I would suffocate.  Finally, at the ripe old age of 10 or 11,  my tonsils were removed.  I often envied the kids who got measles, or chicken pox because they got to eat canned soup and all that good stuff.  The only thing that seemed to sooth my inflamed tonsils was ice cream, which we rarely had.  (But when we did have it, it was homemade!  It was made in the crank ice cream maker with heavy cream, lots of sugar and eggs and fresh peaches.!)

I am following the CDC guidelines and not going out.  I see this is letting up in China where it started, so that is good.  It will no doubt subside here at some point.  At least I hope so.  In the meantime I just remain hopeful.  I am a hoarder by nature so the larders here are full.  My mother was a hoarder before me as was my mother-in-law.  It traces back to the poverty we endures way back when.  MIL was the worst I have seen.  If there was a tablespoon of anything left, it went into a piece of Saran Wrap and was stashed in the freezer.  I have been known to throw that little tidbit away!

So here I set, alone in my house, with lots of time to write and guess what?  I have writer's block.  I can not think of a damn thing I want to share with anyone!  I guess this is just the curse of old age.  It has taken me 3 days to write this much.

So, I am going out and do chores, then drive over and drop off a package at the drugstore and then come home.

Have a good one!

This was a while back!

It has been probably 5 or 6 years since I ventured to this place with a friend.  I think I would like to go again. 

The day we went here I was accompanied by a big brown dog that net me at the starting point and  went all the way to the top with me and then led me back down.  He was very friendly and wagged his tail and left when we got back down. A few years later I had gone to Taos and returned home through San Luis so I could take pictures.  The same dog greeted me when I stepped out of the car on the edge of town!  At least it seemed like the same dog and I petted him without getting bit.

My first (and only) visit to the little church on the top was a hurried trip since my companion seemed to be a little hung over and did not seem to be enjoying himself much.  I have come to the conclusion that I need to pick friends who are more apt to not need a drink.  Just sayin.'

So, my dear little Irene, just click on the blue words and Can you guess where we are?

My friend, the Republican is alive and well in Kansas!!

I have a friend in Kansas who is a Representative in the Kansas Legislature.  He is a Republican.  Joe Seiwert and I have been friends for a very long time.  Not sure how I met him, but I do know that the highlight of any trip to Kansas is meeting Joe at Skaets Steak Shop on the corner of  23rd and Main right in front of the fairgrounds.  Rarely do I ever meet a man that has the same sense of humor that I have, but Joe is one of them!  And we laugh and laugh!

He is a farmer or was.  I think he has now turned his farm over to his kids and I assume he is still a Representative, and I am sure he is still a Republican.  (They never seem to change!)  I do know that when I know I am going to Kansas, I put the word out and Joe and I will meet for coffee!  We actually discuss things like wind farms, state of the union, economy and the upcoming election.  Every cell phone I have had sports a picture of Joe and I at Skaets right up until the one I carry now.  I have not been back to Kansas for several years.  I do miss those trips, but life seems to be holding me here.

What I can not get straight about this whole Democrat/Republican snarling is why it has to be that way.  I have a list of friends and family that I have unfriended on facebook because they tend to want to shove their beliefs down my throat and it just isn't going to happen.  Joe seems to understand and be able to see both sides of the argument.  He never turns red and calls me stupid, which I sure appreciate!

But this is not about politics, it is about a strange friendship between an old woman who is a Democrat and a very stalwart Republican that have enjoyed a 10+ year friendship even without speaking for years at a time.  I had fallen heir to a bunch of cheap jewelry several years back and in it was a little golden tie tac which is an elephant.  I immediately thought of Joe.  It rolled around the desk a while.  Then I put it in a cubby hole on the desk.  The little grandson found it and wanted to play with it, so I decided it is time to mail it to Joe Seiwert, my Republican friend.    There really is no story to tell, it just is what it is.

So, Joe, every time you wear this, think of me!  I will be in Hutch this summer come hell or high water and I will be most happy for you to buy my lunch!  And until we meet again, 

May the road rise to meet you and the wind be ever at your back!  I love you, my friend!

A mothers worst nightmare.

Raising 5 kids on my own was not an easy undertaking and came with a lot of lessons learned the hard way.  When I was very young Aunt Helen came to Nickerson and brought us kids all something.  This was her way of showing us she cared.  This one particular year, she paid my dues to the Brownies and bought me a Brownie dress and cap.  I was so proud, until I went to the first meeting and found a bunch of snobbish girls who did not care that I had the dress and cap, I was still from the wrong side of the tracks.  (This is a misnomer that I shall address at a future date.)



The girls were rude.  They were girls I went to school with and they were rude in school, so I do not know what I expected to change.  I never went back.  The dress, cap and pin were disposed of some where.  Mother did get the dues in cash.



Fast forward to many years later when I found myself newly divorced with 5 kids and several full and part time jobs.  Debbie was the oldest and must have been in the second grade or so when I enrolled her in the Brownies.  At the time I was just starting as Dinner Cook at the Red Carpet Restaurant  under the tutelage of  Bob Bailey.  My ex-sister in law, Rosie Seeger was my babysitter and it was summer.  Rosie lived in the south end and the restaurant was in the north end two miles away.



The Brownies first outing was a picnic on the Arkansas River in the southern part of Hutchinson.  A get acquainted sort of thing.  The leaders assured me that they would drop Debbie off at Rosies after the picnic, so off I went to work.  At 2:00 o’clock the phone rang and Rosie said Debbie had not been dropped off as promised.  I called the leader.  She informed me that she thought I must have picked Debbie up as she was not seen after they came up from the river.  My heart dropped!  Then I became angry.



“You said you would drop her off at the sitter.!”

“Yes, but I thought you must have picked her up!”



Words were exchanged as to her mental state and the police were called.  Bob covered for me and I raced to Rosies.  As luck would have it, the policeman in charge of the investigation was Ronnie Moore, who had been a classmate of mine in school.  He assured me that everything would be done to find Debbie and I should just set tight and he would keep me up to date on what was going on.



This was back in the day when the telephone was hooked to the wall and if you were expecting a call you needed to be near the phone.  I waited at Rosies because it was closer to the place where she was last seen and the other kids were there.   I had plenty of time to envision Debbie falling in the river, or some man grabbing her, or being hit by a car.  Since I did not know where she was I sure did not know where she wasn’t!  I could envision all sorts of things and none of them were good.  Do you realize how slowly time passes when you are waiting with a life in the balance?  All I knew was  that Debbie was missing.



Ronnie was my rock through that ordeal and I do not think I ever properly thanked him, nor did I ever see him again. 



It was about 3:30 when the phone rang and Bob explained to me that Debbie had just walked into the back of the restaurant looking for me.  She had walked all the way from the Arkansas River through the south end of Hutch to 13^th and Main which was probably 2 miles to find her mother!  I guess it was a good thing that I had taken them to the restaurant several times when I went to make bread on Sundays.  Otherwise she would not have known where the restaurant was.  She had walked past Rosies street, past  fifth street where we lived and found the place where mommy should be.  It seems her experience with the Brownie division of the Girl Scouts was about as warm and fuzzy as my experience all those years ago.



There is one thing I have learned from motherhood over the years and that is this:  Being a parent is one of the hardest jobs I will ever have.  There is no rule book.  Hind sight is better than foresight.  And no two kids are alike.  The psychology that works for one is wasted on another.  I earned every gray hair in my head at the hands of my children.  And lastly, while it does not pay very good wages every little success; every little “I love you mom” and the card on Mother’s Day; all are priceless. 


It is what it is.

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: Today is Tuesday, February 18.

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: Today is Tuesday, February 18.: It is the day before my oldest daughters birthday.  She will be 58 years old tomorrow and like me, does not care who knows her age because ...

Today is Tuesday, February 18.

It is the day before my oldest daughters birthday.  She will be 58 years old tomorrow and like me, does not care who knows her age because it is just a number.  I was 20 years old when she was born.  Her dad was not at the hospital, because back in those days most men left such jobs to their wives.  He did check in later to see if it was a boy or a girl.  Of course the fact that she was a girl was a big disappointment to him because he wanted a son.  Sadly he would be disappointed 2 more times before I was "woman enough to have a son."  He got drunk to cover his disappointment, but he did let me name them.  Debra Louann, Patricia Lynn, Dona Marie.  No particular thought to their names, just a name that popped into my head.

Back to Debbie.  When I brought her home, I had no idea what I would do with her.  I did have a bassinette for her to sleep in, a pile of cloth diapers, a diaper pail to wash the diapers in when she pooped.  I had bottles and a can of formula.  Also several baby t-shirt, pajamas, and several blankets.  I had a supply of glass baby bottles with rings and caps.  The bottles had to be washed and then sterilized in a special pan along with the wrings and caps.  As I recall, they were filled with formula and then once more run through the cycle to sterilize the formula inside.  She had to be washed with a special soap and God only knows what else.  Being a mother back then was a full time job.  Even the diapers had to be washed separately with special soap.  There was no time to enjoy being a mother, because if a germ touched her she would be dead and it would be my fault!

Of course her father never touched her and he sure as hell never changed a diaper, nor did he watch while I did that because it made him sick.  The door was for walking away and he did that quite often.  But, as I look back, I was the lucky one.  He never felt her soft warm breathe on his cheek.  He never felt her tiny fingers curl around his thumb.  He never experienced her first smile while looking into her eyes.  And her first word was "Momma".  She was a little white haired angel that would grow to be the "leader" as oldest kids often do.  Patricia Lynn was born 19 months later, but more about that when her birthday comes. (I plan on doing a blog for each one.) ((The best laid plans of mice and men oft times go awry.))

Today Debbie lives in Eastern Kansas on a 40 acre farm with her husband, Hammer.  "Hammer" is not  his legal name, but it is what I call him.  Few people call him Carl.  She and Hammer are raising 3 grandchildren.  These kids were born to her son who for whatever reason, does not take care of them, but that is a whole 'nuther story.

I have always thought, looking back, that I did not do a very good job of raising my kids.  We all know that life is 20/20 looking back.  I can now see very clearly what I should have done, but I can not get the toothpaste back in that tube.  Today Debbie put it in language I can understand.   This may not be word for word, but along these lines.

We had been rehashing the unfairness of wages for women working back when we were working.  The men we worked beside made twice as much as we did and while I was raising 5 kids that never came into play.  I worked beside men that made twice what I made because "they have families to take care of".  When I noted that I had a family to take care of also, I was told that I should get married.  That was at the Holiday Inn.  She had worked for her father and was paid half of what the men were paid.  It was just how it was back then.

Debbie has always held the belief that "What does not kill you will make you strong."  Today she told me that I did a good job raising her and that her grit and determination were instilled in her by me.  Not her father, but me.  I taught by example.  I am very proud of her for many reasons.  She champions the underdog.  She feeds the stray cats.  She instills responsibility in her grandkids.  She holds them to a higher standard, because that is who she is.

So, Debbie, Happy Birthday tomorrow.  Keep up the good work.  Always remember that whatever you do, someone is watching and if no one bothers to tell you that you are a wonderful woman, Mother knows.  I love you.

Spring time back home in Kansas.

I wonder if I will ever be old enough that I do not miss Springtime in Kansas.  Oh, I love Spring here where I am at in eastern Colorado, but it is not the same.  When I had Bret back when he was smaller I used to plan trips back home over Spring Break.  Sadly those days are over, but not my missing the Lilacs, Spirea, Iris, and the cool spring rains that brought all that to fruition.  I would leave here as soon as school let out on Friday.  Saturday morning would find us headed East.  A short stop in Lakin and then on to Donna's house.

My sister, Donna, has a big house with a full basement and two bedrooms along with a bathroom and a shower.  So that was home for the week.  In the front yard is a tree that I forget what it is called, but it would be in full bloom preparatory to throwing down some sort of big seed covered with sharp thorns.  Hutchinson is very temperate most of the time and in the springtime it clothes itself in a floral cloak just for me!  Forsythia, Spirea, Lilac, Iris, Tulip trees, Catalpa, Redbud, Hyacinth, Maple.  Hutchinson is very humid and my skin thrives on it.  At least it does most of the time.

Donna and Karen own Skaets Steak Shop.  Skaets is Steaks spelled backwards and has been in our blood since I started working there when I was 17 years old.  I was the dishwasher at the time and when I moved back after having my kids and divorcing my husband, I waited tables.  Skaets sets right on the main entrance to the fairgrounds, so best not to go in the first week of September.

Needless to say, they have very good food.  This is son Tommy choking down a Moon Burger.  It is one of their specialties.  It is a cheeseburger with bacon.  Bacon makes everything taste better.

But we are not here for the food.  We are here for the scenery, the trip down memory lane, and to just leave Colorado behind for a week.  I usually go check out the 2 fishing holes I used to frequent.  Maybe next time I will climb up the levee and visit the Arkansas River where I used to take the kids wading.  We would stop at B & D Carry out and get a box of burgers which was 8 hamburgers and french fries, all for one dollar.  Probably was not the healthiest meal in town but it fed the 6 of us and we liked it.

I have only a few friends left in Hutchinson.  I do have a nephew and 2 nieces.  Oh, and 2 cousins, Darrell and Steven.  I think that is about it.

All this talk of Kansas is just making me homesick.  Rest assured, Colorado is my home now and I have no intentions of moving back there, but I do have fond memories of Hutchinson and Nickerson.  I married my first, second and third husbands in Hutchinson.  Four, five and six, were all Coloradans.  I owned my home in Hutch, but gave it back to my mother when I left.  It has now been torn down and an apartment complex covers the lot.   I have lived in 3 different houses in Pueblo. I have been in this house 37 years and figure I will just do the toes up thing here.  Maybe.  Lord only knows what I may run in to out there in the real world.  Have to be pretty special to make me look twice and poke out that ring finger, but I digress.

Time to get ready for church.  Sunday is the one day that I make no commitments and I think I will keep it that way.  Just sort of drift with the flow and take a long nap while watching the cooking shows.

Peace!

The black cows are back!

I guess Spring must be around the corner.  On my way into town yesterday I spotted the first calf.  Seems like they are a little late this year, but it is probably just that my memory is rather slipping.  I did see one little calf, but it was still laying in the field.  Soon there will be lots of the little fellows.  I would love to be able to delude myself into believing that maybe this year they will be allowed to stay together, but you and I both know better than that.  The best I can hope for is that some nice man will buy the calves and raise them to adulthood, but that is not happening.  Until some one proves me wrong, I will know that these calves are born for veal.

I gave up eating veal many years ago when I learned how it is made.  They take baby calves and put them in a very small space so they can not move.  Then they are fed nothing but milk.  This makes them very tender and it is the end result that matters, not how happy a baby calf's life is.  

This is from wikipedia, in case you think I am dreaming this up.  

Veal - Wikipedia

Jump to Cruelty to calves - Calves are slaughtered as early as 2-3 days old (at most 1 month old) yield meat carcasses weighing from to 9 to 27kg. Formula-fed ("Milk Fed", "Special Fed" or "white") veal. Calves are raised on a fortified milk formula diet plus solid feed. The majority of veal meat produced in the US are from milk-fed calves.

‎Definitions and types · ‎Culinary uses · ‎Production · ‎Animal welfare

I see stuff like this and I wonder why I am not a vegan.  I never thought about this until I researched veal.  My daughter raises cattle in Eastern Kansas and last year one of her cows gave birth and then died of milk fever leaving the calf to be bottle fed by my daughter until it was big enough to butcher.  I could not, personally eat anything that I had grown to love, but her reasoning is it makes her happy raising the little calf and then makes her happy again when the calf feeds her.  I guess this is why I have 8 geese out back that are so old they can hardly walk and I feed them every day.  I spend $32.00 a month on goose food. That is a total of $384 a year.  8 geese dressed out would produce 24 pounds of meat.  This is equal to $16.00 a pound.  I have had then 14 years so that makes one pound of goose meat cost $224.  

Beats hell out of me how I got on this tangent, but I am now a mathmetician!  I do know I just wanted to share with you about the little calves.  Farming is a hard life and I guess it takes a special breed to raise food to be eaten.  I am not cut from that pattern, so I will go scramble an egg for breakfast.  Years ago I did raise a couple pigs out back and that was some of the best pork I ever bit into.  I was hard hearted back then, I think.  Now I am old and I am a softie!  I do kill centipedes if they dare to come in the house.  I do not eat them.

Have a good day!

I might marry a goose!

Pueblo is fairly moderate so the Canadian Geese do not really migrate.  In the morning they fly east and in the evening they fly west.  Geese are very interesting creatures in that when feeding about one of every five geese is a "guard goose", meaning that while the flock feeds on fallen grain, the guard geese are alert to their surroundings.  If a dog were to come close, they would alert the flock and they would fly away.

Another interesting fact is that if one goose is injured in flight, two geese go down with the injured goose to stay with it until it is either dead or healed enough to fly.  At that point the tree geese will either join another flock or find their own flock.

The flock flies in a "V" formation.  The goose on the point of the "V" tires easily.  When it is tired it drops back to the rear of the formation and the goose behind the falling leader moves forward and takes its place.

These are my geese back in the days when they had babies.  My geese can not fly, but they behave much like the wild geese in the sense that the whole flock raises the babies.  If a cat came around when they were in the yard, the adults would surround the babies and hiss at the intruder.  It was always interesting to watch.  Sadly my geese are very old and while they still lay eggs they are not fertile.  I kind of miss the babies in the spring time.

I would like to go on record as saying my geese were very good parents, but they did let me touch and hold the young geese.  The brown geese in the picture are African Grays.  I am sure they are descended from the Canadian Geese.  Domesticated geese such as the African Grays, Chinese and Emidens can not fly.  It is the same with domesticated ducks.  The only domesticated duck that can fly, to my best knowledge is the Muscovy.  Muscovy Ducks are also warblers which means they talk.  Sounds like a bunch of kids twittering.

Well, it is getting late so I better bid you good night and wander off to bed.  My geese are all shut up in the goose house and safe from scary stuff so we can all sleep tonight knowing that the Canadian Geese out in the field are taking care of each other. 

Wish more people were as considerate of each other as the geese are!

Shades of Jim Jones

The following is my opinion and only my opinion.  I think I still have the right to state my opinion.  Maybe not.

How many years ago was it that Jim Jones and his 909 followers drank the Koolaid in Jonestown, Guyana?  I was still living on McClelland so it must have been in about 1978.  I recall that  when I told my kids about it they thought I had made it all up, just to scare them.  I was trying to instill in them the need to think for themselves and not just be  followers.  As I watched the Senate vote against  the impeachment of the Donald Trump, I could not help but remember Jonestown.  The Senate drank the Koolaid.  I refuse to do that.  Donald Trump is the very epitome of evil.  He is a bully.  He is a selfish narcissist. He set about destroying anything Obama did, simply because he is a racist.

My mother was a Republican.  I think my whole family was.  Kansas is Republican country and I think when I registered it was as a Republican.  After coming to Colorado, I registered Independent.  I am now Democrat.  I loved Obama, but I also loved the older George Bush.  I did not vote for Bill Clinton. but I did vote for Hillary because I felt evil coming from Trump.  I was right.

I do not know how any person in their right mind can condone what is going on at our borders with the children taken away for their parents.  Our school system is in shambles.  Medical costs and insurance continue to skyrocket.  I could go on with all the crap that this administration has caused, but I will just cut to the heart of the matter.

Trump has his whole family working in government.  That is nepotism.  He uses Marlargo  to pad his coffers while still not showing a tax return.  You try that!  While I set here in my house trying to keep warm and still pay the gas bill, he revels in his warmth and is surrounded by body guards that are paid with my money to keep him safe.

Life is not fair.  There are the haves and the have nots and we are the have nots.  I see the smirking face of Mitch McConnell and it makes me sick.  He said before the impeachment vote that the Republican Senators would NOT convict no matter what the evidence said.  Doesn't that tell you something?  I am proud of Nancy Pelosi for trying and I am proud of Mitt Romney for voting yes.  I am disappointed that the rest of the Republicans caved to a thug who calls himself our leader.  If this is the mark of a leader we are all in trouble.

So, rest assured, I will still do all I can to survive.  It is sad that he does not have to pay taxes and I set here with my social security in jeopardy.  These are my golden years.  These are the years I should be taking a cruise.  Instead I plan my grocery list with prudence and eat the cheaper foods because that is what I can afford.

In closing, I want to say if you are offended by this blog, hit the block button, or if on facebook, unfriend me.  I will not argue with you about right and wrong on this matter.  Keep it to yourself.  I do not need Trump followers telling me how good I have it.  Screw you!

Never let your right hand know what your left hand is doing,

My mother always said that to me.  I do not know how many times that has popped into my head in my lifetime.  When I was younger and sometimes thought of doing something that I knew was wrong, that would run through my mind.  Try as I might, I could never make it work.  I fell in with a girl who shoplifted.  Sadly, her mother had taught her how.  I thought that was sad, but here was a mother who explained that the stores had lots of money, lots of products and they would never miss just one, or two.  I never asked my mother if this was right or wrong, but I did reason that if my right hand did not know what my left hand was doing that it was alright.  And her mother was an adult and adults knew stuff.

Sadly, her father also made homebrew and stored it in the cellar with the door wide open.  I think I was probably 16 at the time.  It was after I had lived with my grandma so I did not feel as connected to my family as I probably should have.  Grandma had died.  Great Grandma had moved to Southwest Kansas with her daughter and I was just sort of cut adrift.  So I was easy prey for someone who showed me a little attention.  My friends father always went to Hutch to gamble on the weekends, so the cellar was free game for whatever we wanted to do, which was to get drunk.  Get drunk and steal stuff.  I probably spent a year or so in that rut before I decided that it was a dead end party.

Time passed and I married, became a mother, divorced, remarried, and divorced several more times.  Some  where along the years I decided to pull my head out of my ass and become a decent human being.  I also became independent and learned to think for myself.  Stealing was wrong.  Drinking to oblivion was wrong.  Lying was wrong.  Hard work and honesty became a mantra that I was comfortable with and rather enjoyed.  I had always known about God and was baptized when I was 12 years old.  Looking back over my life I decided that I actually needed to wash all the sin away again.  So I did.

Now, the secrets I keep are just between me and God and they are mostly good ones.  I sometimes hand  money to someone just because.  My car is usually full of stuff to take to the migrant center.  When I buy groceries I purchase extra for the food banks around town.  I like to visit with the homeless.  I would bring them home with me, but I am afraid my kids would commit me.  I keep secrets from myself.  I just think that "but for the grace of God, there goes me."

My life is good.  My finances are fairly stable and I am mostly happy.  Sometimes I wonder just where this will all end.  Hopefully I can just not wake up some morning.  I do not want to get old and senile.  I do not want to have my diaper changed by one of my kids, but I guess what ever will be will be.  You know, the "Que sera, sera" thing.

As I set here at my desk, I have a cat on my lap, a dog at my feet and a cup of cold coffee to sip from.  Yep, life is good!  

Spring time will soon be here....again...Thank God!

I have been in this house for 36 years and I have fought the bind weed every step of the way.  Elm trees are my nemesis, especially when they grow in the fence line or sprout up in the middle of the Choke Cherry bushes.  But last year, I noticed that I am now blessed with cacti.  They are the flat leafed ones and I forget what they are called, but they have that fruit on the end of the leaf.  Prickly Pear.  I first encountered this little fellow 50 years ago when I lived out by the airport in Garden City, Kansas.  We had friends named Don and Claire .  She was of Mexican descent and wise in the ways of foraging for delicacies.  She came by one day and told me she found a field of Prickly Pear Cacti and wanted to go harvest some of the new tender leaves for food.

Since Duane was at work, I agreed and we loaded the kids up and away we went.  Oh, and I took a pair of Duane's leather gloves because she told me they were deadly sharp and we would need them.  So we picked a big basket full and then went home.  Since I had no idea what they were I let her take all of them with the promise that she would fix something really good to eat.  I carefully put his leather gloves back where I got them.  Bad mistake.

The first time he put them on he began to cuss.  They were full of something very sharp.  Oh, oh!  I of course confessed and I know they say confession is good for the soul, but trust me, it was not good for the ears or the body.  I had ruined his good gloves for nothing!  He was not going to eat that damn cactus and that woman better not ever show up at our door again and Don was an idiot for ever marrying that piece of what ever.  Any way.

So imagine my surprise when I went out behind the garage  to the area that was home to 500 million goat heads and 300 Sunflowers and lots of bindweed and found the cutest little Prickly Pear Cactus.  I was tempted to just leave it grow, but thought better of that and got the shovel out.  I cut the root and tossed it into the milk crate.  Then I saw another.  And another.  And soon the big double milk crate was full.

The survivalist  in me rebels against killing anything be it a cactus or a big tall Sunflower.  I could eat the cactus if need be for survival and the birds could harvest the sunflowers.  The strangest part is that I see no signs of cactus growing any where and the field out back is planted sometimes to a cash crop, so I doubt it they worked their way in from there.



Another mystery is the Centipede and how it manages to slither in my house when there are no visible signs of cracks, but slither it does nonetheless.  That is second only to how the bull snake manages to get in the goose house and eat the eggs!  I have actually drilled holes in the eggs and blown them out so my daughter could paint them and it is no easy chore!  First it is way bigger than a snake mouth and the shell is very thick..



So I guess, my biggest problems out here on the Mesa are the snakes, cactii and the myriad of cats that now occupy the neighbors garage.  Guess I will just set right here and let it all sort itself out.  If this is the worst that happens to me, I guess I am pretty lucky!

A Front Row Seat!

I missed the Martin Luther King, Jr march yesterday.  Not sure what I was doing, but pretty sure it was important.  So today I will give you a glimpse into that time in my life.

In 1958, while I was 17 years old, I decided to take a "road trip".  Few people know this and even fewer care, but it was one of the most enlightening things I have ever done and probably did more to shape who I am today then a lot of things I have done.  It goes without saying that since I was 17 years old at the time, I was classified as a "juvenile runaway."  To make a long story short and to get to the heart of this blog, I will just say I ended up in jail in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.  Of course mother sent money for a bus ride home and I was damn glad to take that ride.

Have you ever been in jail?  It is no fun.  I was thrown into a room with a bunch of women who were very kind to me.  They were also, all white.  They talked to me about the error of my ways, and I could not help but agree with them.  All I wanted was to go home.   I quickly learned that there was another cell across the hall where the black women were kept.  Same separation for the men.  This was very strange to me.  When they transported me to the bus station, I learned that the rest rooms for the whites was one place and the ones for the blacks another.  They were very clearly marked "Whites Only" and "Negroes only".  Sadly the sigh did not say "Negroes", but a derogatory term.  Until that time, I had never known there was a differentiation for human beings.  I instinctively did not like it!

You must realize that I grew up in Nickerson, Kansas, and there were only white people there.  I can remember back in my far reaches of my mind talk I overheard about a cross burning outside of town.  I think my father may have taken part in that, because there had been a crowd of men and he seemed to know all about how it went down.  The family moved away right after that.  We moved to Hutchinson several years after that.  It was then that I saw what segregation really was.

Hutchinson, Kansas was divided into North and South with Sherman Street being the dividing line.    Blacks and Hispanics lived south of Sherman: Whites lived north of Sherman.  As the upper class, we were allowed to go to the south end, but they were not allowed north of the line. White people who chose to live South of the line were known as "white trash".  After a night of drinking, Jake and I would venture to South Plum and either eat at Betty's Fried Chicken, or a barbecue place, the name of which slips my mind right now.  We could do that because we were white.  White Privilege's were rampant back then.

The first signs of integration in the public work place happened in Hutchinson at the Landmark Hotel and Restaurant.  I do not remember the year but it seems like it was in the early 1960's.  They hired a black waitress and of course the citizenry were up in arms.  Not only was this woman working in a public place for all the world to see, but she dared to venture north of the Sherman Street line!  Sometimes we would park and just watch her working in there and carrying plates of food to the fine white people.  From our vantage point of the street, she did not appear to be "uppity", but in order to  judge her fairly, we would need to go in and actually order food and have her carry it to us.  But that was back in the day when any spare change was designated for the "beer joints" down on south Main!

  An aside here.  The biggest problem the beer joints on South Main seemed to have was the "Indians" who worked for the railroad.  They wanted to have a beer after work, but they were not allowed to do that because any fool knows "if you get them liquored up, they are going to kill us."  Kansas was pretty lily white back in those days.  White anglo saxon protestants were the chosen people.  Lucky for me!

Sadly, at that point in time drinking was far more important than eating, or standing up for the down trodden who had "chosen to be born black."  And mother corrected me on the use of the word " black".
"They are not black!  They are actually a very beautiful shade of brown."  However "Browns" was reserved for the people who had come up from Mexico.  Now be aware, that there were very few of them in my world!  And I am not sure they had come from Mexico, but we called them "Mexicans".

Now, you must realize here that I was growing up during this period of unrest and both Nickerson and Hutchinson,  Kansas were pretty well isolated from the unrest in the big cities.  By the time I figured out that there was a gulf between the rights of Negroes and Whites, it had diminished to a thin line.  After the election of some one's President (not mine) segregation has once more reared it's ugly head.  The same faction that follows this man refers to Obama as "that effen N#**@7."

So on this day after Marin Luther King, Jr's holiday, I reflect on the past.  For the record, I never participated in any hate marches.  I never called my black brothers and sisters by a derogatory name.  People are people in my world,  They are judged by the content of their hearts, not the color of their skin or which side of Sherman Avenue they lived  many years ago.

To this day I thank my God that I was born colorblind and raised by a mother who judged a man by the content of his soul and not the color of his skin.

"These truths we hold to be self evident, that all men are created equal." (Or something to that affect.)

Today is national hug your neighbor day, here at my house!