Once upon a time....

 Once upon a time there was a beautiful woman, who married a very handsome man.  They planned on living happily ever after.  The beautiful woman had already been married once and brought a daughter to the union.  Her name was Josephine Ann Walden.

                                             

After a time they had a son.  That would be Delbert Leroy (Jake ) Bartholomew.  Jake would grow up to be my best friend.

In 1941 a beautiful daughter was born.  Her name was Louella Beth Bartholomew.  She was named after the mother of the handsome man and the sister in law of the beautiful woman.  She would grow up to be ME!!!

Years would pass and more children were born, all girls.  The man died.  The son died.  And this is who was left.

Top row from left.  Louella, Mother Christine, Josephine

Bottom row: Mary, Donna, Dorothy.

And since this picture was taken, Mother (Christine Josephine Haas) has passed.  Also Josephine Ann Flora, and Mary Belle Shea.  Dorothy Mae Anderson, is transitioning as I write.  That will just leave Donna Faye Bartholomew , and me Louella Beth Mercer.  And that is why I am putting my thoughts together today. 

To anyone I wronged, I apologize.  To the people I never got around to helping, I am sorry;  for those that I did help, pay it forward.

I want to tell all my friends that I love them, in case I do not remember to say it next time. To those who loved me and forgot to tell me or meant to come for a visit, but didn't get around to it, I realize life got in the way as it did from my side of town. 

I want to tell my family, that while I may be far away, you are never far from my mind and I love you all from the bosom of my mother to the three times removed nieces and cousins. 

I am sorry I never knew my fathers family. 

As for my immortal soul, I am good to go and rather looking forward to the trip!  This world was not  my home, I was only passing through, to coin an old country western hymn.  I hope you are all better for having known me, and I know I learned from you.  I am pretty sure God is going to let me peek in on you from time to time and I hope you are as happy about this as I will be.  And when your time comes I will meet you at the gate and show you around!  Until then.......

Once upon a time there was a little girl.

Freezing weather, candlelight, and the barn?

A mind is a terrible thing to waste, I hear.  I spend a lot of time trying to figure mine out, but I have decided it is best to just go with what pops into it from time to time.  Take last night, for instance.  I heard about a candlelight vigil at the River walk in honor of the policeman and 2 civilians who died in the fiasco at Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs.  It was advertised as unsponsored which told me it was a gathering of the community.  As it turned out, it was a photo op for a church that shall remain nameless, but that is all beside the point.  It seemed like a worthy endeavor, so I bundled up with 2 of everything on my frail little body and away I went!

Of course I went early since that is what I do.  My friend Janet showed up and we lit our candles, sung hymns, said a prayer or two.  Since all the cameras were finished rolling the leaders decided not to walk to the police station so we were dismissed.  Janet and I made a stop at Coyote Jack's store on Union where he made us a cup of hot cocoa.  (You will be hearing more about him in a later blog.)  I dropped her at her car and headed home.

I decided to take South Road even if it was icy and deserted and wild animals hang out there and jump in front of the car.  I just like to avoid traffic when I can and South Road was surreal with a soft snow falling.  For some reason, my mind wandered back to the barn on the Stroh place where we lived when I was probably 6 or 7 years old.  As I recall you came up the driveway to the house.  There was a detached garage to the right side where the kitchen was located.  Further to the right was a granary and a chicken house.  And closing the circle going back to the drive was the barn with a long low loafing shed(?).  I think that is what it is called.  But the barn was prominent.

Bear in mind that this memory is 68 years ago and much has been through this old brain, but as I recall I stepped into the barn through an oversized door that barns have.  On my right was a big wooden barrel.  Inside it was grain.  Directly in front of me was a stall for a cow to stand and her head was placed between two boards to hold her in place for milking. This was called a stanchion.   A pitch fork full of hay was put in the manger and she could eat while she was being milked.  Now milking was an art in itself.  The milking stool was a board with 1 leg.  The "milker"sat balanced on that while milking.  Now let me see if I remember that process!

First you placed the bucket under the udder.  Then you got yourself balance of the "stool".  Then you grasped a teat with thumb and forefinger where it protruded from the udder and  applied pressure as you "stripped" down to the end of the teat.  I know this is not sounding like anything is going to happen, but it does.  I am probably not your best source of "how to milk a cow not using a machine", but it does work and the milk squirts into the bucket, except some where in the process (and do not miss a beat or the cow will "hold her milk") you need to aim at the cat dish and fill it up because they are hungry.  Barn cats are profuse in a barn and necessary to keep the mice thinned out so they do not get in the grain.  Barn cats are that only.  They are not for petting or holding.  Most of them would just as soon rip your face off as look at you and you learn to respect their territory.  Come in, milk the cow, fill their dish and leave.   I think these are known as feral cats today.  And ever so often a disease goes through the colony and they all die, but be patient and more will magically appear.

There were several stalls for milking, but as I recall we only used the one and only had one milk cow at a time.  There was a hayloft up above that we were not supposed to go into because we might fall and break our neck, which, according to folk lore, happened a lot.  There were rooms in the back where the other cows (and God only knows what purpose they served) and the one horse could hang out when a blizzard was coming.  And in the spring we had to walk the fields and pull up poison weeds and burn them. 

The low part of the barn was used for whatever it needed to be used for at the time.  As I recall mother had geese and as I recall they were damned mean!  If I strayed (and I did once) into their domain the big gander would attack me and I had to be saved.  This is strange because I have 9 geese out back that love me.  They have never attacked me and 3 of them let me pet them.  I think that gander was just plain mean for the fun of it.

So this is what I thought about on the way home last night.  If I could live my life in reverse I would go back to that place.  It was where Donna stuck her finger in a turtles mouth and John Britan said it would not let go until the sun went down.  It was where Mary set in the mud puddle and Dorothy was born.  It was my brother in overalls and my sister got her first pair of glasses.  It was the big yellow tomcat eating the baby chick.  It was mother going to "club" and dad coming home drunk.  It was my childhood and my roots.  I want to go back there next summer and see if that house is there.  I want to listen and maybe here the kids at play.  Back to the days when someone took care of me.  When I was cute and loved.  Or at least that is how I remember it.

The ghosts of the past are alive and well!

I woke up at 4:15 this morning and was very surprised that I had a guy on my mind from my distant past.  Now I mean my way back there distant past.  My first boyfriend.  I was 17 years old and I thought the sun rose and set in that boy.  He took me to Joyland in Wichita one sunny afternoon.  We rode all the rides and when we got on the Roundup, my stomach had it's limit.  His name was Corky and he was so sweet and concerned about my welfare.  Throwing up on the Roundup was the high point of the day and we left soon after that.  We continued to for a while and then sort of drifted apart.  It was never a big romance, just a very comfortable relationship with some one with whom I could share my  hopes and dreams.

Years passed and I married and had a family.  I ended up in Garden City, Kansas.  When that marriage went south, I returned to Hutchinson.  There I met the second man in my life who would offer me comfort in a storm and ask nothing in return.  His name was Gib.  We never really dated so much as sort of hung out together.  He was a friend of my mom's.  He was also a cook and I was a waitress until I became a cook also.  He helped shop for Christmas Santa Claus gifts and helped put the things together on Christmas Eve.  He was engaged to a girl named Cheri, but though they lived together, they never married.  I never understood their relationship.  He and I were friends, but he and Cheri had something, and yet nothing.

The one thing both these guys and I had in common was that the relationships were purely platonic.  I never expected more and they never asked for more.  I can search the world over and never find 2 men that made such an impact on my life!  Ah, but hindsight is always clearer then foresight, isn't it?

Years passed and the AIDS epidemic reared it's ugly head.  Gib moved to California.  He died there.   I was in Pueblo by then.  Mother called and said Gib wanted to get together over Thanksgiving that year, but she was afraid.  I told her I could  and would love to come and see Gib.  I was not afraid.  I just wanted to see my old friend.  Plans were made, but he did not make it.  I know there was no funeral and he is in an unmarked grave.  I still miss him.  The very first panel on my AIDS Memorial Quilt is for Gilbert Fields.

I learned later that Corky had also passed.  He was also a statistic in the early stages of the epidemic.  Jimmy came later.  And Mark.  And Mike.  And a list that goes on and on and on.  I have always had a rapport with the gay community, even before I knew there was a gay community!  They have been my friends when I had no friends.  They held me up when I could have sunk beneath the waves.

I have no idea why these two guys are on my mind today, but there they are.  I just wanted to share with you, my readers, a small glimpse into my past so you can maybe understand why I am who I am today and why I do the things I do.  I guess I am trying to give back to the community that cared for me when I did not care for myself.

Wouldn't it be nice if it was this easy?

I believe in Jesus Christ and accepted him as my PERSONAL LORD AND SAVIOR . One Facebooker has challenged all believers to put this on their wall. In The Bible it says, if you deny me in front of your peers, I'll deny you in front my father at the Gates of Heaven. This is simple. If you love God, and you are not afraid to show it re-post. Just copy and paste this.

Found this on facebook.  Well, I actually find one like this on facebook every time I scroll through.  Actually I find several of these daily and I have now come to the conclusion that this is why my church, and many like it, are down in the attendance area.  If I love Jesus all I have to do is copy and paste this, because Jesus has a facebook account and he reads this stuff.  It works much like the letter to Santa.  If I be good and send a letter to Santa and tell him I have been good, he will bring me lots of presents.  I can ask for whatever and I will get it.  I do not even need to have a witness that I have been good, because by simply writing that letter I qualify.

And I know facebook is a venue for God, because so many people post these, but let me tell you a secret.  I have gone to their "friend list" and I can not find Jesus on there!  That troubles me.  If Jesus is not on their friend list, how can they claim him for their friend and better yet, how can they offer me salvation by me just clicking a button?   Since I am such a sceptic in this area, I think I will just skim over those posts.  

I am going to take my chances out in the real world and in my church on Sunday morning.  I like to commune with God when walking up a trail in Beulah, or around Runyon Lake.  I like to visit my friends in Hospice and smile at people in the grocery store.  I like to gather things for Los Pobres, and the Goodwill and sad little people on the corner.  With a little luck God may look down when I am playing with a puppy and say,  "Hey, she looks like she would make a good addition to my kingdom!"  

Sure hoping so any way.  So you go ahead and try it your way, but please do not try to make be beleive  that I have to share your post or I am going to hell.

Rest in Peace always.

Delbert Leroy Bartholomew

(Jake)

October 5, 1937-October 31, 1965

Frozen forever in time.

He taught me to love conutry music.

He taught me to fish.

He taught me patience.

He was my brother.

Brothers never die.

Saurkraut time? Oh, yeah!

Fall is in the air and I kicked the furnace on last night.  This morning I am setting here freezing with shoes, flannel pajamas, and a sweater.  Course a hot cup of coffee rounds out the picture.  I used to have a cigarette and an ashtray, but those days are long gone.  So what am I planning for today?  Going to be a busy one!

First I am off to breakfast with Kay and Frank who are getting ready to leave soon for the balmy breezes in Southern Texas.  As soon as breakfast is over I am headed for the produce stand up the road.  I think I am good on green chile's, but I will check that.  My goal for today is to find the good white cabbage and dig the crock out of the tin shed.  Yep!  You guessed it!  It is time to make sauerkraut!  I shall tote my cabbage home and begin the process.

I will wash and scald the 5 gallon crock.  Then I will dig out the mandolin that I inherited from Sherman.   With everything now in place I will begin by cutting each head in 6-8 wedges, depending on the size of the head, and begin the slicing process.  I want the slices uniform and very thin.  I have a big white plastic Tupperware container and when there is about 6 inches of cabbage in it I will sprinkle it with a heaping tablespoon of canning salt.  Next comes the tedious part.  I take my fist and work and mash the salt into the cabbage, bruising it and causing it to release juice.  When I have worked it enough that it starts to be a tad bit soupy (no way to tell you, just got to feel it) I will put it in the crock.

Now, I don't know it you have ever done this, but after a while my knuckles begin to get very tender and by the time the crock is half full I begin to wonder what in the hell I was thinking, so I take a break.  And then I remember what this is all about.  I love sauerkraut!  I do not love the stuff at the store in cans.  I do not love the stuff at the store in the refrigerated part either.  I love sauerkraut that is made with cabbage and salt and covered with a clean cheese cloth that is weighted down with a brick in my basement.

Oh, trust me, in about 2 weeks this big old house is going to stink to high heaven of rotten cabbage.  I will have to check it daily and remove anything that looks like it does not belong there, but in about 2 - 3 months, I will have the best sauerkraut in the world!  It is a lot of work, but worth every minute of it.  My knuckles will heal in due time and by then it will have stopped "working" and it will be time to process it.  This entails bagging it in my "seal a meal" bags and freezing it for future use.

I do not ever remember mother or anyone else making saurekraut, but somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I know what has to be done.  When Bret and Shelley were little I was fixing lunch for them and I made hot dogs.  I asked if they wanted the hotdogs cooked in with the saurkraut.  When Shelley asked what saurekraut was, Bret replied, "It is rotten cabbage."  As I recall that was the end of the discussion, but they did eat it.

Now, those of you who know me, know how many people live in my house and of all those people, only one eats saurekraut and that is me!  I may be considered an eccentric old woman going to all this work, but the way I got it figured is this:  I am only going around once.  Just once.  I am going to dance naked when I feel like it, howl at the moon, and eat what I want, which at this time of year is sauerkraut!  So if you want to smell rotten cabbage, come on over!  If not then don't, but it is Fall here in Pueblo, Colorado and Spring is a long way in the future, so I am going to be a little squirrley and put away my food for the Winter!

The ruler of the roost is now bringing this old lady to her knees!

If you wonder who this is, it is Icarus.  I have had her for 4+ years.  She was named by Sherman and I told him Icarus was the little fellow in Greek (?) Mythology that flew too close to the sun and melted HIS wings, but she was name Icarus nonetheless!  As you can see, she makes herself right at home wherever she is.  It is quite alright with her if I have to set on the hard chair as long as her hairy little self if comfy!

She is very much at ease with the dogs, as you can see!  She likes to go out in the evening when I close the goose house.  She hides behind the trash barrel and leaps out at the dogs when they go past headed for the house.

This is bedtime.  5 kitty treats on the dresser for Icarus and a milkbone for each dog.  Old picture since I still  had carpet, but the routine is still the same. 

Looks like Daisy might have started smoking in this picture.

Elvira is just naturally a lady.

But back to the subject at hand.