Why do I listen to Classic Country Music?

Because when one of the old guys starts singing I can understand the lyrics and the lyrics are the song as far as I am concerned. Like this one by Conway Twitty. He tells it like it is. https://youtu.be/XOLsaTRrWCs. No banging on a an electric guitar. No screaming out words that are not in the English language. Just down to earth words about pain, love, cheating, prison, trucks, momma and old dogs and children and watermelon wine. Like the one I linked up above. That one is "She needs someone to hold her when she cries," And I wish I had a dollar for every time that song ran through my head. Oh, not now, but back in the days of worthless men and binge drinking.

I know it is hard to picture me as ever having been young and even harder to picture me in a mini skirt out on a dance floor with men actually waiting to be the next one to spin me around the floor.  Sadly, I had a small problem with alcohol back in those days and my evening usually ended up with me on the floor praying to that porcelain god known as the toilet bowl.  It was at that point of the evening that the boys ideas of romance were out the window. Whoever had brought me understood that they were to take me home.  Whether it was a female friend or my date of the evening, it was their job to deliver me back to where they found me.  That followed another rule my mother had taught me, "You leave with the one who brung you!"  Yep.  Mothers words are embed in my brain clear down to my feet!  She was the wisest woman I knew then and she still reaches down on occasion and pulls me up short of some mess I am about ready to get myself into.

What Mother has to do with country music and beer drinking songs, I do not know.  I just know she has been gone for many years and she still pops in from time to time to give me those knuckles on top of my head!  Did your mother ever do that to you?  That crack from those boney knuckles always stopped me in my tracks no matter what I was doing.  I am sure I did that to my kids also and for that I beg their forgiveness.  Or do I?  Maybe not.  I have raised some damn good kids.  They all have the basics down pat.  They are honest, hard working, dependable, independent, and devoted to their mother!  They check in from time to time and are not clingy.  As far as I know, they have never been in jail and if they were it was not for very long.  

So I do not know how I got from the virtues of country music to raising kids, but I suppose my mind just took one of its turns that it is famous for, but I think there is a lesson in here some where.  Shortly after Kenneth and I got together (We lived in sin one year.  Wanted to see if we could get along before we tied the knot and had to get a divorce.) he came home and said he had just heard "Our song".  The one he came up with was "Close enough to perfect for me." https://youtu.be/UVivkbmu3To .  When I heard that song I knew that this was a marriage made in heaven.  If he could accept me as I was, where I was, then we would make it.  And we did.

Kenneth has been gone 17 years.  It seems like yesterday.  I rather doubt that there is another man alive who can accept me just as I am and where I am in my journey through this thing called "life."

So I am just going to treasure every day and do what I can to make someone happy some where.  Doesn't seem like there is much else to do.

Where did Chiquita Banana disappear to?

If there were just some way to shut this mind of mine down, we might all be better off for that.  It is 4:35 AM and the coffee is made and my hair is combed and Chiquita Banana is still fresh in my mind.  I have 2 nieces and 1 nephew by my oldest sister Josephine.  The oldest is named Mary and must be pushing 70 by now.  When she was but a wee lass and I mean so little she was not even crawling yet, I was allowed to play with her on the bed as long as I was real careful.  I was very careful, but bear in mind that I was only about 7 years old and not yet wise in the ways of wiggly babies.

As I recall she was dressed in a white something or other which started at her shoulders and ended below her feet.  It had a drawstring that tied so her little feet would stay warm, but it was loose so she appeared to be a tiny little angel!  I way so enthralled with the vision of an angel in my arms that I loosened my grip for just a moment and she shot out of my arms and fell between the bed and the wall!  Ah, sweet Jesus!  I never heard a human emit screams like that in my life and it did not help to know that I was the cause of the pain.  Since I was only 7 years old I could not pull the bed away from the wall to save the baby.  Enter Josephine, Mary Jo's 12 or 13 year old mother. (Yep.  They married young back in those days.  And you might also remember that it was a very long time ago and reality then and reality now, are sometimes 2 different things.)  Let me tell you right now, that old gal had no problem jerking that bed out and screaming at me at the top of her lungs while she was doing it.

Of course, Mary was alright.  She was a little shaken by her early flight from being my little angel to being a missile launched behind the bed.  Of course Josephine would not let me touch the baby again for a very long time.  I, of course, did not actually want to touch her just in case I was some sort of ax
murderer.  I was told every time I looked at the baby how careless I was and not to touch her.  It was kind of sad because Mary used to look at me and smile and laugh and coo, like babies are known to do.  She learned to crawl in due time and would crawl over to me and I would run away.  So much for bonding with my niece.

It was sometime during this period of my life that mother brought home a folded piece of fabric from someone who did not want it.  She unfolded it to reveal the front and back of a Chiquita Banana doll.  All she had to do was cut it out, put it right sides together, stitch it leaving an opening for turning and stuffing, stuff it and it would be mine!  How could I ever be so lucky?  Mother did not have a sewing machine at that time, so it would have to be done by hand.  Of course I was such a patient little girl as I waited every day for that to happen.  When I had finally given up on Chiquita ever being anything but a couple of flat cloth pictures, Mother whipped it together one night and handed it to me at bedtime.  You would have thought she had handed me the world!  It was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen!  The fact that it was not even a real doll, completely escaped me.  She was mine and she was special because my mother had made her for me!  I could picture her dancing in the moonlight with her hat of bananas on her head.  She was so beautiful and I wanted to be just like her when I grew up.

I have not thought of her in years.  My mother ended up helping raise my oldest sisters three kids while their father was in the Navy and their mother was busy doing her thing.  I remember special things about all three of them.  Charlie had bears in his bed most of the time.  I could never see them, but he assured me that he could.  I asked if he was afraid and he told me no, that they were nice bears.  I wonder if he still sees them?

My niece, Cindy was the youngest.  Since Mary lives on the northwest coast about as far north and west as she could go, I do not see her.  Charlie and I had a falling out years ago and I have no idea where he lives.  He has his demons and I have mine and never the twain shall meet.

But, little Cindy is firmly ensconced in my heart.  I have been to see her once and talk to her occasionally on the phone, but she is a homebody and so am I.  And she looks after her Aunt Lou.  Just recently I posted a picture on facebook of an old mixer I had fallen heir to through a death and I had used it to make cinnamon rolls.  My phone rang and Cindy wanted me to know that a new red mixer was on its way to my house to replace the last red mixer she had sent me, which had replaced the pink mixer which had replaced the black one.  Kitchen Aid has her on speed dial!  She looks out for me!  When I told her the story of the old mixer I had inherited, she told me to do something with my old red mixer because it was being replaced anyway.  Bless her little heart.  It warms the cockles of my heart to know someone out there is listening every time I speak!

The "old" red mixer will go to Pastor Faye in Colorado Springs.  The "old" pink one went to Rosie out at Los Pobres.  The old black one went to one of my kids.  The good Cindy does through me makes a lot of people happy and isn't that what it is all about? We are all shaped through out past into a vessel that will serve us in our quest for the golden ring of happiness.

And, like it or not, we spend 9 months in our mothers womb and the rest of our lives either immolating our mothers, or trying to escape the havoc they wreaked on us.  It is all in the cards we are played.  One day we all look into the mirror and see our mothers face looking back at us. We can never escape the perils of our childhood and my only advise I can give at this late date is to "Bloom where you are planted."  Nothing else can happen

As for I Chiquita, I suppose I will always wonder what became of  her.   I expect she ended up tossed into a mud puddle some where, but she should know that I never forgot her completely. I like to think that she ended up in a good home with a little girl who would love her and dream of being just like her when she grows up.

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: Meanwhile, back at the ranch!

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: Meanwhile, back at the ranch!: To say my life here on my little acre is boring would be an understatement.  It seems like there is always something going on...well, not d...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch!

To say my life here on my little acre is boring would be an understatement.  It seems like there is always something going on...well, not during Jeopardy!  Everyone knows what happens to me when I set back in my recliner with the cat on my lap and pull an afghan up over me so I do not get cold.  I watch Jeopardy! at 3:00 and again at 6:30.  Sadly, I have yet to see a full half hour.  If I manage to stay awake it is imperative that someone call  to ask just one quick question.

Now yesterday, I stopped at Big R to buy goose food since there is a storm coming and I do not want the geese to miss out on a meal and I hate unloading 150 pounds of feed in a blizzard.  So, I pulled into the back acre and started in with the first bag.  You should know, the neighbors have a Billy Goat Gruff with big long, curled horns.  He does not know where he actually lives so he spends a lot of time ripping things out of the ground on my side of the driveway.  As I started into the shed, I had to bump him with the feed bag to get inside.  I emptied that one, chased him off and grabbed another only to repeat the same scenario.  I do not even like goats and that is why I do not have one.  Third bag was tossed on top of the barrel and the goat chased off again.  I drove out and closed the gate behind me with him glaring at me from his yard.

To make a long story short, I got busy doing something and it was almost dark when I went to put the geese up for the night.  I let them in the outside wire enclosure and they were acting funny.  Since they usually do, I did not give it a second thought.  Then I remembered I needed to open that third bag and dump it so I opened the big door and took 2 steps inside and stopped.  Holy mother of God!  Inside the shed was dark and I caught a glimpse so something out of the corner of my eye.  It was big!  It was not a goose!  It was that damned goat curled up in the corner of the shed.  He was settling in for the night.  In order to get inside the shed he had to squeeze himself through the little door I have in the side of the shed designed for a much smaller animal.  Even the geese have to duck their heads to get inside.  Dammit!

Luckily I have a very good flashlight, so I went over to Mr. Goat and nudged him while shining the light on his path to freedom.  He could have cared less.  So I got him by one of his horns.  It became increasingly clear that he did not want to go home.  I finally got him out the door and that was as far as he wanted to go.  So I went next door to the house he actually lived at.  Cory came with me and between the 2 of us with a hand on each horn, we got him into their yard.  It was clear also that in the leap over the fence into my yard, he had hurt his back leg.  So I missed Jeopardy! at 6:30.  Dammit!

So, Michael brought up the subject of gardening a few days ago and I explained that I would not be doing that this year.  Why?  It seems that the last few years I have had a snake infestation.  I do not know how many times  there was a snake in the goose house.  I reached my limit when I was harvesting my zucchini and as I reached to move a leaf, I saw a snake curled up under it.  Centipedes love my basement.  Wasps build their little nests in the corners of my deck.  Spiders watch me from the shadows.  Farm living is just no longer conducive to my lifestyle!  I want to be where the lights are shining in my window and the jukebox is blaring from down below.  Well, not really.

I do love my solitude out here, but there is a lot to be said for the wild life that makes itself at home here on my acre.  I realize goats, spiders, snakes and centipedes are not exactly wildlife, but you do remember how the foxes devastated my duck farm.  But yesterday at the Big R, I saw my first signs of Spring.  They have three tanks full of baby chickens and they are so damn cute.  Maybe if I had chickens they would keep the snakes away.  I know they eat grasshoppers.

Something to think about.

Is it my turn yet?

Yesterday I took an afternoon and played Scrabble with a friend and his sister.  They are both very intelligent and loving people (Would you expect me to spend time on a Saturday afternoon with anyone who is not?)  To make a long story short, I got my little ass trounced royally.  I must say they were very gracious winners which in my world is a rarity.  It was nice.  I have not played a game since I played Dominoes with Bill Brown a couple years ago.  I beat him and never went back because I was afraid he would return the favor!

On my way home from town I stopped at another friends house.  This was not so much fun, but nonetheless a very satisfying visit.  This lady has always been open and loving and in her final hours I should have expected no less.  She smiled and actually beamed as I told her I loved her and wished her a peaceful crossing and a happy reunion.  As I kissed her goodbye she smiled the brightest smile I have seen from her in a long time and it came from the bottom of her heart.  I am going to miss her more than I can say, and I hope she will pop in on me from time to time in the hallowed memories of my mind.

As the angel of death (no capitals ) hovers quietly in the corner of yet another of my friends, I can not help but wonder when I will get my turn.  I have attended many of these and I have to say this lady is the picture of grace and never have I ever seen a person more ready to go.  Oh, Lord that I can be that accepting when it is my turn.

I look back on the shambles of my life and can not believe some of the crap I am going to have to answer for when I knock on those Pearly Gates.  Those of you who know me now only think you know me.  My mother always said "Your never really know anyone, you only know OF them.  You know what they let you see."  But here is the kicker on that:  I have let people see my kind, loving, caring side so long that I have become that person!  Who would have ever thought that the little girl growing up on Strong Street in a run down shack with an outhouse in the back  and no running water would ever be a respected member of any thing?  And yet, here I am!  When my sisters came for Kenneth's service they did not stay and visit.  (The largest chapel at Imperial Gardens was full and people were left outside.) They went home the same day.  The sole comment made was "Louella has a life out here that we know nothing about."  And that sister was right.

I do have a life with friends and acquaintances and respect from my peers.  That is something I never had in Kansas.  I was always just Louella, Chris's daughter.  Louella, Donna's sister.  Bob's cook. Some body's mom.  Some body's Aunt.  I guess that is good, but this is better.  Now that I am old, I can be selfish.  I can play Scrabble on a Saturday afternoon.  I can sleep through Jeopardy!.  I can have a sink full of dirty dishes.  I can smell the roses and kiss the wind.  I can pet my cat and dream of all the things I am going to do someday.  Who was it that said, "Of all the things of mice and men, the saddest of all is what might have been."?

I am not quite ready for the Angel of Death or the grim reaper, but when it comes, and it surely will someday, I will embrace the trip.  It is some place I have never been and I think it is just over the rainbow.  There I will see my loved ones and it will be wonderful!  I will get to meet Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr., Hank Williams, and all the people I have admired and loved for so long.

So enjoy my blog while it is here!  Hug your children.  Pet your dog.  Sing in the shower.  But most of all, get your house in order.  If you hurt someone, tell them you are sorry.  If you love someone, tell them.  Yesterday is gone and tomorrow never comes!

Peace to all!  

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at time!

I live in a 2400 square foot house.  I live all alone.  Every thing in this house is mine.  I have 2 floor looms and enough fiber to cover this acre of ground.  I have never thrown a magazine away.  House plants thrive every where.  2 couches, 2 recliners, 9 sewing machines and 64,000 yards of fabric.

I have a garage that is big enough to hold a full size commercial gravel hauling truck and trailer.  I have a tin shed that holds a full size car and 7,000 jars as well as a heavy duty rototiller, high wheel weed whacker, lawn mower and 7 weight sets without the bars.  Not to mention enough bug spray and weed killer to annihilate  half of the county.

My problem is this:  I want to sell everything and move into a small, one level apartment in town.  So where do I start?  I thought downstairs would be the place.  No.  All that fabric and machines I use.  The next level up is the weaving room and if I could just sell those 2 looms, but then what would I do with all that fiber?  And I make stationary.  I need that stuff.

Next comes the ebay/sales/spare bedroom/storage area and toy room.  Are you getting the picture?  At one point I decided that the only hope was to just drop dead and let the kids sort it out, but I could almost see the burning pile out back and them throwing me on top so I could enjoy my treasures throughout eternity!  But then this morning I seen a shared post that hit the nail on the head.  It was shared by Margaret Velveteen and it hit home with me.    OK, I tried to copy and paste and that is not working for me, so I will give you the gist of it.

"Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly...because doing it poorly is better than not doing it at all."
"Do things halfway.  Now you are doing 100% better than you were before."

Now what I take from this is that all my setting around procrastinating is getting me now where.  I have been in the "sell this damn place and move into town" mode for a couple years now and absolutely nothing has moved one inch!  So, the Patty daughter has been here for a few days and we have talked about this.  Well, I have damn near talked it to death, so today is the day that I am going to start eating that elephant!  And every day, I am going to take a bite out of it and some day (The good lord willing and the creek don't rise!) I will actually be able to look around and see bare floors and empty walls.

I am going to be just like that little ant that moved the rubber tree plant!  I have high hopes!  High apple pie in the sky hopes!  Whoops!  There goes another rubber tree plant!

Course you know I am as full of shit as a Christmas goose, don't you! And I may have had a sip or 2 from the vanilla bottle!  But I guess the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.  Wish me luck, because I am going to need it.  Come this fall when the leaves start to fall you are going to see that "FOR SALE" sign in front of this house or I will know the reason why.

And does anyone want 8 very old geese?  They are free to a good home!

But can I really know you?

I woke up this morning to the realization that something a friend told me many years ago should be my mantra.  I had once more been disappointed by someone I trusted and I said, "I really thought I knew him better than that."
 
To which he replied, "You never really know anyone.  You just know of them.  You know what they let you see."  And he was right.

I deal with many people, some more closely than others.  We talk and with some of them, we talk for hours.  We share secrets.  We share our inner most thoughts, hopes and dreams.  Do we really?  As I look back over the trail behind me, I am  astounded at how many of my friends have only let me see the outer veneer that covers their tortured soul.

We are placed on this earth by some divine plan to live our lives, hopefully, in peace and harmony.  Some of us have more peace and harmony then others, I have found.  It breaks my heart when I lose a friend to suicide.  Suicide is defined in the dictionary as "the intentional taking of one's own life."  It does not tell us why.  And yet the why is the first question we ask, isn't it?

And we search our memory and we recall the relationship we had with that person.  At least I do.  I remember the last time I saw him.  Right here at my table not very long ago.  He was a computer genius and he worked really cheap for his friends.  He loved cookies and I had his favorite kind.  I will make them again for his memorial service.

We can read all the psychology books and watch for the signs, but we never see them.  Is it because I let my guard down, or because the signs were never there, or did I just not want to see them?  Hind sight is 20/20 looking back, isn't it?

Many years ago when I was a Senior in high school I had a friend in Stenography class whose name I can not recall right now.  He went home one afternoon after school and hung himself in the garage.  Were there signs?  I never saw them and looking back I still don't.

Kenny and I had a friend 30+ years ago.  Kenny was working in Denver and was gone all week, leaving me alone.  He called every night and this friend knew that.  He would show up every night and set at the counter and drink coffee and reading truck books.  When Kenny called, he would talk to him for a few minutes and then he would leave.  It was never a conversation, really, just a "hello how are you?"  One afternoon he went home and put a bullet in his brain.  We never saw it coming.

So as I set here contemplating another memorial service I wonder about the very act of suicide.  No one ever says, "Well, I am just going to put my head in the gas oven and be done with it."  That would make it too simple.  So I shall do what I have always done, put one foot in front of the other and blindly go where I have always gone.  Maybe today I will make a difference to someone looking into that abyss.

Maybe not.