This one came out of left field!

I spent today making Cream of Carrot Soup for the High Tea.  I also whipped up a big jug of Lemon Curd for the scones.  Well, for the Cheese Scones.  I am making Clotted Cream for the Apple ones.  Since I was cooking all day, it came as a complete surprise to me when I set down to watch the news and wound up thinking about Nickerson, Kansas and remembering my father telling my mother about a cross burning incident that had happened the night before.  I am pretty sure he had not been involved in the burning, but he sure seemed to know all about it and the names of the men who were involved.

 Now you must understand that this conversation was not held at the dining room table, but rather in whispered tones on the front porch.  Our bedroom window was on the front of the house so since I was awake it was hard not to hear.  And the fact that it is now 70 years later kind of dims the memory.  All the people who were alive at that time are long since gone on to their reward, whatever it might be.  To the best of my knowledge, I never knew anyone who lived in Nickerson, Kansas at the time I was there to be anything but white.  Oh, wait.  There was one family who lived in the boxcar down by the tracks that was maybe another race.  I never was sure what race they were.  Seems like they might have been Indian, but I wasn't sure of  what  race that was.

Our family was mostly German due to the Haas family on my mothers side.  Dad was mostly Irish or English or something like that.  I think maybe Great Britain came in to play some where in his genes.  Now if you think for one minute that I know where I am headed with this you are sadly mistaken.  Last thing I remember was I was working on some lemon bars and the next thing I remember is I was up here clicking away at the keys.  I think it all has something to do with the latest school shooting.  How sad that is that kids have to go through training to learn what to do if their school is attacked by a gunman.  Seems in the back of my mind I hear a song playing about the days of sand and shovels.  A day of innocence.  I wonder what our world has come to that this is normal and is accepted as normal.  And then I think to that conversation on the front porch and it makes me sad, that I can remember burning crosses from my childhood much as the kids today will remember the boy with purple and pink hair that shot children in a school.  What is our world coming to that violence is a way of life and that it is accepted as normal?

Even sadder, the boys doing the shooting are someone's son.  Some mother held the new baby in her arms and never dreamed that someday he would grow up to kill anyone.  Probably the worst she could imagine was that he/she would need braces.  Or maybe they would steal a candy bar just for kicks.  The world has changed.  Back when I was a kid, we saluted the flag.  We said "one nation under God." I think we even had a little prayer before school.  I vaguely remember one of my school mates being killed in a car wreck.  I do not remember his name, only that he had gone with his older brother to a National Guard meeting.  That was about the saddest thing that happened in our school.  Mostly life was mundane.  Mother went to work.  Dad went to the pool hall.  Josephine eloped and Jake joined the Army.  And the gypsys were camped outside of town, just waiting to steal a kid, but the never did.

Luther

Some one asked me what my husband called me.  Louella, Lou......Well, it was Luther.  From the first date until the day he lost the ability to speak, I was Luther.  Funny how that worked and thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes, because I know the no one will ever call me that again.  He never called me honey, or sweetie and sure as hell never darling.  Luther.  Now I am Lou.  Just plain Lou.  Few people even know my full name even more do not even care.

My first husband called me Peanut, or Bitch, depending on his mood.  I became Lou when I entered the work force at the Red Carpet Restaurant.  Bob Bailey deemed that I should be Lou Seeger.  And from that day forward I was Lou.  The last name changed with amazing regularity , but I remained Lou.

Funny how we pick up our little nicknames isn't it?  When I was in third grade my nickname was Mudpie.  That only lasted through my friendship with Barbara Hawk.  After her brother got into the upper grades that name faded.

All these years later it kind of makes me kind of sad to know that my nickname days are over; to know that I will never be somebody's darling, or sweetie, or Luther.  But that is why we call it "life" isn't it?

Mother's Day approaches and the oven is hot!

Ah, this is the sixth annual Mother's Day Tea that I have hosted.  Every year I swear this is the last one and every year it gets bigger.  These are the tea cups from 2015.  You may not believe this, but they are hand washed and dried and not a single one has been broken!  The first thing you do when you come in (Well, after you pay, of course or check in at the door.) is to choose your cup and take it to wherever you choose to set.  I will be busy in the kitchen.  You will receive a teapot full of tea and that will be kept full.  Then you will find clotted cream and lemon curd delivered to go along with your first course of cheese scones and apple scones.  It is downhill from there!

Your next course will be Cream of Carrot Soup and Vegetable Quiche!  Then move right along to Cucumber sandwiches with the crust trimmed off.  Smoked Salmon Rounds,  Chicken Salad Pofiterols, Ham Salad on crackers.  More tea.

Here are a few of former guests, two of which are no longer with us.  They will be missed.

Then we come to dessert.  Not sure what we are having just yet, but pretty sure Lemon Bars will show up along with Chocolate Beet cupcakes, fruit and lots of other little morsels to pop into your mouth.  And more tea.

If you are missing my tea this year, there will be another on the day before Mothers Day next year.  You might want to get your reservation in early because, trust me, it fills up fast.  I think I have 2 spots left this year.  Course if you are not there we will miss you!

Mr. Jerome Drupiewski will be playing the violin to set the mood.  I think Marilyn,  another violinist, will accompany him this year!

Wish you were here!

I have a license if I passed the test!

So, just like I told you I would do, I applied for my license to make food at home and sell to the public.  Deric Stowell and I went to class yesterday.  Now you know Deric!  He is all over the natural gardening and he is an actual Master Gardener.  Has all his little certificates and runs the seed bank at the library.  He is active in politics and is an all around citizen of the year!

So last Christmas when it was time for me to cater the holiday dinner that I cater every year, I enlisted Deric to help me make tamales.  Oh, and Michael McGuire also.  Trust me, I work better alone, but sometimes I have helpers just so I do not have to talk to myself.  Last year it was Deric and Michael.  So we got to talking about making and selling tamales as a means of trying to make ends meet in this dog eat dog world.  We see ads in the paper all the time for "Homemade tamales! $25 a dozen!"  Now that looked like some easy money.  In the course of 4 hours, 3 of which was cooking time, we had made 5 dozen tamales.  Probably spent $25 on product so this seemed like the way to go.  $125.00 tax free dollars!

Now Deric also spends a lot of time at the County Extension Office, so when the opportunity to attend and receive a license came up, we were all over that!  So yesterday we met at the Black Swan, the Chinese restaurant that is on 7th.  I had egg fu young or however you spell that.  He had fried rice.  In my anal retentive state we were very early and so had lots of time to kill.  Then off to the meeting with 19 of my closest friends. The lady who gave the class was very nice and very knowledgeable.  Three hours later we were done.

No, I can not sell tamales or anything with meat in it..
No, I can not make salsa and can it.
No, I can not make Jalapeno~ jelly with real Jalapeno~.
I can make and sell homemade egg noodles, but they must be dried in a dehydrator.
There are stringent rules on the gluten free stuff.
And there are 3 different disclaimers that need to be put on everything I make and sell.
And I must wash my hands every 3.5 minutes and dry them on a clean paper towel.
And the cat can not walk across the counter while I am mixing and packaging.
Oh, and it would be wise to carry an insurance policy just in case someone chokes on a ring I dropped in the batter.

But it was fun and I learned how to wash my hands properly.  Well, sort of.  Deric made me walk all the way down the stairs when we left.  Little shit head!  So, now it is back to the real world.  I got one goose egg yesterday and I brought it in the house and washed it very good and put it in a special place.  So with pleasant memories of yesterday, I went in the kitchen and looked at the gluten free starches, flours, and additives.  I am going to need to get a big plastic tub and scrub it out good, dry it until it is bone dry, find a lid that fits.  That will free up the one cupboard I had kept the stuff in which is right next to the wheat flour with the dreaded Gluten in it!  (Sigh!)

Perhaps it would be best if I just mowed the grass and finished dragging that Apricot limb to the tin shed.  I am going to get my little hatchet and chop chips out for my smoker.  Bret made it look so easy when he started dragging that limb that I told him I would move it later.  I think he may have nailed it to the ground because the damn thing is stuck right there by the clothes line!  Anyway, it is Saturday and I need to go to Lowe's and get covers for my basement windows.  Or not.

Just got off the phone with a friend and she said something to the effect of "If God had meant for today to be perfect, he would not have invented tomorrow."  Made sense to me.  Think I will just go with  that

I had a second thought....

Have you ever had a thought and decided that it was sheer brilliance?  And then you actually thought that one through to an illogical conclusion?  Then you had a second thought that beat hell out of that first thought!  Well, I am here to tell you that my world is full of those thoughts.  Most of my day is spent thinking second thoughts until nightfall comes and I wonder just what in the hell I was thinking.  Maybe it is best that I not think at all!  Like now.

I spent yesterday with Michael Wenzel, a realtor with Keller Williams Realty.  He is a delightful man and honest to the core.  I am not real sure I am quite ready to sell, but when I do, he is my man!  He told me apartments are few and far between, nursing homes are full and houses are selling about as fast as they are put on the market.  This tells me, I might want to hold on to what I have until I fall and break the proverbial hip!  I have to live somewhere and this one is paid for so that holds a certain charm.

Now Michael is a very well spoken man and anyone who knows me, knows that I have the first thing I ever touched in life and when I spend 30 years collecting, something is going to get full!  When he talked about showing the house, he said "You might want to open it up a bit.  That makes it look bigger. " He could have said , "You need to get a dumpster in here!"  I will consult with my kids over the next couple weeks and come to some sort of conclusion about where I will go if I sell this place.  There is a lot to be said for just "sheltering in place"  like they say when a storm is coming.

But, back to the title of this post.  I shudder to think how many times I have had an absolutely brilliant idea and then thought it through to the conclusion that I should probably be locked up for my own safety!  I can think of several husbands that were fleeting instances of my lapses in good judgment!  Coulda', woulda', shoulda', are words that do not appear in a dictionary, but probably oughta'.

I planted an Apricot tree out behind the house 25 years ago.  Monday I started removing limbs with my bow saw.  I am going to need to call a tree man.  Another instance of not thinking things through to a logical conclusion.  That little Mulberry tree that came up in the middle of the old fashioned rose bush is another instance.  I could have taken a pair of nippers to it, but now it is chain saw material.  Those sprayers that come on automatically in the garden are going to need removed because I was burning weeds and got to close to one.  Oh, yeah, and that blackberry bush with the 11 inch razor pointed thorns is going to need removed also.

 My mother once told me "You are your own worst enemy!" I did not understand what she meant all those years ago, but I am beginning to see a pattern developing here!  I am thinking that someone ought to just come and throw a net over me and drag me off to the loony bin, wherever that might be.  I assume someone would feed me and give me a place to sleep at night!  And there is that word "assume".  Kenneth explained that one to me once.  "Assume" makes an "ass" out of "u" and "me".

And there you go.  More ramblings of a mad woman!  Have a good day!

We all have our baggage.

And my Father was no different.  When he married my mother he already had a shattered family behind him.  He had been married and had 5 kids.  One son and one daughter had died at a very young age.  His wife was deceased and he had been left with 3 sons.  The boys had all ended up in an orphanage.  Earl had been adopted as had Richard.  Sadly, Gene had not found a forever family.  Earl seemed to be the most normal as he married and sired 2 boys and 1 girl.  We were in contact with them although it never was a close relationship.  Richard had a lot of mental health issues stemming from his years in the Army.  Ah, but dear Gene was a study unto itself!

I did not see Richard or Earl until my teenage years, but Gene turned up early.  We were living on the Stroh place.  I must have been 5 or 6 years old, possibly 7.  I recall him turning up in the middle of the night, or so it seemed.  He came with somebody named Banks and that is about all I recall about that meeting.  When you are little you pick up scraps of conversation and piece together your own reality.  That is what I have done with Gene Bartholomew.  Over the years I learned that he had a wife and son back east some where.  Seems brother Gene had a bad habit and that was writing checks on someone else's bank account.  The state also had a bad habit of arresting him and putting him in prison.

In a box in my closet are letters from Gene that he had written to our father.  Parts of those letters are seared in my mind.  I do not read them anymore.  "Dear Daddy, When are you going to come and get me?  We are going to get a new pair of overalls in a couple weeks.  I miss you, daddy"

Some time in my grade school years I recall carrying on a correspondence with him while he was in Lansing Prison.  I recall that he was an artist at calligraphy.  Mother always said that was his downfall because he was in prison for forgery.  He did have beautiful handwriting.  I do not know what we wrote about, only that we did.  I do recall once when he was released he came by the house and somebody with a car drove him out to the Arkansas River and dropped him off so he could "be alone to clear his mind."  The next day she picked him up at the specified time and he once more disappeared.

He turned up again when I was in high school.  This time he stayed with my sister and her husband, but that only lasted a few weeks and then he was gone again.  The last anyone heard of him, to my knowledge was that he had been arrested in Nebraska and rather then prosecute him for whatever he had done, they took him to the county line and dropped him off.  He was never seen nor heard of again.

I have often thought of his son.  He would have to be about my age.  His name was William (Billy) Bartholomew.  Of course I am too late, I am sure.  But wouldn't that be nice if he had heirs and one of them read this?  I am not holding out any hope at all.  Just a silly old woman waking up in the middle of the night with something on her mind.

The nastiest duck in the yard.

As you will recall I, at one time, had a  flock of 37 ducks and 15 geese here on South Road.  I can only thank God Kenny did not live to see that fiasco.  In that flock there were 4 Muscovy ducks.  All the others were just plain ducks.  By that I mean they were plain little Polander which is a domesticated Mallard that can not fly, or a mix of breeds that were like the United Nations of Duckdom.  I did have one that walked upright.  That one was white.  There was also one that was a cross which walked about half upright.  When Mr. Fox finished visiting, I had 2 ducks left, a Polander and the white upright.  A friend took them to the pond in Pueblo West and to the best of my knowledge they are still living happily ever after.  Below is a picture of the flock about half way through the fox episode.

The point of this entry is to discuss the nastiness of the 4 Muscovy ducks.  To the best of my knowledge, the Muscovy is the  only ones that can fly, and fly they did very well.  Let me go back a little further to the house on Strong Street in Nickerson, Kansas.  You recall it was built in the shotgun design which meant you entered the front and if an intruder was in the back you could  fire a shell in your 10 gauge and the shot would travel through the house and hit the bad man without touching anything else.  On the back wall was the sink and pump with a drain pipe from the sink that went through a hole in the back wall and water from the dish washing process or whatever else could be disposed of that way without having to carry a bucket outside.  It sure made life easier for us lazy little kids.

So now you are probably wondering where the water went after it got outside, aren't you?  Well, the end of the pipe was about 15 feet from the house and that is where the water went.  Also in the back yard was where the ducks lived.  I do not remember how many we had, but I do know they were nasty.  They took their little beaks and dug into the standing water looking for God only knows what to eat.  Of course anything that went in that beak was going to come out the other end.  Needless to say we were not allowed to play in that standing water.  Pretty sure that was one rule that we did abide by!

Now, I have got to explain how a Muscovy duck is different than other ducks.  Domesticated ducks do not fly.  The Muscovy is a whole different story.  The neck on the males is very thick.  The males are also very aggressive.  They did not quack, but rather whispered.  And they flew.  The would leave the pond and fly into my small back yard and roost on my air conditioner.  Now I did not like that.  When I tried to shoo them out back the males would ruffle their feathers and scare hell out of me.  The females were very docile and about half the size of the drakes.  One morning I went to the fowl house and found a dead goose.  It's neck had been broken.  Since the fowl house was attached to a wire enclosure whatever killed the goose had to be inside that place.  I watch my geese fight all through breeding season and never have I seen that kind of violence.  It had to be one of the Muscovy drakes.  So I called the guy over on County Farm Road and he came and was in agreement with my findings.  He then loaded all 4 Muscovy's into his truck and off the to the sale they went.  I never tried Muscovy's again.

Above is what I have left of my flock.  Actually I have all 4 of the African Grays, which are the dark ones. One of them is a hen.   I lost 2 of the white ones, leaving me with 2 male Emidens and 1 male and 1 female Chinese.  The two hens lay in the Spring and I practice birth control via noodle making.  Snakes are rampant in the goose house since they like eggs so as long as I keep the eggs picked up, the snakes are forced to find me some other way.  I am going to get someone out here to go in the neighbors yard and move that pile of tires because I think the snakes live in there. 

Or under my deck!

Well, that is it for today.  Spring is here.  The ducks are all gone and the weeds are coming up in the fence line so I better get on the stick.

Time and tide wait for no man...or woman!