Never let your right hand know....

"Never let your right hand know what your left hand is doing", was something my mother always said when she was imparting her wisdom to my tender ears.  She was referring to acts of kindness or charity.  We should never brag of our work.  Or at least that is what I took it to mean.

But it also applies to our world outside of the church and I never really understood what that meant until I started paying attention to our politicians and public leaders.  What brought this to my attention was a headline I just saw over on my news feed.  "Unnamed prominent person fights to keep Epstein records sealed."  Now I know what she meant!

I am pretty sure I can guess who it is, but then again, maybe not.  Oh, wait!  Do I care?  Not really.  Our politicians today are all so screwed up that it is just a matter of whose sins are bigger and how many bodies are hidden.  And all of those things are covered up and if not covered, then buried in public view.  Does anyone remember Chappaquiddick?  Watergate?  Clarence Thomas and the infamous Coke can?  Did any of that change history?  Nope.  Not one iota.  More importantly, do the participants remember what they did?  Hell no!  It is old news.

Our nation is in crisis and we are bombarded with news of pedophiles, sexual assaults, disrespect and anything to keep our minds off of what is really going on in our nation.  Our government is spending money like it was free and the upper echelon does not even pay taxes.  But we do!  We set here like a bunch of ducks in a barrel waiting to be harvested by bigger guns than our military carries, because we have our second amendment rights!  Give me an effen break!

Now I am not here to give you a lesson in morality because most of you should be old enough to know right from wrong, but it seems a lot of our leaders in this tumultuous times are keeping a lot of secrets and on an almost daily basis we read of one of our reputable leaders falling from grace.  Oh, trust me, there are a few things I did back in my wicked past that could come back to haunt me, but this would mean somebody has a way better memory than I do because I have pretty much forgotten my dark days.  That, coupled with the fact that I have out lived most of my cronies, allows me to sleep soundly at night.

Washington is a hot bed of corruption and we turn our backs and walk away.  It used to be we could "vote the rascals out", but with Russia in charge of our ballot box,  we stand little chance on that front.  But you know what I think?  I really feel that some where in this hot bed of filth that is now our government, there are a few decent people who really care.

My mother was a Republican and she was a good person, so I am sure that not all of them are bad.  But we have to research our candidates from the township election clear up to the presidential ballot.  From the city, to the county, to the state, to the federal.  Every damned one of them.  Vote like your life depended on it, because with our environment in the shape it is in, it does!

Another one my daughter pulled out of her hat was  "What doesn't kill you, will make you strong."  That one pretty well puts it all in prospective for me.

Imagine for a moment....

Imagine for a moment that you are on your way to the grocery store.  You are listening to the radio which is just background music at the moment.  You are thinking about supper and anticipating the kids coming by.  A barbeque, if you will.  Steaks, salad, iced lemonade and the Tres Lechen cake awaiting the fresh fruit.  It is going to be perfect!  The kids are a delight and very responsible.  The grand kids are always a treat!  You are not planning on leaving the house, just watching a movie and enjoying the kids.

Your phone flashes a bulletin incoming, so you pull over to the side of the road.  You have an uneasy feeling, but you always do, because you know it is not going to be good and you volunteer at the crisis center.  That is where trauma victims are sent.  You are the lady at the desk who tries to make some sort of normalcy out of complete chaos.  You are one of several.  There is usually not much going on in a town this size, but it is best to be prepared.

"Active shooter at the City Park swimming pool.  All law enforcement are active.  It appears to be a lone gunman with a high velocity rapid fire gun of some sort.  Stay tuned."

And you do stay tuned, but you have altered your route and you are heading for the center.  As you pull into the parking lot you see more people arriving.  You hurry inside thinking that you must call the kids.  Soon.  Now you have other things to do.  The place is filling up and you have a job to do.

Now stop and think.  Scenes like this are becoming an every day occurrence.  Maybe not in your town, but all across our land.  One man (and I am sorry, but I have not read of a woman perpetuating one of these crimes.)  Some where someone has decided that it is in the best interest of himself and God only knows who else, to pick up a high powered rifle or a rapid fire gun and go shoot people.  Aside from the people who are killed or injured and their families and friends, lets take this even further.

You are now directly affected.  You will know the victims and/or their family members.  The news will pre-empt your regular evening news.  The barbeque is now on hold.  And of course, in the back of your mind you are replaying the last conversation with your daughter-in-law.  Were the kids going to the pool?  You do not remember.

You are now more directly affected.  Your plans have been changed, not by anything you changed, but by a stranger who changed your world, but only for a day or 2.  But let's take this even further.

Your daughter in law had taken your grandson to the pool before heading over to your house for supper.  You are now directly affected even more.  Was he there?  Had he come and gone?  Were they both safe?  Or were they both dead?  You are numb.  You can not function.  The only thing that will give you back a sense of anything is to hold your loved ones in your arms.  Until that moment happens you can do nothing, but pray.

It is on the news now.  It is over.  8 children were killed by a man with a gun.  Many more were injured.  The gunman was captured and disarmed.  Small consolation.  Where is your family?  Where is your grandson?  Where is your son?

The only thing that could be worse then your family members being killed is if your family member did the killing.  We are living in a fast paced world where the news unfolds before our eyes and within a matter of hours the authorities have answers.  What started out as a trip to the store has now ended up in total chaos.  What happened to the order of life?  Grow up. Get married.  Have kids to grow up and get married.  Do we plan on chaos?  No, we do not, but our society today makes chaos a reality and an expectation.

We are not allowed to change things to prevent this either, are we?  We can not pass a law about gun control or background checks, or any thing that might infringe on some body's right to the second amendment.  What about this scenario even hints at the second amendment?  A well regulated militia is a far cry from what we have now.  Oh, we have a well regulated militia, but it is not these nuts with guns that are contributing to that scenario.  These men who take it upon themselves to kill innocent people are not operating in a vacuum.  They deal daily with people and they need to be accountable.  If you encounter a mad dog on the street, you call the animal control.  If you encounter a raging man with a gun, you should be able to call someone.

I guess what I am trying to say is this.  When you think someone is a loose cannon, tell some one.  When your brother in law is ranting and raving about killing the scum and draining the swamp, tell some one.  The worst that can happen is you are wrong.  The best is you may prevent a mass shooting.  We have got to police our environment, because no one else is doing it for us.  I see no end in sight for this debacle.  Congress is owned by the NRA and the NRA says there is no problem.  How many years did it take with the Koch brothers poisoning our environment before we finally got a label on their products?

Research your candidates.  Don't just rely on a television advertisement.  When you recommend a person to make laws to protect us, make sure that is what they stand for and while they are in office, hold their feet to the fire.  Make sure you point out to them what you want and what you will not stand for while they are in office.

Peace.

My very first marriage proposal.

It is now 4:20 AM.  I woke up about an hour ago thinking of my first marriage proposal.  Since that was 57 years ago, I thought I should lay there until that memory faded, but it did not, so I thought maybe the kids would get a kick out of  knowing I actually remember their father!  Not only do I remember him, but I remember him fondly.  He was my first love.  From the time I met him until we were married was a total of maybe 6 weeks.  To say it was a whirlwind courtship would be an understatement!

Back in those days, we still wrote letters.  Earl Duane Seeger and my brother Jake were good friends.  Well, they were drinking buddies, any way, but friends nonetheless.  I always called my first husband Duane.  Earl always sounded so formal and I had a brother named Earl, so he was Duane.  Duane worked for a man who traveled the state trimming trees.  Later in life Duane studied and got his license as an Arborist, tree trimmer, and licensed sprayer.  That is all beside the point.  What is important is at that time he would be out of town all week and only home on the weekends.  So we wrote letters.  It was too expensive to call on the pay phone and I think a stamp was like three cents back then.

So one day I got a letter from Duane and a lot of it was in German.  I showed it to my brother and asked him  what it said.
 
"Ich libe du means 'I love you'.  Ich libe du zer fiel means 'I love you very much'.  Wollen zie hie rauten mit mer?  I think that means 'Will you get married with me?'  I am not real sure, but I think that is what it means."

So being the starry eyed 18 year old girl that I was, I knew this was true love.  We were married at a church on the corner of Sherman and 5th street in Hutchinson.  His mom came from Jetmore with her husband.  My mom was there  as were a couple sisters, I think.  It was October 30, 1960 (I think) and it was the first snow fall of the year.  I borrowed my little sisters prom dress so I kind of looked like a bride.  At least I felt like one and I embarked on what I thought was the rest of my life with my husband at my side.

I kept his letters  until we had one of our many fights and I threw them in the sink, covered them with gravy and announced that the marriage was over.  Back then it was a simple matter (in my head) of just walking out and not looking back.  I did that many times until 10 years and 5 kids later, I never went back.  I loaded the kids in the back seat of a 1959 Chevy and filled the trunk full of clothes.  It was a trip I will no doubt remember to eternity, because it was the end of life as I knew it and I had no idea where my next meal was coming from.   (He sold every thing I did not take (including my house plants) at the weekly storage auction in Garden City, Kansas.)

He did not want a divorce, so he refused to participate in the court or paying for it.  Of course he refused to pay child support as well, but he did share in custody, but we went by our own rules.

Do we ever forget our first love?  I think not.  Are the memories always pleasant?  I think not.  My mother once told me that we all have different perceptions of what we go through in our lives.  Mother was very wise.  Over the years, my memories have changed.  I have mostly forgotten the bad parts and only remember the good.  I remember a blonde haired, blue eyed Greek God with a beautiful smile.  I remember how special he made me feel.  If we could have lived in a vacuum it might have lasted, but we couldn't and it didn't.  

He and I both moved on, but did we really?  In my mind he will always be 23 years old.  We will always be dancing to rock and roll music and we were good!  Fishing.   Coon hunting.  Watching the moon from a river bank.  Seeing the sun come up.  Memories.  Who knows.

That ship sailed a very long time ago.

Life is becoming a blur!

I let the doggie out early.  Early to me is 4:30 AM today.  Sometimes early is 2:00.  It all depends on what time I wake up and what the prospects are of falling back to sleep.  It just seems kind of futile to lay there and wait for sleep to come when my mind is racing and I know there is not any hope of the arms of the sleep goddess cradling me into the oblivion that I welcome.  Back to the point.

I let the doggie out and of course he wants me to walk around with him, because he is apparently afraid of the dark.  I am here to tell you that fall is in the air!  I know it is hard to imagine when the afternoon sun warms us up to 100+ degrees, but it is coming.  The trees have the gentle rustle that tells me the leaves are drying and soon they will be yellow and falling.  Where did the time go!

It seems it was last week that I was poking around to find the Crocus that grow by the car port.  I was unhooking the hoses when I used them so that if it froze I would not lose the hydrant.  I was going to have a yard sale!  What happened with that?  Course I was going to have one of those last year and did not make it.  I did not even get the things that keep your neck cool made for the migrant workers.  Were there any migrant workers?  Are tomatoes ready to be canned?  This year went by so fast!

Wait a minute!  My whole life has gone by like a blur!  I am now old.  At least I think I am old.  I do not feel old, but I look at the obituaries daily in hopes my name is there and find people way younger than me.  My great grandmother lived to be 104 and until the last month of her life she was puttering in Aunt Mabel's kitchen and had all her wits about her.  On that scenario I could be looking at another 30 years.  Ah, come on, God!  Give me a break here!  That is a lot of putting on of the night gown and a lot of brushing of the teeth and filling the gas tank about 720 more times.  Let's put this in perspective here!

I have been a good girl, most of the time.  I have not killed anyone and tried to be honest.  I help my fellow man and can count on one finger how many times I have been drunk in the last 45 years.  I have pretty well followed the 10 commandments.  I do not steal, cheat or bear false witness, and pay my tithe at the church most of the time.  I am way too old to be dying young.

I guess I might as well accept things as they are.  That means I have to get dressed again today.  I have to pick the grandson up from pre-school and then the good part will begin.  5 hours later I will deliver him to his daddy and I will be worn to a frazzle.  I guess when it is all said and done, life is good.

But I hate to think that it is fall already, but the signs are all there!

Have a good one, because we never know when it will be our last one.

I love you!

When I say I love you, you must know that I also love ice cream and cake,  coffee, roses, a walk in the park and any number of things.  I love the preacher.  I love my dog and my cat. I love the soft rain on my face. You are not my exclusive love.  God did not put me on this earth for you alone, he put me here to brighten all the dark corners, to feed the hungry and to play with the children and the puppies.

I have had occasion to meet a complete stranger on the street and stand on the sidewalk talking for almost an hour about everything and nothing.  I have had lunch with someone I have known for 7 minutes and bared my soul to my fellow traveler and then walked away without even learning his name.  Two ships in the night.

Love is like a ring; it has no beginning and no end.

If you catch a butterfly and touch it's wings, it can not fly away.  I was your butterfly, but my wings remained untouched and I flew away.

A wise woman once told me "Love is not love until you give it away."  I have spent my life trying to give it all away and it just keeps coming back! A never ending circle.

If I love you, do not be afraid for it is all good and pure.

And if you love me, I will treasure it in my heart, I will nurture it, and when the time is right I will set it free!

Vincent's sand pit down the back road.

Back in my growing up days in Nickerson, it was hot!  Damned hot as a matter of fact.  And the humidity was high, which did not help at all.  Colorado is dry.  In Colorado I can shower and hang my towel on the hook and it will be dry in just a couple hours.  Not so in Kansas.  Not only was the towel still damp the next day, but it was starting to have a sour smell.  By day 3 it was mildewed.  Nasty stuff.

To survive the heat, we wore a minimum of clothes and tried to stay in the shade of a tree.  Being in the house was not much better, because air conditioning was pretty much non-existent.  Nickerson had no swimming pool as I recall and if they did we would not have been able to afford it.  So we were left with the Arkansas River, Cow Creek, Bull Creek and Vincent's Sand Pit.  Mummy's had a sand pit on the other end of town, but we were not allowed in there.  It was a functioning business and Vincent's was not.  And Vincent's was within walking distance.  Hey!  I just remembered, there was a sand pit about 3 blocks from the house.  I do not recall whether it was a working pit or not, but it seems way back in my little mind that the owners child had fallen in and drowned, so it was not open any more.  (This may or may not be true because my 70 years prior memories tend to become rather distorted.)

Back to Vincent's Sand Pit.  I have been deathly afraid of water my entire life.  I do not know why, only that I was and still am.  (I did go many years back to the YWCA heated pool and took swimming lessons so if I were to fall in I would know to roll over and relax and float until some friendly passerby could rescue me.  Hopefully!)  Consequently, I did not swim in the sand pit and to my clearest memory, I only visited it once.  It seems it was about a mile or so from the house and beyond the cemetery.  I recall running barefoot down the road which was very sandy and the sand was very hot!  Jake rode his bike and I ran behind.

Vincent's Sand Pit was also a favorite fishing spot.  It must be a lot like Beemer Lake in Lakin, Kansas.  Usually the fishermen came later in the day or very early in the morning.  Fish rarely bite in the heat of the day.  We had a pint jar half full with water and a pop bottle suspended upside down so the opening just touched the water.  When the water was sucked up it the neck of the bottle, it meant the fish were biting.  If it was not raised, you might as well stay home.  When I married Kenneth we fished a lot, so I set one of those on the window sill in the kitchen.  When he asked me what that was for, I told him.  It was then I learned that it was actually a crude barometer and I could save myself a lot of watchin if I just walked over and looked at the barometer on the wall!  Duh!

As we set here, gripped in a heat wave, I flash back to the early days in Nickerson and thank the good Lord for central air.  Nickerson was home for all my formative years, but as much as I yearn for those carefree days, I do certainly enjoy the convenience of running water, electricity, inside plumbing, and central air.

So I live vicariously in my childhood memories.  I set in my 72 degree house while the sun beats down outside on the thermometer now reading 101.  I miss the days of sand pits and sand hill plums, and I thank the man upstairs for giving me a childhood that can make me empathetic to the people I serve today.  There is not a night that I do not lay in my bed and count my blessings, and growing up in Nickerson, Kansas has made me the woman I am today and for that  I thank God!  

Mother, Aunt Helen, Werthers Originals , and a very high curb!

My mother died when she was 80.  At the time she was living with my sister, Dorothy.  Dorothy has since joined Mother on the other side, but prior to that Mother lived in a small 1 bedroom apartment on 15th Circle near my sister Donna.  Lordie!  that was a long time ago.  I managed to travel from Pueblo to Huchinson 3 or 4 times a year. I would spend a few days and then back to Colorado.

Now let me elaborate on the title of this missive.  I am not sure exactly how Aunt Helen was my Aunt and not even sure she was.  I do know that Aunt Helen and Uncle Skinny had been in my life when I was in first or second grade in Nickerson.  They were very rich.  Aunt Helen gave me my first and only store bought dress.  It was gray/green over glaze cotton with a white collar and a string tie around the neck with 2 daisies on the ends of the tie.  I wore it until I could no longer get it on.  They also gave me a brownie uniform and paid my dues for one year.  That was a waste of money, because I sure did not fit in with those girls and I only attended one or 2 meetings.  Mother gave the uniform to some one who gave it to someone who would wear it and attend meetings. The gray/green dress ended up in a rag rug.  But I digress.

When I would go to visit mother it was a big deal that my Aunt Helen looked forward to with anticipation.  Uncle Skinny had died by then and Aunt Helen was now alone since they had never had children.  They did have a niece named Paralee who was a school teacher.  She was married and had a daughter and maybe other kids.  To the best of my knowledge Paralee was my cousin.  Or mother's cousin.  Or some shirttail relation anyway.

Back to Aunt Helen.  She visited mother several times a year.  She did not like to drive the "damn big boat of a Cadillac", and for the most part, did not need to leave home.  Ah, but a visit to Christine was something she would drive for.  And when she arrived she would produce from her enormous purse, a bag of Werther Original Caramels.  No other kind would do!  It was those or nothing and be hell and damned that she would arrive for a visit empty handed.  Hell and High water would not stop her from bringing those every time she came.  And she would not leave until every one of them had been eaten.

On one of my later visits, she was late arriving.  Where could she be?  Mother thought she might have became confused and sent Donna  ( I think it was Donna) and I out to the parking area in front of the condominiums  to see if she had gotten "confused".  It just was not like her to be late and she was now over 90 years old and had been known to get a little confused when in a strange area.  She was not in front of the area mother had been designated as hers.  We started up the street and were soon rewarded with the sight of the big green and cream Cadillac coming out of one of the parking areas up the street.  As we watched, it got back on the street and proceeded to turn into another parking lot, or at least attempt to turn in.  She was trying to turn left between the entrance and the exit.  Sadly the curb was in the way.  As she backed up to make another charge at it, she seen us and immediately turned the car in our direction.  Donna and I, fearing for our lives, made a run into mothers parking lot, with her hot on our tail and the Cadillac roared toward us.  I am not sure, but I think Donna was making the sign of the cross on her head and chest.  Hell!  We are not even Catholics!

By her second run at the curb, I had managed to get the door open and leapt in the car.  She smiled at me, her innocent smile of the patron Aunt.  "Oh, dear!  Why do the make these parking lots so hard to get into?  I got confused and tried to go into the wrong one.  My God!  They all look alike!  How are you dear?"

I talked her into getting out of the car and standing with Donna while I drove into the parking lot through the driveway.  Driveways sure make life easier.  Then we went inside and ate the carmels.  All of them!

I do not remember how long, but the next time I went, Aunt Helen was no longer driving.  I loaded mother up and we went to Aunt Helen's house.  Her little dog had been run over and she showed me the pictures of his dead body.  Then we set in the parlor to visit and in front of us was a bowl or Werther's Original Caramels.  We ate them all!

That was the last time I saw Aunt Helen before her death.  I still have only the fondest memories of those days.  Paralee died young.  In my family we either die young or live forever.  I am afraid I will fall in the latter category, but I will never live long enough to not think of my dear Aunt Helen when someone offers me a caramel.  I never buy them.  I should, because it would be my favorite comfort food.  I will never eat one without the memories of the comradery around the kitchen table on 15th Circle in Hutchinson, Kansas all those long years ago.

Some memories never leave us and they come me at the damndest  times.  There are only the two of us left.  I will try to get down to see Donna some time this winter.  There just does not seem to be enough time to do any thing any more, but I do think I will make time for that visit.  We just never know when we will get up in the morning and not make it to our bed at night, so we should try to make all our words kind, all our actions meaningful and all our thoughts good ones.

Life is far to short.