How would you like to live in my head?

I woke up this morning with this song by Frankie Laine playing in my head and  thinking of when I left my first husband.  I do not for the life of me know why he had picked this song out of all the songs in circulation to describe me.  I certainly did not feel like a temptress of any sort as I loaded my worldly belongings in the trunk of a green 1957 (?) Chevrolet Belair.  Nor did I shine with pride as I backed the car down the driveway .  All the kids were jumping up and down in the back seat.  As I look back on that day I realize just how many things have changed.

I would be required by law to have everyone of them in a car seat.  That is a good thing that has happened.  I stopped and filled the car with gas and then pulled onto 50 Hwy heading east.  There were several stops along the road so the kids could pee.  Tiny bladders do not understand waiting until a rest area is available.  That was alright, because traffic was light at that time.  Very few cars were going any distance and we were on a 200 mile trip.  At some point I pulled out a package of bologna and a loaf of bread and we had a picnic.  And that evening we pulled into my mothers yard.  My new life was beginning.  Thank God for my mother.

The next morning I faced the fact that I was now on my own and I had a family that needed both a place to live and food to eat.  I knew my husband would not help me in any way.  In his reasoning, I was the one who wanted out, so it was my responsibility to provide a place to live and everything that this little brood of mine required.  I had no skills and no training, but I did have a will to work.

Years ago I had worked at Skaets Steak Shop as a dishwasher, so I went there.  I was immediately hired so I had my foot in the door. I knew if I was going to survive that I could not do it on a dishwashers wages.  So a part of my first paycheck went to purchase a white uniform.  That was standard attire for a waitress back then.  White uniform and white "waitress" shoes.  And a bottle of shoe polish.  With those things in hand I went into the Red Rooster Restaurant and told them I was experienced.  I was hired on the spot.

So I waitressed at the Red Rooster in the day and Skaets at night.  It was at the Red Rooster  that I met a young man who would turn out to be a very good friend of mine and teach me acceptance of all things.  We remained friends until his death.  It is because of Gibby that I became an AIDS activist. I have always thought people are placed in our lives for a reason and we will learn from them if we are open.

Soon I had money to rent a little house.  Working 2 full time jobs left me in a stupor most of the time.  So on my way home one day and on the spur of the moment, I stopped at the Red Carpet Resturant.  I knew waitress work did not pay as steady as cook wages, so I applied for a cook's postition.  I had never even been near a grill in my life, but being a good liar, I landed the job.  I quit the Red Rooster and Skaets Steak Shop and went full time at the Red Carpet.  That job actually paid insurance!  I worked from 2 until 10 at night.  Fry cook was fast, hard work and I loved it.  But I knew that the heart of any restaurant rested in the hands of the dinner cook.  That was my next move.  When Emily quit I stepped into her shoes.

It was then that I learned how to cook in quantity.  I was still fry cook and cooked the orders, but I also made all the gravies, sauces, potatoes, and home cooked meals.  I also made the dinner rolls, cinnamon rolls, hash browns, French fries and anything else required to fill the steam table.  I came back at night and backed up the fry cook.  I hired a live in girl to watch the kids.  Now, this is all background and has nothing to do with what I had on my mind when I started this entry.  I was thinking about uniforms.

When I go into a restaurant now, it is anybody's guess what the cook or the waitress (or wait person) will be wearing.  Usually it is some sort of t-shirt or shirts that have a logo on them.  Back in the day, the waitress could have left the place of preparing and serving food and gone to work at her second job as a nurse.  Waitresses wore clean, white, starched uniforms.  They wore white, polished, lace up shoes.  Sometimes the owner furnished an apron with the logo of the place on it.  Nurses wore little white hats and that was the only difference.  Time was spent every night getting the uniform ready for the next days work.  A dingy uniform would get you sent home.  A spot that would not come out better be painted with shoe polish, because a spot meant you were dirty and you were a food handler after all.

Oh, and the smoking thing!  Every table, booth or stool had an ash tray.  Some times the blue smoke hung in the air until I thought I would choke.  It was better when I was cooking because I could keep the ash tray on the shelf between the grill and the french fryier.  The smoke was pulled up into the exhaust fan and if I was careful and did not drop ashes on the grill it was a good day.

 As you know, that all changed and the ash trays are now collectors items.  White uniforms are not to be seen any where and the white shoes are definitely a thing of the past.  The kids are grown and gone.  The husband is long since deceased.

But my mind still clings to the old days.  I go back home and my sister and her partner own Skaets Steak Shop.  I watch the cook and I watch the waitresses and I wonder if I could work an 8 hour shift now.  I rather doubt it.  They do tell me that anytime I want to move back they will find a place for me.  That gives me pause, but I think I am better off just staying here where I am and doing whatever it is I do.  At least when my back hurts I can set in my chair and when my head nods and I dose off, nobody is disappointed.

By all intents and purposes I should be lonely, but I am not.  I have the cat and the dog.  I have the geese and the weeds.  I have the sun in the morning and the moon at night.  ( I guess you know to click on anything underlined and printed in blue.)

The dog, the cat and the little old lady.

OK.  You win!  I suddenly came to the realization that I have become a little old lady who talks to her dog.  Not only do I talk to the dog, but I speak in complete, grammatically correct sentences.  And that is not the worst part.  What suddenly caught my attention was when I found myself waiting for the dog to answer.  Now I have always talked to the cat, but the cat and I have a special relationship.  The dog is a different matter.

You see, cat's are people oriented  and can in reality go crazy if they are closed up with no human contact.  They appear to be very aloof and not in need of human companionship, but they are phonies to the max.  My cat sleeps with me.  All night in the bed, just she and I.  In the morning I give her a treat for being such a good cat ant we then set down at the computer to write or check ebay or what ever.  She sets on the keyboard.  She is very independent, but clingy at the same time.  It is hard to type when she is stretched out on the keyboard, but it can be done.  I know if I try to move her I am going to get bit.  That is just a given.  It is best to let her get tired of laying on the keyboard and wander off to some other time and place.

The dog is another story.  He is currently at my feet and wide awake.  When I peer down at him he cocks his little head.  Sometimes I move my lips and he thinks I am talking and he can't hear me.  I always feel a little guilty when I do that because he is such a devoted little cuss and he does not want to miss a word.  (God grant me the ability to say something intelligent from time to time so the dog does not lose faith in me.)

Now, I know I have a lot of friends out there so I am going to ask you a question and I want an honest answer.  Do you talk to your animals?  If so, what do you talk about?  Do you think your animals understand what you are saying?  I have noticed that when I talk to the cat, I have a more moderate and mellow voice and I discuss mostly political stuff or church stuff or things that really don't matter.

It is different with the dog.  I become more animated and the dog gets more excited.  I can actually get him to jump around by changing the inflections in my voice.  If I speak in a monotone, the dog just looks at me, but if I appear excited, he starts to jump around.

From all of this I have drawn one conclusion...I really need to get a life.  Maybe I need a boyfriend.  Now I am rethinking the boyfriend.  I am a little old for that.  Man friend.  But not to old.  And he is sure going to have to like dogs and cats.  Oh, yeah and geese.  And the neighbors goats.  And I hope he can cook and carry on a two sided conversation. Or at least beat me at Jeopardy! occasionally.  Or at least be a gracious loser.

It has been a really long day.

Modern technology may be my downfall.

I just came through a weekend that was very trying.  On Friday my cell phone decided to freeze up.  Being tech savvy, (sort of anyway) I took the battery out and left it on the counter for 10 minutes.  I then put it back in and closed the cover.  Nothing.  I changed chargers and charged it some more.  All this time I got absolutely nothing except the name of the phone on the front.  I tried taking the battery out again.  I held the power key down.  Nothing worked.  I did not panic because I still had the house phone.   And then it rained on Saturday evening.

Now the house phone did not work.  That happens every time we have a deluge.  No problem.  I still had the Internet.  I contacted Century Link and told them I had no house phone.  They made arrangements to come on Tuesday and asked for a way to communicate, meaning an alternate phone number.  It is hard to explain to some one that you are telling them via chat that you have no phone they can call.  So I gave them Mikie's number knowing full well he would be out of town with no way to contact me.  But they asked.

I was still able to communicate via facebook.  For the first time in my life I was really thankful for social media.  Monday morning I got up knowing I still had facebook.  Not!  The Internet was now down.  Luckily the phone line had dried out and I now had that means of communication.  And then God sent me a miracle.  The house phone now had a dial tone!  Course the cell phone was laying there with it's guts spread across the counter and the word "Pantech" glowing on the screen.

As luck would have it, by the time I got back from town I had a message on the house phone that the technician would be able to come a day early!  And the Internet was back up.  Sadly the cell phone had now lost even it's name.  To make a long story short, the Century Link man came and I explained about the phone going dead when it rains.  He worked some of his magic up on the corner and said that should take care of that problem.  And I now have a direct line to call for help.  Hooray.

You should know that I never gave up on the cell phone.  I kept fiddling with it and holding different buttons.  At one point I actually got a message in tiny, tiny type that said "Do you want to reboot your phone?"  Oh, hell yes!  I was able to select my option and immediately a big picture of a forest came up and the words, "YOU ARE ENTERING AREA 51 (or o57) DO YOU WANT TO CONTINUE?"  I pressed the power key to select and that was the last thing the phone ever did.  Apparently it is out there some where doing something.

I called the cell phone carrier and by the end of the week I will have a new phone.  Hooray!  And last night my son called.  I told him about my problems and when I explained that the cell phone was toast he said "Do you have a smart phone?"  I told him "It can't be very damn smart because it can not turn itself on!"

He thought I should do a blog about this, so here it is.  Today I am content with only some of my technology working.  I have a house phone.  I have the Internet.  I have a dog and a cat.  I feel like Judy Garland!      https://youtu.be/SrUuHutYlj8

Have a good one.

South of Nickerson?

When dad worked for John Britain, it seems like the farm was South of Nickerson.  When I look at a map of anywhere, I immediately become directionally challenged.  Seems the only time I was sure which way I was going was when we pulled off of 50 Highway into South Hutch, crossed the river and drove North on Adams to mom's place on Jackson.  When we left Hutch to head west to Colorado, I was fine.  As long as the sun was in my eyes and I knew what time it was, I was good to go.  When we pulled into Pueblo, I was fine in my house, but when I leave, it is God only knows what direction I am headed.

So when I talk about across the river in Nickerson, I am pretty sure it was south of town.  The only time my dad had much to do with me was when he took me, and sometimes Jake, to John Britain's farm when he went to work.  It was not really a farm, it was an acreage that was used to grow crops.  The crop it grew was wheat.  When the rains came, there was a slough that filled with water and ran across the land.  Jake and I liked to play there and he built little wooden boats for me.  Jake was actually 4 years older than me.  I think his job was to keep me amused while dad was busy doing whatever it was he did.  I think it must have been either planting the wheat or getting the tractors and combines in running order for when the harvest came.

The day for going to the farm was always planned well ahead, as was the date of harvest.  I have always been fascinated with the wheat because that was at that time the mainstay of Kansas agriculture.  The fields would turn green in the springtime of the year and everyone watched the progress of the tiny green shoots.  They soon covered the ground and then began to grow upward towards the sun.  The fields were checked regularly for progress and soon the wheat would begin to "head out".   As it began to turn from green to an amber and then to dry, it was checked more often.  Dad would rub a head between his hands to determine several things.  One was how full the head was.  Another was how dry the wheat kernels were.  And then the time came that he and John determined that it was ready and harvest would be in so many days.  And then the work began.

The combine was greased and readied for the field.  Trucks were lined up and every man, woman and child had a job to do.  Dad and John ran combines.  Mother drove a truck.  I remember that one year she had to take one of the younger girls with her (I think it was Mary, but it could have been Dorothy.) She had to work.  Josephine stayed home with us younger kids.  Hell, she was just a kid herself, but that was back in the days when about the only thing to worry about was starving to death.  Jake carried fresh water to the workers.  He had to pump it with a hand pump on a well in the yard.  Somebody brought sandwiches at noon and again at night to keep the job going.  The process was slow and the old trucks crept into town and lined up with the other farm trucks to dump their grain in the elevator.  I never knew how they kept it all straight, but some how it worked.

Harvest is a damn serious business in wheat country.  I think now it has been mostly taken over by custom harvesters.  The farmers just have to be able to predict a year ahead to know when their crop will be ready.  They plant in cycles which vary by just a few days depending on who your harvester is.

Somehow it never left my mind and when I go down in the Spring, I watch to see how far along the wheat crop is.  If I go later in the fall the fields looked like they were raped.  And then winter the fields are barren.  I am not sure, but I think they used to plant in the fall and then graze cattle on it.  Then the wheat would "spool" and make double or triple the crop.  One seed would produce several stalks of wheat in the spring.  Not real sure about that because my job was to play in the dirt and watch the chickens lay eggs.

I have been gone from Kansas over half of my life, but some how I know life is going on without me.  Out here, I watch the chile pepper plants and the workers in the fields bending over in the hot sun, nurturing the plants that are so vital to this area.  Home is where the heart is and sometimes I wonder just where my heart actually lives.

It is a conundrum! 

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.