The road not taken.

 As I recall Robert Frost wrote something like this, "Two roads converged in the yellow woods and I took the one less traveled and it made all the difference."  I think that is pretty close.  But if you stop and think about his poem, it pretty well mirrors our lives, at least mine.

When I left high school for the real world, I was dating a boy named Gene.  He joined the Army and I pledged to wait for him.  Of course I did not.  He sent me a silk pillow from Germany, but by the time it arrived, I was married to my first husband.  After 10 years I returned to Hutchinson and several years later I was given the opportunity to host a television segment in eastern Kansas. Not wanting to uproot myself and my little family  I opted out of that move.  So all these years later here I set in Pueblo, Colorado.   I am not sure how it happened, but 40 odd years slipped away from me and left me here an old woman with kids that live some where else and a 2400 square foot home on an acre of ground to amuse myself with by trying to keep the weeds from taking the place. 

I do sometimes think back to the road I did not take and wonder where I would be had I married Gene when he came home.  Would we have lived happily ever after?  I rather doubt it.  I did not really know much about him except that he lived in the south part of town with his mother and sister.  I close my eyes and try to picture him and I come up blank.  I think he had brown eyes and I know he had a buzz cut because he was in the Army.  I always wanted to marry a sailor so I do not know how I ended up with a soldier.  Guess he was the one who asked me!   Duane Seeger came into my life as a friend of my brother Jake's.  And three weeks after I was introduced to him, we were in front of the minister at the Presbyterian church down on Sherman Street.  But then I did not end up with him, did I?  No, my last husband was  Marine.  

I do like my life because I do not have a lot of roads to choose to take.  I am here.  I am settled and I am too old to want a lot of changes.  Occasionally I think of uprooting and moving back to Hutchinson, or Nickerson, but having to do the actual selling and uprooting is just more than I am able to fathom.  

I like to think I have aged gracefully, but I am not sure that is exactly how it happened!  What I think is that I married Kenny and he gave me my first real home.  So, I took root.  When I lost him 20 years later, I still had kids at home.  That gave me a reason to stay put.  I began doing charity work and then the kids grew up and soon the last one was in love and moving out and here I set.  I do look back at the roads that brought me to this little acre out here on the Mesa and wonder if I could go back, would I do anything different?

I think not.  I think I may actually be turning into a recluse.  I am invited out to eat, because that is the one thing we all do for sure, but I rarely go.  It is just easier to get up in the morning and slip into something comfy and try to figure out what I should do today.  One day turns into another and before I know it, I am off to church again, and then it starts the whole thing again.  Sometimes the tedium is broken by the need to buy goose food, or replenish my own supply of whatever it is I am eating this week.

For several years I volunteered at hospice and I think about returning to that venue, but I do not drive at night and people tend to want to die at night, so that is pretty well out the door.  I do have a grandbaby a couple days out of the month which definitely breaks the monotony of my solitary existence.  And sometimes I go to lunch with a lady friend.  Even went shopping one time with Kay.  But other than that, the sun comes up, I sleep through Jeopardy!, the sun goes down and then I go to bed.

So when it comes to taking another road, that is pretty much a moot point!  I am doing very well staying on the path I am on at this time!  So, Mr. Robert Frost, I wonder what you decided?  If you had it to do all over again, would you?  Would I?  Would anyone?

I recall a conversation with my mother once and it went like this:

"Why does she put up with his bullshit?  Why doesn't she just leave?"  And mother, in her infinite wisdom said this....  "It is like setting in a pile of warm shit.  As long as you are in it, you are warm, but if you try to move out of it you find it is cold and smelly as you move away.  So it is just easier to set there and not move."

So, I think whatever road I took, it still would have brought me here!  Been a lot of twists and turns, and bumps and tumbles, but I am here, I am warm, and I am not leaving!

Red Carpet Restaurant way back when.

I worked at the Red Carpet shortly after I arrived bag and baggage with my kids on my mothers door step.  I had no experience at much of anything except having babies and being a punching bag for some man.  I had 2 jobs at the time.  One was washing dishes in the middle of the night at the Blue Grill and the other was waiting tables at Skaets Steak Shop evenings.  Neither paid enough to live on and pay a baby sitter so when I saw the ad that Bob Bailey would train someone to cook, I was all over that.  

I took my 97 pound self down to 13th and Main and he and I came to a consensus that I needed a job and he needed someone to do things his way.  A match made in heaven began and I began my life as a short order cook working evenings.  Soon I was adding skills such as baking bread, then baking wedding cakes and then decorating wedding cakes.  Next came meat cutting.  Then the morning cook quit and I moved into her position.  It paid better.  I made all the gravies, sauces and such as well as specials such as chicken and noodles with noodles made fresh.  I was in my element.  But this is not about me, it is about a lady who worked as the salad "girl" and it is about domestic violence.

I will not use her name.  She was a very timid woman and always on time for work and left reluctantly when her shift was over.  She rarely smiled and seldom had anything to say.  I will call her "Nadine".  Nadine had a husband and 3 daughters ranging from 12 to seventeen.  Since we worked side by side and we had lulls in the work we talked a little.  She was married to a construction worker.  Big, handsome man who brought her to work and picked her up after.  

I began to notice that she sometimes had bruises on her arms and once a black eye.  She explained that she had "fallen"  or pulled a pan down on her head, or some other "accident."  I also caught the smell of alcohol a time or two.  Oh, that was her mouthwash that smelled like alcohol.  She had tripped and fallen.  Always something that was her own fault.

I had been to her home a time or two when I was just passing by and stopped.  Her husband was always home and he was always charming.  Nadine was like a little mouse around him.  I never dreamed what her life was really like, but I would soon learn.

One morning she came in looking like the wrath of God.  She was very subdued and her right arm hung like it was not part of her body.  I finally called her husband and he came and picked her up and took her to the emergency room.  Her arm was broken!  How had that happened?  She said she had fallen on the concrete porch that morning on her way to the truck to come to work.  

Since she could not work, she did not come in the restaurant.  I did drive out to see her, but she was always subdued and her husband was always home.  I do not know when he actually worked, but she said he did.  Several weeks went by before I got back to see her.  This time when I arrived she was in a bed in the front room unable to speak.  Her husband explained that she had suffered a stroke.  I figured he should know.

It was not until her daughter showed up on my doorstep one evening that I learned the dirty little secret that she had hidden so long.  She told me her dad had beaten her mother and that was why her arm was broken.  She said it had been going on for years and the last beating had given her a brain injury and she could not talk any more.  The daughter was afraid of her dad and afraid for herself and her sisters.  Now, I am no stranger to domestic violence, but this was a whole new level and I was at a loss for an action to take because the daughter was afraid to go to the police because they would "not beleive her".  She was right!

That is how it was back in those days.  A man could beat his horse, his dog, or his wife.  He could beat his kids and that was just how it was.  I am glad to see that things have changed and women are now actually humans with feelings, but that was then and this is now!

To wind this up, Nadine died in her bed shortly after her daughter had come to see me.  There was no funeral.  Her life was sad and her husband pretty well got away with murder.  If I could go back to that time in my life, would I do things differently?  I doubt it.  Until the laws were changed and women were no longer chattel there was nothing that could be done.  If  Nadine had presented herself battered and bleeding to the police station, maybe she could have been saved, but she "loved him" and did not want him to get in trouble.  So ends the tale.

I worked at the Red Carpet for 5 years leaving there when I opened my own restaurant and then moving to Colorado.  My Red Carpet experience gave me the skills I needed to survive on my own out here in Pueblo.  Nadine gave me the strength to leave an abusive marriage.  We all learn little lessons as we traverse this path called "life".  I like to think that my life in Kansas made me the empathetic woman that I am today.  

My late husband knew what my life had been back then, because I told him.  It made him sad, but then my mother explained it to him this way:  "We are all a product of where we have been and what we have done before.  What does not kill you will make you strong and that is what makes Louella who she is today."  

And that is how it goes here in my world.  I thank God every day that I came to Colorado and that my God allowed me to survive to be in my little house with no broken bones and memories of only the good times.

Everything in its time and place!

It was all woman's work!

 I have been over the hill and on the downward slide for many years now and I have learned many things.  The first lesson as a bride at the tender age of 19 was that a woman's job was cooking, cleaning, and figuring out how to budget with no money, because the paycheck never made it past the bar where it was cashed. My first husband was a tree trimmer and as such there were no fringe benefits and of course no insurance of any kind.  No job security because it was also his job to knock on doors and convince the homeowner that their trees needed his expert care and their car payment could wait.  He was good at his job!

It was also known that as "man of the house" he was the only one who knew what the finances were and he would take me to the grocery store and pay for what he thought we needed to survive. This same thought process carried over into the bedroom where birth control was unheard of because after all, his mom had 12 babies.  OK.  Enough said about that!

We were married for 10 years and the first two years were spent with him pointing out to me that I was barren and he wanted a baby.  That was all he wanted, a baby.  Well, actually a son.  He wanted a son.  I was sent to every doctor who had room for another patient and came home with the same verdict, "No reason why you can not get pregnant."  One doctor even hinted that perhaps my husband was sterile and he would like to test his sperm.  That went over like a proverbial "turd in a punch bowl.   So, I gave up.  Bad mistake!  I immediately got pregnant!

 Nine months later I had a daughter.  He had clearly told me he wanted a son and I had ignored him!  Ticked him off royally.  Now, you should know that back in those days, men were not allowed in the delivery room so the best thing to do was drop the old gal off at the front door of the hospital and then call later to see if the wife was still alive and had she had that kid yet.  And most importantly, when could I come home as there were chores needing my attention!  So much for love.

A year and a half later I had a daughter.  

A year  and one month later I had a daughter.

11 months later he finally got a son.  HE.  Not me.  HIM.  Finally I had gotten it through my thick head that he wanted a son.  Silly me!

If I had thought that having a son gave me any status in his eyes, you are sadly mistaken.  Having a son was not all it was cracked up to be because the little boy needed diapers changed and he needed fed with a tiny spoon and a bath and all that was in addition to the needs of the first 3 girls.  So the care of 4 children the oldest of which was 5 years old fell squarely on my shoulders.  He was an "old school" father and his dad never touched him, so he never touched his kids.  I have one picture of him holding Debbie and talk about a man looking out of place!

The marriage survived for ten years total.  There was one more baby, another girl.  Upon divorcing, I got the kids.  He did not pay child support because his reasoning mind said "You have the kids.  I have nothing.  Why should I pay you?  You should pay me!"  And in my co-dependent mind, that all made sense.

Sadly, death called him early.  He was only 50 years old.  I left Kansas in 1973 and have been in Colorado now for over 50 years.  This is my home.  I think sometimes about moving back.  Where is "back"?  Would it be Nickerson where I grew up?  Hutchinson where most of my kids were born?  Or Garden City where they were toddlers and we lived in furnished apartments and drove a car we bought for $35 off a car lot on a side street? 

I look out every morning through my east facing window and think about Kansas.  I see the sun shining brightly and think of "home."  And then in the evening I see the same sun setting across the Rocky Mountains and I smile.  This is home.  This has been home for 50 years and I am sure when God reaches down and pulls the curtain closed on my life he will lift me up, up, up and I will look down at the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and I will know where my home was, is and will forever be!

Always know that when God closes a door, he opens a window!

Peace....

Hook, line and sinker!

 My eyes popped open before 5:00 am, and I lay there thinking of my first husband.  Now, I was not thinking of him in a romantic way, but rather as how he lived his life in a way that he wanted.  To say he was a rebel would be an understatement, because he did not rebel.  He just lived his life the way he wanted to and never bothered with the rules society tried to place around him.  My brother introduced me to him in the bar up the street and 3 weeks later we were standing in front of the preacher.  To say he swept me off my feet would have been an understatement, but there we were.  Of course it all ended up badly, but there were good times and that is what I am thinking this morning.

One of his favorite things was to drive the back roads and just do what came naturally.  There was always several guns in the back seat and fishing poles in the trunk.  His motto was "Be prepared."  I guess he may have been a boy scout at some time! If a pheasant made the mistake of stepping out of the ground cover it was dinner.  I spent many hours picking buckshot out of a pheasant breast so I could cook it for supper, or dinner, or breakfast.

And while the pheasants, doves, and rabbits were not my favorite fare it was rather exciting to know that we were breaking the law because not only were they out of season, Duane never procured a hunting license in all the years I knew him.  You should know that I participated in the hunt as a spectator.  Now don't get me wrong as to the killing of animals.  I could rip the head off a chicken, dip it in scalding water, defeather and gut it in seven minutes flat, but a chicken caught with a wire hook and butchered was a way of life.  Killing a beautiful pheasant was another story!  Survival.

While driving we often came to a creek, river, brook or an unattended farm pond that was stocked with fish.  I could fish!  A babbling brook was my favorite as it contained Crappie!  A creek, lake, pond or river were sure to hold catfish which was my least favorite eating fish.  Perch were fun to catch, but very bony.  Ah, but the Crappie was a delight!  Now it is pronounced with a soft "a" as in awe.  They are small and much like a Perch, but a Perch is very boney and fishy tasting.  The Crappie is a white meat and very mild.  They like running water and a "fly" is the best bait.  When they strike the lure it is a thrill like no other.  With catfish you have to set very quietly and wait until they are damn good and ready, but while you think  you are snagging a Crappie, he is snagging you!

When I married Kenny, we fished out of a boat.  In Colorado trout are abundant, so that is what we fished for.  Kenny would clean the trout, pack the stomach area with butter and roll it in flour and wrap it in tinfoil.  The packet was then placed on the cooling coals of the campfire.  Talk about the good life!

Several years back  I bought a tackle box, fishing pole and all the stuff to fish with on the river.  I never went.  I did tie a weight on the end of my line and practiced my cast, but that is as far as it went.  Maybe I just got old along the way, but something about setting on a lonely creek bank went from being peaceful and fulfilling to hoping no one comes along and kills me.  Old age!  I friggin' hate it, but I guess it beats hell out of dying young, which was the option I did not take.

So, the fish I eat now comes in a bag and is labeled as "farm raised".  I do not have to gut it, or skin it, or debone it.  Just take it out of the package, thaw it out and pop it in the microwave with butter, lemon, and a little dill.  Course I have to put my dishes in the dishwasher and then kick back in my recliner and remember the good old days!

Makes me think of that song I have playing in my head.  "I'd trade all of my tomorrows for a single yesterday."

Peace.

Money tied in the corner of a handkerchief.

I remember only snippets of life on the Stroh place because I was 6 years old when we left there, but I do remember my very first trip to the grocery store alone.  Looking back I realize it must have been 6 or seven blocks one way which would make it about a mile round trip.  Back in those days most errands were done without the benefit of a motor vehicle because if we had one we did not want to "wear it out" doing menial things like going to the grocery.

I remember mother placing some coins on top of the grocery list and tying  them into the corner of a tattered handkerchief.  That was what served as a coin purse back in the days of abject poverty.  I had walked to the store many times with mother and my sisters, but for some reason this would be my first trip alone.  I expect sister Dorothy was either newly born or about to be and momma needed something from the store for supper.

I clutched the handkerchief  in my little fist and began the journey.  I was familiar with our long driveway so that was no problem.  Jake and I ran up and down it many times barefoot in the soft, silty black dirt.  It was under the tree at the start of the driveway that Donna had gotten a turtle latched on to her finger, but I think I told you about that!  What lay ahead was a long block before I got to Main Street where I would be safe.

I entered that block very slowly because on the right side was a big black cow (which was no doubt a bull) that looked at me with huge black eyes.  He watched my slow progress as I never took my eyes off of him for fear he would jump the fence and eat me.  His horns were long and I knew he was going to be there when I came back so I did not want to make him mad.  I did not see his teeth, but I knew he had them because he was chewing.  I was flooded with relief  when I reached the end of his fence and safety!

The next block had 3 houses before I got to Main Street.  I walked quietly and slowly in case there was a mean dog that wanted to eat me.  As I recall there was not and I reached the safety of Main Street.  Why I thought I would be safe on Main Street is beyond me because I still had the railroad tracks to cross, but Main Street and the Nickerson High School was a beacon to me.  With the giant cow and his big teeth behind me I breathed a sigh of relief, and turned right onto Main Street.  Two blocks passed without incident and there was no train.  I was almost there!

Arriving at the downtown area which was 2 blocks long was monumental to me!  I was only 2 blocks from my goal!  I remember looking in the window at the Library and seeing all the books.  Then Corrington Dry Goods had a dress in the window that I knew my mother would never own.  Then the jail which I walked past very quickly lest a bad guy grab me.  The sheriff was on his chair in front of the door.  He had the chair leaned back against the door and was sound asleep.  The bank was next and then Berridge IGA, but I was going to Flemings.  The drug store was on the corner and across the street I reached Flemings Grocery.  

I handed the handkerchief to the lady at the counter like mother had told me to do.  She opened it and went to fetch the items.  Seems like it was a loaf of bread, a piece of suet, and a portion of butter.  She handed me the parcel with the now empty handkerchief, smiled and I left the store.  My job was almost over!  

The trip home was uneventful until I reached the railroad track.  I saw the arms go down on the crossing and I knew the train was coming!  If I hurried I could make it, but fear froze me in place and I waited by the grain elevator until until the train lumbered past and the arms were once more raised.  Then I waited a little longer just to be sure it was not coming back.  And I still had the giant cow to pass.

I left Main Street and walked as quietly as possible, but that damn cow had supersonic hearing and when I reached his fence I was scared shitless to see that he was looking right at me.  He was waiting.  My mind raced for another way home, but there was nothing coming to mind.  He looked at me and chewed something that I would learn later was a cud.  He never took his eyes off me and after a time I knew I had to go past him again.  Every watch something move so slowly that you never really detected  movement?  That was me!  Looking back and watching this is slow motion from the cows perspective, I am pretty sure he was laughing his ass off, if cows laugh!

When I reached the head of our driveway I broke into a dead run.  When I burst through the door and into my mothers arms I also burst into tears.  I was safe at home!  The mean cow had not eaten me!  The train had not run over me!  I had not been devoured by a vicious dog!  And best of all my mother was proud that I had gone to the store all alone and came home with exactly what she needed.  

I realize now that my mother had probably been more worried about me, then I was. It was my first tremulous step into being a responsible person, but it would not be my last.  Life would always hold challenges and I would always know that at the end of the task my mother would be there with open arms and pride in her hazel eyes for me.

I have met many people through life who have cheered me on and celebrated my victories and wept at my failures, but none as special as the one I called  "Momma."

Those damn Muscovy Ducks!

 

Thinking back to Nickerson is impossible without remembering the stinking ducks.  Let me lay the scene out for you.  We had a sink in the kitchen and a hand pump to pump water for indoor use.  The drain consisted of a pipe that ran through the wall and extended about 10 feet into the back yard.  Beyond that was the rabbit hutches and further out the chicken house and yard.  The chicken yard was fenced and they had a very nice house.  Horse pen and barn were over to the left.  Ah, but the only thing not restrained were the Muscovy ducks.

As I recall, there were 4 of them.  Black and white.  Now a Muscovy duck is different than other ducks.  The Muscovy is a "warbler"  which means it sounds like an old man mumbling to himself.  As a general rule ducks are pretty quite and when they do talk it is a definite "quack".  I am pretty sure that the male ducks I had never uttered a sound and the females were quite vocal.

Another interesting point here is that domesticated ducks and geese do not fly.  The exception to that rule is the Muscovy, which can fly and I know this for a fact because at one point I had 38 ducks, 4 of which were Muscovy.  All the ducks liked to float around in the pond, but the Muscovy ducks liked to fly up to the house and set on my central air unit which was located (and still is) near my back door.  It became a regular chore to hose down the unit when they went back to the pond.

But back to Nickerson and the sink draining in the back yard.  It was the habit of the Muscovy ducks to root around in the mudhole that was created by the water draining onto the dirt in the back yard.  I am pretty sure that mosquitoes laid eggs in that water.  I do know when the ducks got through digging in the wet dirt that it was a very stinky mess.  Hindsight tells me that if the health department had ever seen that mess that they would have bulldozed the house, but that was then and this is now and there is not much anyone can do about that, is there?

Looking back down the years of growing up on Tobacco Road, it is a miracle that any of us survived, and yet here I am!  We all have scars that we got when we were wee tykes and I can now empathize with my mother.  My hat is off to that woman if only for the fact that she raised us all to adulthood without any loss of life.  There were 6 of us back then.  Now we are down to only two.  Donna lives in Hutchinson and I live in Pueblo.  

We gathered only for funerals, but now there are just the two of us, so that does not happen very often.  She actually thinks she is my big sister, so I just let her think that.  I do know that we remember our childhoods differently.  I see abject poverty and she recalls a very happy childhood.  She remembers a very kind father and I never met that man! 

The one thing mother did teach me was that we all have our own concept of reality.  Some of us see the glass half empty and some of us see it half full.  

I do not even remember having a glass!

The last thing at night.

 I see him the last thing every night and the first thing every morning.  He is on my dresser smiling the big smile I loved so much.  He has on his sun glasses because his eyes were sensitive.  He had migraine headaches and they helped him during the daylight hours.    When I wake up I come out to the office and he is smiling that same smile at me from my computer screen.  I speak of him now in the past tense.  There is no present tense when it comes to him.  

I have quit waiting for him to call.  I have quit reaching for the phone to call him.  I do not put 2 cookies in a bag for him.  So much has changed in the last four months and they have been the hardest months of my life.  I have seen and done a lot in my life, but never have I been through anything that has so completely made me question whether life is worth living as this.

This covid crap has not helped.  I have been forced into isolation at a time when four walls are not what I need, but it is my reality.  The one thing this has shown me is that I have friends who love me and care about me.  I have friends I have never met!  Once I received a simple bouquet of flowers from someone I worked with long ago.  There was a phone call from a friend from Garden City that I had forgotten.  A lady brought me some "healing soup" and left it on the porch.  There was a gift of 4 Red Big Chief tablets for me to write my thoughts in.  And so many thoughts coming my way!

Most of my friends have no idea what happened and only know that I am hurting and reach out to let me know they are here for me. They only know that they want to share my pain.  I appreciate everyone of these gestures.  I will survive.  I may not want to, but I will!

My daughter in Longton, Kansas, always said "What don't kill you will make you strong!"  And she is right.  Some day I may need to look some one in the eye and say "I know what you are going through."  When that day comes I will remember what I went through.  I am growing stronger every day .

I am sure of one thing, if the Lord brought me to it; he will bring me through it.  My church was not there for me when I needed it most, but God was.  I could bury my face in the folds of his blood stained robe and he held me when I cried.  

I will be alright.  I make strides every day.  I can say his name without crying.  I can laugh at his little idiosyncrasies that made him so unique.   

And that, my dear friends, is because of all of you!