40 years and counting!

 I woke up this morning, stretched and began thinking.  I have been in this house at this address for 40 years.  That is half of my life!  How sad that we live our lives one day at a time and then one day realize that what we see in the rear view mirror is our life slipping away!  

What happened to that little skinny girl on Strong Street who wanted to be a missionary?  When did the dreams of working with the natives in Africa and teaching them about taking care of each other and learning about Jesus Christ turn into having a baby every year?  How did I become a mother and grandmother in the twinkling of an eye?  When did I actually set my course on Colorado and watch Kansas recede in my rear view mirror?

There were six of us kids growing up.  Now there is just Donna and I.  I think back to family dinners with aunts and uncles and cousins.  I used to have grandmas and all that.  Sadly even my friend list is dwindling.  Slowly, slowly and one by one, my friends are slipping from sight.  Family?  What is family and where is family?  I have 2 kids in Pueblo, 1 in Texas and 3 in Kansas.  Friends?  Probably the friends I had back in Kansas are mostly pushing up daisies!  Evelyn is still there.  Vi moved to Missouri and I never hear from her any more so who knows.  Last time we talked she waved the trump banner in front of my liberal face and laughed.  Fatal mistake.

Where was I going with this?  Oh, the fact that I have spent more years in this house then anywhere else in the whole world!  When mother was alive she used to send me the obituaries of people I had known.  I dutifully dropped them into a desk drawer.  Then I bundled them up and moved them to a bigger drawer.  Then the drawer was emptied into a cardboard box and put on a shelf in the closet.  The pile continues to grow and my memory is beginning to fade.  Names that were at one time so very important to me are now just words on a piece of yellowed paper.  The heart that used to hurt when I thought of my losses is now numb.

Soon I will take Kenneth to Imperial and have him interred under his stone.  Anthony and Annie are resting on my dresser.  Soon I will take them to their new home.  Then I will wait for my turn.  To everything there is a season, a time to plant and a time to pluck up.  A time to laugh and a time to cry.  A time to live and a time to die.  

Right now it is time to let the geese out.  The sun comes up and the sun goes down and I will put one foot in front of the other because that is what we as humans are designed to do.  Sometimes some of God's children get impatient and try to rewrite the rules.  That never would work for me.

Guess I am just old school.

40 years ago and down hill from there!

You do NOT want to live in my head!  It is one busy place.  Just before 4:00 this morning, my eyes popped open and I lay in my little bed remembering Kenneth.  Him and his wife were 2 of the people I first met when Charlie brought me to Pueblo.  That was in 1972.  I would divorce Charlie, strike out on my own, get a college degree and briefly wed again over the next 10 years.  So to make a long story short, Kenneth and his wife divorced, she remarried and Kenneth and I started dating.  We were both looking for stability and we found it.  I had been through the mill enough to know that men have a way of changing after the ring slides over that third finger, so I was slow to commit.  We came to an agreement.  We would live together for one year and if we survived that, we would marry.

So, we found a house and Kenneth, my son and daughter and I moved into it.  Seems like that was in the Spring.  That fall the fair came as it did every year.  I have never been a big fair goer, but Kenneth liked the livestock, especially the pigs.  His brother raised pigs for 4H.  I digress.  Kenneth was reading the paper and was aghast to find the the first prize in the fine arts building had gone to someone who had made a display from "feminine products".  His little mind could not let that go unseen.

Now this may not seem like much to you in this day and age, but to him it was a very big deal.  He could not believe that such a display actually existed AND that it was open to the public.  See, we are dealing with a man who had never even changed a babies diaper let alone had any idea what "feminine hygiene" actually entailed.  It was a mystery that happened once a month and if it did not happen, it meant he was going to be a daddy. 

So off we went to the Colorado State Fair.  I had tea towels that had won a blue ribbon that year, so we stopped in that building first.  Next stop, Fine Arts.  We entered and looked at paintings, photography, and all kinds of stuff and finally reached the piece we sought!  I swear his eyes actually bugged out of his head!  There it was in the center of the room.  It consisted of StayFree Maxipads sewn into a sleeping bag.  Above it suspended and spread to cover it was a "mosquito net" made of Tampax tied to the net.  It did not take him long to see enough of that!

My little ruddy faced farmer had seen enough!  "Let's just get the hell out of here before someone sees us!"  And that is just what we did!  We lived together another 20 years after  that before he passed to his reward.  He has been gone for 20 years now  but I will never forget the one and only trip we made to the Colorado State Fair.  In later years we actually laughed about it.  

Times have changed.  What was once taboo is now advertised on television, billboards and every magazine you pick up and read.  They do not make men like my Kenneth anymore.  That is kind of sad.  He used to read Playboy "for the articles".  The secrets men and women learned together in the bedroom after the wedding are in your face all day and night on television.  Playboy has lost its mystic. 

As I get closer to the goal of vaulting out of here and landing on the streets of gold high above, I look back at my ruddy faced little farmer and smile.  I would not trade one minute of my past for a whole bucket of tomorrows!  Mother always said we are all made of our memories and you should know, I have made a lot of memories!  

And all my memories are good!

I have no waist.

This is nothing new.  When I weighed 98 pounds, I had a 29 inch waist.  Since then I have gained 40 pounds and my waist is 36 inches.  An hour glass figure was always something I longed for, but never achieved back in my younger days.  Mother was always the practical one.  She dismissed it as "So?" That did not seem to help much.

As I inch my way toward being an "octogenarian", I think I have finally come to grips with the fact that it really doesn't matter anymore.  Back in high school it seemed to matter.  Barbara was 36-24-36.  The rest of the girls were similar, but found it amusing that I was 32-29-34.  While they weighed in at higher numbers, I tipped the scales at 89 pounds. The boys found them fascinating; they found me strange.  The "in girls" tittered when the boys entered our realm.  While the girls seemed to accept me as I was, the boys were looking for boobs.

Irene had huge ones so she was a real hit.  Martha found boys stupid and she would rather play the piano.  I found boys strange creatures.  Then there was that the phenomenon of the changing voice that boys had to contend with that proved embarrassing to them!  One would be talking in a normal voice and then out would come a word in his little boy voice.  We would always laugh, but I am sure it was hard on them as the "tiny boobs" thing was to me.  Kids are cruel.

I started my high school years living with my grandmother and great grandmother, so by the time I got back to Nickerson, I entered high school as a Sophomore.  My class mates from grade school had new friends and I was the outsider.   We had a larger curriculum, and the teachers expected us to actually do our home work AND turn it in at the end of class or beginning if it was something we did at night.  I had a Speech class and it was always torture for me to stand in front of a room full of people and "defend my viewpoint" on one subject or another.  Algebra was like a foreign concept.  History was boring.  Chemistry was an accident waiting to happen in a beaker on my table.  So I started skipping class in my Junior year and by my Senior year I was a secret drinker.  I never graduated.  I did, later in life get my GED and went to Business College where I graduated Magna cum laude which helped not one iota in the restaurant business since I was a cook or waitress and not the owner.

I have 5 kids and my body has changed, but the hour glass figure that I so longed for is still not a reality.  I have developed a personality of sorts so, that is good.  At least I have friends.

So I guess the moral of this blog is "God don't make junk!"  It is not what is on the outside that matters.  He will judge me by the content of my heart and the deeds I have done.

I sure hope that is how it happens, cause life sure does get tediuos!

A poem that should be written.

 I woke up this morning with the remnants of a poem in my mind.  I think it has already been written, but I can not find it nor recall the words.  It has been in my mind as long as I can remember, so if it rings a bell with anyone, let me know.  To me it has always been the epitome of the way a perfect relationship should be.  

I do not want to walk ahead of  you, because you may not follow.

I do not want to walk behind you, because I may not follow.

I want to walk beside you,  beneath your arm where I am protected and near your heart  where I am loved.

Country music singers and song writers have been writing the perfect love songs for as long as I can remember.  Garth Brooks and his "The Dance" pretty well sums up the loving and losing.  And then there is this by John Michael Montgomery click here.  Growing up in Nickerson was conducive to wanting a better life.  And along with the better life was always the thought of a perfect husband.  We all know how that went!  A husband should never be a "destination" in life.  I always pictured a husband  as an equal partner.  

When I embarked on my first marriage I was full of hope.  I think he was also, but hope for what I was never sure.  I wanted security and a man to love and fulfill me.  That did not end up well for me, but I chalked it up to a life lesson and moved on.  By the time I reached Colorado my kids were pretty well on the paths they would take and I was pretty well set in my ways.  When Kenny and I married it was clear that we were soon to be entering into the sunset of our lives.  We would grow old, retire and die.  One of us succeeded in that, but one of us did not.

So here I set.  Kenny has been gone 20 years.  I have had a couple male friends, but nothing romantic.  It seems that my place in their lives was to help them cross the bar.  I know I did it right with Sherman, because I saw the look of contentment on his face when he took his final breathe.  The other was different.  I know I held a special place and I was very sad when it was over, but I do so hope that he found the peace he sought.  

So anyway.  This is not a good way to start the day, but it is what it is.  I shall put one foot in front of the other and follow where life leads me.  Maybe it will be a good day.  I can always hope!

Peace and sunshine and if that poem up there strikes a chord and you remember seeing it some where, hit me up!

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....