The saga of the perfect Pinto Bean!

My journey to the great state of Colorado began a long time ago.  I think the year was 1973.  I do know that Susie was a wee little tyke.  She is the only child of mine that actually started and finished school in Pueblo.  Sam finished here, but did not start.  The other girls were sporatic as to where there roots really were.  I just lived in a state of confusion.  I finished school here by getting my degree in Accounting, but I never really graduated high school at all.  But that all has nothing to do with the sacred Pinto Bean which is a staple of Colorado and an art that must be cultivated!

Back home on Strong Street, the beans were Navy beans.  They were a staple and were cooked on the top of the old wood stove.  If we were real lucky we had a ham bone to throw in for a bit of flavor.  Winter or summer made no difference as to how we cooked.  A wood stove was what kept us alive in the cold and fed us in the heat of the summer.  But I digress.

When Charlie and I came to a parting of the ways, I knew I needed a job that paid more than cooking and waiting tables, so I got myself down to the Business College and signed up for the course that would give me my Accounting Degree.  I worked for a construction company days as a bookkeeper, nights I went to school and late nights I waited tables at a place in Bessemer called Liz's Cafe.  I know the older Pueblo people remember that place!  When the bars shut down that was where they went to eat and I waited on them!  I meet very few people now who were regulars, but once more I digress.  Back to the Pinto Bean.  

At that time the day cook was a lady named Angie.  Angie was ageless in that I knew she was older, but age did not seem to matter than.  Of course we became friends.  As the day cook it was her job to keep the kitchen in staples for the afternoon and evening.  Every day she cooked a very big kettle of pinto beans.  They were delivered in a 50 pound gunny sack and had to be sorted and cleaned.  Therein began my education in the fine art of the perfect refried bean!

She was also the breakfast cook so she also cooked orders as they were turned in to her.  Huevous Ranchero's is a meal I had never heard of until I started at Liz's.  The plate contains 2 eggs, hashbrowns, a spoonful of refried beans and tortilla.  Everything is served with refried beans and covered with a genereous serving of Green CHile over the whole plate.  The beans  are in the burritoes, taco's  and any other thing you choose to eat!  As such they need to be perfect!  So, here goes...

The can full of pinto beans is dumped onto a stainless steel table.  Then begins the chore of touching every single bean and deeming it worthy of the pot!  The bean must be complete with no loose skin, crack or off color.  By very nature of the way beans are harvested, a rock sometimes shows up.  Of course that is a no no!  But Angie was Queen of the Bean and taught me how to quickly seperate the "wheat from the chaff," so to speak!  I do not remember Angie ever having a day off while I was there.  Surely she did.

When I first started there the matriach, Liz herself was just living in the back and not really working, though she did pop out from time to time.  The resturant was run by her son and daughter in law.  Later it was overseen by her granddaughter and her husband.  Shortly after I left it was on it's downward spiral.  People change and the mill was no longer the central part of Pueblo's world and the mill had been a mainstay of Liz's.  But life goes on. 

The building now sets vacant as do a lot of buildings down in the Bessemer area.  I do know that area was called Bessemer because the mill was there and the process they made steel with was the Bessemer process.  So anyway, time marches on!

I am now an old lady and do not even need my Accounting Degree.  I would rather make cookies and take a walk along the ditch, but let me tell you this....when I cook beans, they are sorted and cleaned and cooked with a big spoonful of lard!  Not shortening or bacon grease, but lard.!

After all I did learn at the tutelage of  the master, Angie Whateverherlastnamewas!

Bon apetite!!!

Momma never really left me.

 Momma is still with me.  I see her arm and hand coming out of my sleeve.  I see her eyes watching me in the mirror.  I even hear her voice in my head when I am faced with one of my dilemmas. (She would be proud that I spelled dilemmas correctly on the first pass!)  My mother was very smart.  She was also very pretty.  When I went to live with the grandma's at the start of my freshman year, I was enrolled in Plevna High School.  Mother enrolled me and at that time girl's were automatically enrolled in Home Economics.  There were no such thing as electives, it just was what it was.

To get to the crux of the matter and set the background for this post, the Home Economics teacher was a lady named Ms. Crawford.  Ms. Crawford had gone to school with Christine Haas, who just happened to be my mother, Christine Haas, at the time.  Now my mother was not only very smart, she was also beautiful.  She had the prettiest hazel eyes, trim figure and flawless skin that was to die for.  I inherited my skin clarity and tone from her.  All through puberty when the other kids were battling acne,  my skin remained smooth as silk.  To this day I do not recall ever having one of those things called a pimple.  I was very lucky.

Back to the topic of Ms. Crawford.  Home Economics in the Plevna High School encompassed all 4 years.  As a Freshman in a class of 12 meant that the Home Ec class meant there were 7 of us girls in her class.  The first day she picked me out as that little Bartholomew girl.  Her nose sure looked long when she looked down it at me and announced to the class that she had gone to school with my mother.  Something about the tone of her voice when she said "your mother" made my blood run cold.  Her whole demeanor to me was different then with the other "farm kids".  It was my first case of being disliked simply because of jealousy over which I had no control.

Needless to say, I flunked Home Economics with flying colors.  There was no way in the world I could do anything to please that woman.  My other grades were high, but there was no hope in that class.  Suffice it to say, after that debacle I grew up to work as a cook, manage a restaurant, and own a restaurant, so I must have learned a lot after I left there!  

I have often wondered just what caused the animosity between those two women.  I guess it was not between them, just on Mrs. Crawfords side.  Momma  picked me up take me home to Nickerson one time and Mrs. Crawford passed us with her nose in the air.  I told Momma that she did not like me and Momma said, "It has nothing to do with you.  That is just how she is.  She does not like me."  That was all that was said about it.

And here I set 65 years later wondering what that was all about.  I could never fathom what caused the animosity between those two and now there is not a soul left that could tell me.  I just know this, my mother was the sweetest, kindest, most wonderful woman to ever grace God's green earth and it was Mrs. Crawfords loss.  

And another thing momma told me was "You never know anyone.  You know of them.  You know the part they let you see."  Momma was right.  Over the years I have known many people, but I have not really known them.  I have loved many times, but not known most of them.  A leopard never changes its' spots.  Momma said that.  Momma was usually right.

I miss my Momma.

Life before the street lights came on.

 I started first grade a month before I turned 5.  I remember my teacher was Miss Donough when we started and she was Mrs. Breece when school was out for the summer.  We lived on the Stroh place when we started, but moved into the only home my father ever bought before school was out for the summer.  I have few memories of the Stroh place, but those I have are vivid.  Dorothy was born there.  Mother went to club every month there.  There was a big mudhole by the house that we were not supposed to play in there.  Donna poked a turtle with her finger and it latched on and John Britan had to cut its head off to make it let go.  Jake was kicked in the face by our Shetland pony.  He carried the scar until the day he died. Our old cow caught some disease and died, leaving us with no milk for the baby.  But in the spring, we moved to our own house on the other side of town out by the cemetery.  Dad bought another cow.  That was Strong Street.  709 North Strong Street to be exact.

I do not remember where the street light was located, but it seems to me it was right past the Reinke house and before the Smith house.  Probably right in front of the Goodrick house.  I do know we went out every night after supper to play in the "hood".  We had to be careful not to speak to any strangers because they would kidnap us and kill us or sell us to the Gypsy's which was a fate far worse then death!

Strong Street was a destination, not something you came across by accident, so we were fairly safe there.  Hank Windiate, the old crippled man with the horse and wagon lived on the end of the street, right across from Jerry and Ora Ayres.  First was our house, then the Reinke house, then Jake Smith and then Hank Windiate. The Ayres house, which was seperated by a vacant lot from the Goodrick house was the last house on that side of the street.

  

Our house, the Reinke house and the Ayres house were the only houses that had kids.  The Reinke girls, whose mother had died after giving birth to her last child, were not allowed out after dark.  Neither were the Ayres kids who were older, so it was basically just us.  So every night it was a rousing game of "Kick the Can!"  Now, for those of you who do not know how to play this, I will explain the rules.

First, you must have a can.  Now back in the 40's, a tin can was a coveted item.  First it meant your parents had enough money to buy a can of vegetables, or your brother had gone to the dump and foraged around and found a nice solid tin can!  Jake was good at that!  The can was placed upside down over a place that was designated as "home" and was usually located by the old Catalpa tree.  Whoever was "It" closed their eyes and counted to 100 while all the kids ran and hid.  Then "It" would go and find the hiding kids.  That kid would be brought back to the can and placed in "jail."  The only way to get out of jail was for one of the "hiders" to wait for the "jailer" to wander off and look for another hider to tag and "arrest".  When the jailer left someone could run in and "kick the can", thereby freeing all the kids held in the jail.  Some times one of the kids from "town" would come by and play.  That always made it more fun.

We were allowed to play for 30 minutes after the street light came on.  We knew when 30 minutes was past because mother would holler for us to "get in here and get ready for bed."  Now "getting ready for bed" was another ritual.  That simply meant washing our feet in the wash bowl in the kitchen and drying them on the ragged old towel that hung from the back of the chair.  Now that may not sound like much to you, but to this day, I can not go to bed with dirty feet.  Of course, now that I have shoes AND socks, dirty feet are a rarity around here, but some memories never die.  

Sometimes I find myself looking at an empty can and thinking how Jake would immediately think about using it for our next game of "Kick the Can."  I wonder if my sister, Donna Bartholomew remembers those nights on Strong Street?

The years have dimmed my eyes and slowed my feet, but my mind continues to relive some of the best times of my life back when the hardest thing I had to do was "Kick the Can" and save my sisters and brother.  I wonder if that helped make me into the woman I am today, that marched in the Gay Rights Parade and held the hands of the hospice clients as they crossed to the other side?  I like to think so.  

I do know Mothers Day is just around the corner and I would give my right arm to just be able to see my mother one more time and look into her gray eyes and tell her I love her.  I think she always knew, but I never said it often enough.

I host a high tea at my church the Saturday before Mother's Day.  Tickets are $25 if you are interested.  This year I am going to have a table for "Mothers pictures."  If you are interested in attending contact me here on facebook or call my church at 719-544-1892 and leave a message with Jill.   My number is 719-546-1555 here at home.

Talk about a nightmare!!

 I just woke up from a nightmare to end all nightmares!  I dreamed I got married and the reception was in Miramount Castle!  Apparently, the wedding was early morning because the reception was breakfast fare.  Lots of bacon!  That part was good, but for some reason I got separated from the wedding party.  I never did get a look at the groom!

The point was that I had fixed a "to go" box and put it in a gunny sack and placed it under my table and then wandered off to explore the castle.  I did my exploring alone.  When I realized that time had slipped away and I was going to miss my ride I panicked. I could not find any of the people in my wedding party and my gunny sack full of food was no where to be found.  That was the part that upset me most.  While I looked under every table in the giant hall, no one paid any attention to me.  It was like I did not exist.

I did finally find my gunny sack, but it was empty.  Since I was crying hysterically by this time, a very nice man offered me a grilled cheese sandwich, but since a bite was gone out of it, I declined.  He was very shabbily dressed and appeared to have been drinking.  He pointed down the hall to the exit door which I scurried forward to and opened.  The parking lot was completely empty of vehicles and only one person stood there.  I approached her and she shoved me over the edge of the cliff. That is all I remember of that dream.

Now, let's just analyze this little dream in the cold hard light of day.  I had been to Miramont Castle because Rebecca and Ron took a few of us to a high tea there a few months ago.  It was a delightful experience so that would explain wanting to go back to the castle.  Now as for the wedding, I do not know where that came from!  I do have a man friend in my life, but it has definitely not advanced to the wedding bells.  Not something either one of us has contemplated nor discussed.  Friends indeed, but getting naked at my age might not be a good idea from either his or my point of view!

Now, the bacon part is the part that I can understand.  I love bacon.  I do not eat much bacon because it is messy to cook and is best savored in a BLT with farm fresh tomatoes.  Farm fresh tomatoes are a little hard to come by here in Colorado in the middle of winter.  I do confess, a really good BLT is right on the top of my favorite foods list, but let us analyze further.

A gunny sack to hold my wedding gifts?  Really?  What kind of friends do I have?  And what kind of friends, not to mention the new husband, would leave me to wander a castle alone on my wedding day?  And who was the woman in the parking lot who threw me over the cliff?  Did I die?

Enough of this!  I rarely have dreams that I can recall so vividly and odds are this one will fade from my memory rather quickly once I start my day.  I sure hope so!

If my former therapist is reading this (and you know who you are) please let me know if I need to get back into therapy.  Most of the time I tend to be pretty level headed, but this one had me talking to myself when I woke up.  Probably scared my neice to death!

Opal

 Over the years during my life here in Pueblo, I have had a myriad of friends.  Of course, I still do!  One of them was Opal.  Kenny and I were newlyweds when I entered the phase of my life that Opal would be an integral part of for many years.  Back then she was a feisty little red-haired woman who lived in a small one-bedroom apartment behind King Soopers on Northern.  I never knew her to drive, although I assume she did at one time.

She had two sons and a daughter.  During the course of our friendship I became friends with all of them.  It was early in our friendship that she had gone to King Soopers, which was within easy walking distance and came home with a few groceries.  She tripped and fell into the concrete step in a face plant.  Poor little thing had two black eyes and a very fat lip for several weeks after that.  Still she lived alone.

Over the course of the next several years we remained friends.  I must confess that I sometimes let life get in the way of our friendship, but that is how life is.  Kenny was working out of town a lot and I liked to go stay with him in places like Denver, Grand Junction and I certainly enjoyed trips to Paonia and the drive there through the Black Canyon.  With him working out of town most of the time, life here in Pueblo suffered.  Course Sam and Susie were still at home until Sam went off to college.  

It was after Kenny passed and the kids were grown and gone, that I finally got to spend more time with Opal.  We attended the same church where her son played the piano.  Later he hired me to clean his home and spend time with his mother.  When he went out of town for meetings some where I would bring her to my house for the night and then take her home for the day so she could "putter". 

To say Opal and I were friends would be an understatement.  It was more like an invisible bond of sisterhood.  As she grew older, she became more forgetful, as did I.  We would return to my house  for the night and neither one of us could remember if we closed the garage to the town house, so we would load into the car and drive back over there.  It was always closed.  We finally had a piece of paper in the car upon which I would write the time we seen the door close firmly.

She had stomach aches fairly regularly and Chuck and I both thought it was mostly her imagination.  She used a lot of Alka Seltzer.  And then one day she was in so much pain she could not stand it and ended up in the hospital.  The diagnoses was that a scar from her appendectomy many years ago had grown and closed off her intestine.  Nothing could be done.

I miss that feisty little used to be red head.  I miss her son who passed just this past year.  But you know what?  Life is made of our memories.  And the best part of memories is that we can tailor them to fit our  needs at the time.  Opal was one in a million.  I loved her and she loved me.  The bond may be ethereal, but it is not forgotten.  When I think of Opal I remember all her endearing qualities and I hope some day some on will look back on me with only half the tenderness that I remember little Opal!

Rest in peace my little friend.

First lucid thought of the day!

 Setting here with my first cup of coffee of the day and Sam Seeger and Richard Meyer pop into my head with  brief memory from long ago.  Sam was in Central High here in Pueblo.  Richard was a son-in-law of Kenny's.  Sam was probably a Sophomore at the time.  One of his subjects was the German language.  He would come in and spout off phrase he had learned in school that day and sometimes I could decipher it, which always surprised him.

Just a little background here.  My grandfather came into America via Ellis Island when he was 9 years old.  Most of my ancestors were fluent in the German language and at family gatherings the elders would converse in German, so I had a passing knowledge of the language.  My first husband was probably more German than I was.  When he proposed, he did so in German.  So, like I said, I knew a little German, but not enough to guide Sam through the language with any degree of competency.  Back to the story.

I had told Sam that Richard spoke German and I felt if he wanted to learn it would be nice to have Richard for supper and they could converse.  Sounded good to him so the invitation was issued and Richard accepted.  I told him Sam would be trying his German skills on him and he agreed to the plan.

The night arrived and supper was cooked and the table "laid".  Now "laid" was the term that the grandma's had always used for "setting the table." Grace having been said, conversation could begin.  Sam and Richard exchanged "Guten abens" and then Sam uttered something in German to which Richard replied with several sentences in fluent German.  Sam once more more replied in his halting German to which Richard replied with a fluency that I had not heard since leaving grandma's house.  Then the table fell silent except for the conversation between Kenny and Richard about the "job".  

Sam and I were cleaning the kitchen after and the men had gone outside to the garage, which meant Kenny had gone out to smoke his pipe and visit with Richard away from the domestic stuff inside.  

Sam began our discourse with "Good Lord!  You did not tell me how well Richard knew German!  I just made a complete ass out of myself and you let me!"

I replied that I thought the conversation had gone rather well to which he replied, "Oh, yeah!  It went well, but I do not think Richard gave a damn how fast Tom can run, or how far Mary walked to school!  You didn't tell me how well he knew German."

I asked him if he understood anything.  He replied that he did, but that was our one and only discourse.  He went on to go to the German club, I think and maybe learned a little German.  Since coming to Pueblo I am no longer around people who speak any German, except for my friend, Jerome.  

So, this is what is on my mind the very first thing this morning!  

Hope you all have a good day! 

Guten Auben. (I think that is right.)

Momma is in my head again!

 It is almost 4:30 AM and momma is already starting my day.  I have a small little problem in my life that by simply not saying anything has now become a thorn in my side and is now growing into a bigger problem.  If I ignore it long enough I will get my belly full of resentment and say or do something that I will, no doubt, come to regret.  It will not go away.  If it were something I could just sweep under the rug, I would, but it is not.  So, I will just set here and play momma's voice in my brain!  

Being the mouthy little brat she raised, I still argue with momma and my arguments are shown in italics.

"You can not know what someone else is thinking.  You only know what they say and do.  And even then, they only say and do what they think you want to hear and see."  A promise made is a promise broken.

"Actions speak louder than words."  In action screams volumes! 

"Never put off until tomorrow what you can do today."  Tomorrow never comes!

"Easier said than done."  The road to hell is paved with good intentions!

"A man is only as good as his word."  Talk is cheap!

The proof is in the pudding.  I agree fully!

So here I set.  The problem I have been dealing with is unchanged.  The situation has not changed one iota and no one seems to give a damn but me. So I guess the solution is to pull up my big girl pants and deal with it.  This makes me kind of sad, because once more, my faith in a human being has been violated.  Trust is out the window and doubt has walked in.  You would think after 80 years, I would learn that leaving off the first "t" in trust, leaves "rust" which is what happens to the strongest steel that is not taken care of. 

Maybe I am just getting cynical in my old age.