Ah, Daddy is off drunk some where and here comes the cyclone!

I do not know how long we lived on the Ailmore place, but I do not think it was very long.  My most vivid memory was one afternoon when Jake decided to work on a  car that was in the front yard. Cars were simple back in those days and if you had any mechanical abilities at all and could think of the concept of a motor, you could be a mechanic.  He was pretty sure that the gas line was plugged so he unhooked some line and told Donna to watch the other end and he would blow through it and she should let him know if air came through.  So she had it up close to her eye and he blew and gas shot out into her eye!  Oh, Lordy, there was more catawaulling going on than you could believe!  And guess what Jake got?  You are right!  A licking!  There was talk that Donna might lose her eye sight, but I guess they washed it out with something and she was fine.
Roy Keating lived very close there to us.  He raised pigs and those things were huge!  It seems like I was told that a pig will keep growing as long as it is alive and that is why they get so big.  Does not mean that is true, just means that is what I was told.  Dad was Mr. Keating's chore man which meant when Mr. Keating was not home that dad took care of the place.  That meant I had to go and gather eggs while dad "slopped the hogs."  Side note here...back in those days farmers kept "slop buckets" which held garbage, leftover or sour milk, and anything edible except bones. The bucket was carried out to the pigs every morning.  I was scared shitless of those big pigs.  And of course there was always the tale of a farmer or his child falling in the pig pen and the pigs eating the hapless person.  That rather kept my paranoia fueled!
The floods, the bull frog, the Barthold sisters, Mr. Keatings giant pigs, coal oil lamps, and I never remember snow or being cold there, so we may not have wintered over at the Ailmore place.  I do recall my dad taking us all to the Kansas State Fair once.  Maybe not all of us, but me, Jake and probably Josephine.  I recall the ride there.  We parked and entered the grounds.  We walked down the midway with the promise from dad that we could ride the ferris wheel later, but first he needed a beer.  We were not allowed in the hall and had to set on a bench outside the door.  It was hot and dusty, but ever the dutiful father, dad finally came out.   He got us an ice cream cone for our one treat on the way to the car to head home.  I can still taste that ice cream.  It was horrible and must have been something like pineapple sherbert.  When we got home mother greeted us at the door and that man got hollered at and screamed at the rest of the night for taking those innocent babies into a den of iniquity.  When he explained that we sat outside in the hot sun, that was more fuel for the fire.  Kansas State Fair does not hold any fond memories for me!
It was a few days later and dad was once more gone, God only knew where, but we were sure he would come home "plastered"  since that was what he did.  Nickerson had no beer joints so he had to go into Hutchinson which was 11 miles away.  It was one of those hot, sultry days for which  Central Kansas is so famous.  The phone rang and Queen Josephine answered.  Very quickly she ended the conversation and turned to us.  "Mother is on her way home.  A big storm is coming.  Get the tank pumped full fast."  Jake and I ran for the back door and the pump house. The sky did look terrible.  Soon a car pulled into the drive and mother jumped out and ran for the house.  Ed Crissman followed her.  She apparently had started for home and he picked her up.  The wind was picking up and it was a sure thing that no one was going anywhere  until this was over.  Mother called us inside and just as we reached the safety of the house, the pump house collapsed.
We covered the windows with blankets in case the hail broke the windows.  We all huddled in the center of the house while the wind blew, the rain fell, and we prayed that the house did not lift up off the foundation.  I do not know how long the storm took, but it finally subsided.  Like little forest creatures we opened the door and peered outside.  Ed's car was still there, but had lots of hail damage.  The haystack was gone.  All the buildings were gone.  Trees were uprooted.  The fences were gone and the livestock wandered the yard.   Dead chickens were all over the yard.  It looked like a war zone.  Ed Crissman decided to walk home since the creek was now flooded.  And then it was night.
Dad came home sometime in the night.  It was a somber little group of people that stood in the yard the next morning wondering where to begin.  There seemed to be no place to start.  We had caught the livestock and tied them  to a fence post where they stayed the night.  But now what?  The roof of the house was not going to keep out the next rain.  And there was my father.  The pillar of the family.  Hung over, sick, sorry, and all the other things that they sing about in country western songs.  And my mother, a beaten woman.  She had worked all her life to feed a nest full of kids and then  lost the nest.  It was devastating.  She still had the kids.  We still needed to eat and we had to have a roof over our heads.  And she looked at my father, and all she said was "Well, Rueben, I hope you have an idea, because I am done."
I found an article that mother had saved from the paper back then.  They called it a cyclone.  Cyclone is also described as a tornado.  I didn't figure it made a lot of difference what it was called, the results were the same.  Mother could have given up at that point and no one would have faulted her.  But I have found since then that there is really nothing to give up to.  There have been times in my life when I have felt like there just was not enough gumption left in  me to take that next step.  When I looked at my kids and thought this was as far as I could go.  When that happened I thought back to that ragged bunch standing in that yard and heard my mother say, "Well, Rueben...." I had no Rueben, but I did have a mother and my mother had a daughter that learned her lessons of survial from a very strong woman.  A woman who knew how to wring every bit of life out of the worst situations.  A pioneer woman who did not give up and stuck with her husband and knew when to tell him it was his turn and he knew she meant it.
Next time I show up here we are going to be on the move again!!  Get ready world, the Bartholomew family is about to be land owners!

Could have been on this one or that one.

This is what I call sharing!

Yes a cat on my lap is rather a handicap!

This is Icarus.  She is setting on the chair beside the computer.  I keep it there for her.  It is her chair.  She like to set and watch me work.  But she soon becomes bored and wants to set on my lap.

Ever try to type with a cat on your lap?  It is not easy.  It can be done, but she does not like me to let my attention wander from her.

Life is boring for a cat whose sole goal in life is to spend time on me 24/7.  In bed it is my shoulder.  Nap time in the chair it is my lap.  Usually the only way to get her away from the keyboard is to print something at which time she has her paw firmly implanted in the place where the paper comes out.  

So very soon she is in the middle of the keyboard which makes life rather difficult for me since I can not see either the key board or the monitor.  I do pick her up and firmly place her back on her chair which solves nothing since she is like a boomerang and is right back on the keyboard on my lap.

 Right at the moment I do not know where she is.  That is scaring me!  But I am just going to type real fast and hope for the best.

Yes, yes! I was a 60's flower child.

Woke up early this morning to think about things and decided that I grew up in the best of all times.  People who know me find it hard to believe that I never used drugs of any kind.  Unless of course we consider alcohol and tobacco, and I think those are both considered in that genre.  I was born in the 40's which was a time of war.  There was talk that I was actually fallout from Hiroshima or Pearl Harbor, but I think not since I was such a cute baby!
We went from peace after World War II to peace keeping missions in Korea, Vietnam, to war in   Iraq and are still a very warring faction and I am not sure where all we have troops now.  We went from a phone on the wall to a phone we wear in our ear.  We went from Frank Sinatra, through Elvis, the Beatles, Garth Brooks and now Miley Cirus and Justin Bieber are the current losers. We went from a black Model T through a lavender Corvette.  Poodle skirts gave way to mini skirts which were traded for culottes and now there are no fashion rules at all.  Baby boomers, John Lennon and Yoko Ono.   Birth control pills, floppy discs, Rubik's cube, a man on the moon and a woman in the space station.  Kent State, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and President Bush hates broccoli!  Do I need to go on with history?  No.
I just want you to grasp the picture.  Some times I like to think back and picture the first Indian who looked up and saw an airplane soaring overhead.  There is an old saying, "Time marches on!"  and one "Time and tide wait for no man."  I can attest to all of this.  We used to go buy a car from the lot on the corner for $250.00, put 19 cent gas in the tank and drive 150 miles to see grandma who inevitably lived on a farm usually in Western (insert name of state here).    Now we take out a loan for $25,000.00, put $4.25 gas in the tank, park our cheap little car in the garage of our house in the suburbs, and crawl on a plane for $650 and fly 2000 miles to see grandma who does not have time for us because it is bingo night at the condo center and she is in charge, but we can stay here at the house and pet her Labradoodle which is her latest designer dog.
The creek where we used to fish is no longer there.  It has been rerouted and is now a kayak course, but take your pole anyway.  You can set there and remember when you used to catch a cat fish and you could actually eat it.  Damn things glow now with radiation and I ain't eating that!  We can walk downtown to the "Historic area" which is now antique shops where I can buy a remenant of history for a price which is more than I used to pay for my car.  If I am really lucky I can find a friend my age and we can play "Oh, God, remember when we had to wear those awful shoes?"  And "Remember when mother used to gather up the pans because the 'tinker man' was due and he would patch the holes in them?"
I know you have a hard time thinking that was a good time, but it was.   It was back before any divorces and before I worked 3 jobs to survive and before I found out cigarettes were cool and a shot of whiskey sure took the edge off the lonliness and an aspirin was the strongest drug in my medicine cabinet..
 Back when we could walk out back, catch a chicken, "wring it's neck", pluck out the feathers and innards and have the biggest and best  pot of chicken and noodle soup in the world 2 hours later. Scraps of food were thrown out in the back yard for the chickens and the chicken would then lay an egg and the cycle continued.
 Back when school supplies included pencils and paper and a new pair of shoes for the winter ahead.  Back when the teacher was Miss Lauver or Mr. Bollinger, because teachers were respected and revered.  Clothes were handed down and when they were thread bare they went into the "rag basket".  In due time they were torn into strips, rolled into a ball and taken to the weaver lady who made them into rugs.  Wool clothes were cut into strips and mother crocheted them into rugs. Those were best cause they were thicker and softer.
Back when we walked to church every Sunday to save the car for an emergency or for when we went to see grandma and great grandma who lived in Plevena, a town of 102 people 24 miles away.
I would just ask that all of you out there stay in touch with your roots.  They are what makes you who you are today and they are unique to you.  You can look back and see all the things your parents did wrong while raising you, but try to remember that they were once young also and they were raised by a parent raising them who probably had no idea what they were doing either!  We all live and learn and some of us actually get to a point in our lives where we can say,

I did the best I could with the knowledge and the tools I had at the time so I forgive me!

Well, hello new neighbors! Looks like fun ahead!

And so with everything we owned on a hay rack and kids on top holding it down and  the old milk cow tied behind, we embarked on a new life clear across town.  Things would change here.  I was probably in the second grade by this time.  Josephine was 13, Jake 9, so I must have been 7 years old.  Mother was now cleaning houses and dad was still farming.  Josephine was in charge of us since she was the oldest.  Her job was to keep us alive, not bleeding and to clean the house.  I am here to tell you, that girl took this seriously all except the part about keeping us uninjured.  She damn near beat us to death!  And who do you think did all that house work?  Not miss "just figured out there were boys and she was a girl"!  We were banished from the house as soon as our work was done and not allowed back in to "dirty the place up" and besides one of her boyfriends was usually there and they were "baking cookies".  Eating the cookies too as near as I could tell, because we never got any.

The floors of the house were wood planks about 5-6 inches wide.  Not like the wood floors in the rich peoples houses that mother cleaned.  These had to be swept every day and everything in the house had to be wiped down with an oiled rag since the dust blew in every day as a matter of course.  Dishes were washed by heating water in a pan and rinsed in cold water.  The pump house was out the back door and Jake and I were in charge of keeping the stock tank full of water.

But we had better things to do than hang out at home.  Mr. and Mrs. Rumble lived up the road a ways and they sat on thier porch most days in the summer.  Mr. Rumble told me he would give me a whole dime if I would learn the words to "Buttons and Bows" and sing it to them.  I worked very hard, but never quite got it done.  They were wonderful people.

Across the road from us lived the Barthold sisters.  They were spinsters and school teachers.  I never actually spoke with them.  I did like to hide in thier forest and spy on them when they were out in the yard.  Once I even seen them setting in the chairs drinking tea.  And strain my ears as I might I could not hear a word they said.  So I made up lots of conversations.  I do not remember what they were, but I am sure they were wild!

Sometimes Josephine left us unattended and that is when we got our chance at the telephone.  Ah, it was beautiful!  It hung on the wall and  had a speaker that you spoke into and an earpiece on the side that was held to your ear so you could hear the other person.  We were on party lines back then.  This meant several families were all on one circuit.  Say you called Joe Blow.  It would ring his signal which was maybe 2 shorts and a long.  Ours might have been 2 longs and a short.  The point was, you did not pick up someone else's call.  And if you wanted to place a call and picked up the phone and heard a conversation you said "Excuse me, please." and quietly replaced the receiver.  That is unless you were 9 and 7 years old and bored out of your mind.  Then you could do a couple things.  One was to cover the mouth piece and listen in n the conversation.  Or you could act like you did not know they were talking and crank the handle that called the operator.  This would cause a very loud ring in thier ears.  And you could titter and then act like you weren't there.  Ah, but technology caught these damn Bartholomew kids every time.  Then there was trouble.  First Josphine whipped us with a strap for "making it look like"  she was not doing her job of keeping us in line.  Then Mother would follow up with a licking for not listening to Josephine and upsetting the neighbors and now maybe they were going to take our phone out and what would we do when no one could call her to come to work?  Not to worry about dad giving us the punishment because I am not sure he ever knew we were there.

I do not know when dad worked, but a pile of hay appeared in the corner of the yard.  Not the back yard where the cows and horses were, but in the front yard so anyone driving past would know we had hay.  Go figure.  But this gave us a hiding place when we hid and threw rocks at cars going past and "kicking up dust"   which in turn made our work harder.  Damn people from town anyway!  By the way, back then, cars were either black or a dung looking green.  That is how I recall it anyway.  Not sure what color came next.  Think it was white.

After the Rumble house and on the way to town was Bull Creek.  Most of the time it was just a creek bed, but in the Spring, Nickerson and that whole area was prone to flooding and that little creek could  do some damage.  See, the Arkansas is on one side of town and Cow Creek cuts through and intesects with Bull Creek.  When Spring rains come they all get out of thier banks and Nickerson is surrounded by water and travel is not happening.  Or at least that is how it was back then.  But when the water subsided and there was just a small bit of water running through Jake and I could go seine and catch crawdads.  We would get a few inches in the bottom of the wash boiler and then we cleaned them.  This was accomplished by ripping the tail off, pulling the shell off and then dropping them in hot grease and frying them.  A feast for a king.  Or it was back then  Do you know what a crawdad is?  It is like a lobster, but about 4 inches long and it lives in the mud.  I bought some at  Walmarts several years back and they were horrible!

Bull frogs also lived in Bull Creek.  Not for long though because Jake and I got the idea that we would catch them and we would take them home and grow them until they were big and then we could have frog legs.  Josephine did not appreciate our vision at all.  Especially when I showed up with one in my dress tail and opened it to show her.  Damn frog made a leap right at her and then proceeded to try to hide from her.  She stood over me with a broom and every time I missed the frog she smacked me.  The frog was fast, but with a lot of prodding from Josephine, I was faster and our dream crumbled there in that little unpainted house there by Bull creek when she beat it to death in the dust by the door with a shovel.

When I come back next time I will tell you about the cyclone that finished our stay at the Ailmore place.

New hydrant, old friend, blossoms on the tree

OK, I have been trying to get this out there for 3 days and can not seem to get my pictures to load.  You are just going to have to use your imagination and when I figure out where I am screwed up at I will post the pictures.  This is supposed to be a picture of a hole in the ground with water in the bottom of it.  Sad looking sight.  Well, there it is, but it is really big.  Need to fix that.
So several days before I had started draining the stock tank and started water running in which is how I keep it fresh for the geese.  When I noticed a problem with the filling process I pulled the hose out and no water.  That is always a bad sign!  And in keeping with my string of bad luck I watched the dollar signs flash before my eyes.  Or I could dig it out myself.  All it entails is digging down about 7 feet, crawling down in the hole, unscrewing the old hydrant, buying the new one, screwing it on, and refilling the hole.  Made my back hurt to think about it.  So I scraped together a small pile of money and called my friends, Clifford and Frank who own an excavation company and have access to power equipment and actually still like me.  And within the hour Clifford was here looking the situation over and arriving at a solution.  He had a worker who would dig it out by hand and I smiled.

And the next morning Cliff arrived early with Wayne in tow. I had already told him to bring his own shovels because mine were either lost or had no handles due to being left in the dirt and ran over several time. Same with the rakes, hoes and every thing I touch.

So here are the tool of the trade.  After much digging, a little cussing, a couple trips into town, the deed was done!  Of course Cliff thought this should be a good deed and I thought it should not be.  After much haggling we agreed on a price we could both live with and he toodled off into the noon day sun.

So I ventured up to the house and found my Apricot tree full of blossoms which I can not post on here because I have once more jacked with the programs and the photo's won't upload.  Has something to do with my pop up blocker or my default browser or the fact that my fingers poke before my brain is through thinking!  

Now yesterday I went to the dentist to have a tiny fragment of what appeared to be a piece of bone from when I had a tooth pulled over 2 years ago.  X-ray revealed that the root from said tooth was still firmly in place.  20 minutes of digging and several x-rays later she finally got all the root out!  That woman was good! Luckily I was numb from the neck up because I could hear cracking and other sounds in there.  She called me in a pain pill perscription because we were both pretty sure that was going to be sore and aching last night.  I woke up this morning feeling like a million dollars!  I love that woman.  Going to put her over on my Been There blog later this next month when I get the computer back to functionallity!

So let' just recap my luck of the last 6 weeks.:

Sewer routed out.

Hot water heater replaced.

Sump pump rewired.

Furnace fixed.

Tire on car replaced.

Hydrant replaced.

Jaw bone routed out.

As near as I can tell, I should be setting pretty good right now, but far be it from me to think I may be about to lose my black cloud.  Do still need to have this computer back functioning!  In the meantime I shall hold this in my thoughts:  

Look for the silver lining behind every cloud you see!

The Stroh place falls by the wayside.

I do not remember the layout of the house, but I do recall the yard.  In the summer time we were brown as little berries and spent very little time in the house.  Why would we stay in the house?  There was nothing there except our beds.  Television had not been invented to our knowledge.  When it rained the yard turned to a lake.  Well a giant mud hole might be a better description!  And just like a heat seeking missle we gravitated to the mud hole.  Since bath night was only on Saturday when we got muddy we could be sure that we were going to be crammed under the pump out in the yard and "rinsed off."    Life was dangerous for little kids.  Donna poked her finger at a turtle and the turtle latched on and did not let go.  The only solution for that was to cut the turtles head off and this caused his vice like grip to loosen in time.  Poor Donna.

I fell victim to the old gander which proceeded to give me a flogging that was one for the record books.  Mother did save me, to her credit.  The goose business and the fact that my brother Jake had whacked me over the head with a turnip when I was very small seemed to be my sole claim to fame in the Bartholomew household.  Dad farmed with a man named John Britain.  Mother drove the truck and hauled the grain to market, except for the year she gave birth to Dorothy.  Back in those days it was an unwritten law that when a woman had a baby she was to stay in bed for 10 days. I remember mother in bed and we were allowed to stand by her bed for 5 minutes every day and gaze at her and the baby.  We hated that baby that had made our mother have to go to bed for 10 days and maybe she would die.  But she didn't.

Life was good there, though.  We had the milk cow and every morning she was "staked out" beside the road so she could eat grass all day.  Then when it came time to milk her, we unstaked her and herded her along the road to home.  Some times she liked to just mosey along and we found that if we grabbed her tail, she would run home.  If we ran her all the way home, she would not give us her milk.  That got us more than one "licking".  A  licking did not entail the use of the tongue, it entailed the use of a leather strap.  I laugh when I remember mother saying on  more than one occasion, "Do you want a licking!"  Oh, yes, mother, you know I do!  I do not recall ever really wanting one, but I do recall getting them.  Today they would call it child abuse, but back then, it was called "keeping them in line and teaching them to be good."  I think we turned out pretty good and I never hated my mother for spanking me.  She never did it for fun, just to enforce what she said.  And I must confess, several times I heard my mothers voice issuing from my mouth, "Do you want a licking?  Do you want me to come in there?"

I recall one of the cows dying and we had to drag it to the pasture, soak it in coal oil,  and burn it.  That must have been when the anthrax epidemic happened.  I remember dad plowing with the horse and plow.  I remember taking him water.  I remember baby bunnies in the field.  I remember wolves howling at night.  I remember being afraid of a dog because he was stumbling around.  He had Rabies.  I remember my childhood and it makes me sad that it all ended, things changed and that era will never be again.  We walked wherever we went.  And when we left the Stroh place we put all our belongings on a hayrack that was hitched to 2 horses and it took the better part of the day to move across town.  We moved to the Ailmore place, which I think was a step up in the world.  It was a two bedroom shack on the other side of Bull Creek.  It was owned by a doctor.  There were trees in the yard and we would have a telephone!  

cooking and cleaning can wait for the morrow, for babies grow up, we learn to our sorrow

And that is what I woke up with, stuck in my head, this morning!  I did the online search and nothing turned up.  Does anyone else remember this poem?  Oh, crap!  I am the oldest one here and this is all I remember, so what are the odds that you can tell me the name of this?  Probably two; slim and none.  I can remember cross stitching this, but that is about as far as the memory goes.  I think I probably did it when Debbie was a wee one, but it could have been last week.  No, not last weeks since the fingers no longer curl around those teensy, tinesy needles which would make no difference since I can't see to thread the damn needle anyway!

Life certainly does throw us a hardball towards the end of the whole mess, doesn't it?  When we finally get our crap together and know what we want out of life and have a pretty good idea of how to get it, we are too late and the need to do the "bucket list" thing takes over.  While my mind is remembering winning dance contests at the sock hops back in high school, my reality is searching for something to loosen my joints up enough so I can tie my shoes!  While my mind is grooving to Gene Vincent, Fats Domino and Elvis Presley, my reality is singing "Shall we gather at the river?"

I am becoming better at checking expiration dates because I do so want to outlive the gallon of milk in the refrigerator.  Back in the mind, we called them "ice boxes" because that is what they were.  They did not get plugged into a socket some where.  We had a card that had 25 on the top and 10 on the bottom.  It was designed so that if we wanted 25 pounds of ice Mother placed it in the window which reflected the 25 right side up and the 10 would be upside down.  The ice man pulled up on the chosen day, looked at the sign, got his ice picker upper (which I have of course forgotten the correct name for [TONGS!!!!! I remembered when I reread this!]) and picked up the block of ice and brought it into the house, through the door which was never locked, and put it in the ice box, picked up his money from the top of the ice box, and went back out the door which did not lock behind him, and left.

The reason the door was not locked was because if some poor soul was in need of a drink of water, or shelter from the rain, or cold out of the heat, or was very tired and needed to rest they could  get in  the house.  If they could find something to eat, they were welcome to it.  See, back in those days, people trusted each other and crime was almost non-existent.  Horses were protected more that personal property.  And guess what happened if you stole a horse?  The towns folk would catch you and hang you, or so I heard.  Never really saw it happen.  Horse thieves were the most horrible kind of despot!  Wonder what my grandma would think about what goes on today?

The fact that the pump was out on the porch gave them access to a drink of water.  There was also a pump at the stock tank, so they really did not need to go in the house for water, but it was being hospitable, and that is what we did back then.

Bet you are wondering why I never said "use the facilities"  aren't you?  Well there were none in the house.  They were "out back."  Stands to reason that if we had no running water, we had no use for a toilet that flushed.  The school and the people in town had them and they were really nice.
 
Try to remember that we were the poor people outside of town, growing up.  I preferred to think of us as just like every one else, dirt poor.   I learned later that I was "white trash", but no one ever called me that.  It was after all, just a term they used.  I often wondered at the term and I am sure it was racist.  That was another thing;  Nickerson, Kansas, to my recollection, never had anyone except very white people.  Oh, there was the family that lived in the boxcar up on the curve, but they were Indians.  I loved to go to thier house.  The mother was very clean and even swept the dirt in front of the door.  Since we had a step and 2 feet of sidewalk, we were considered rich.

But I have once more digressed from my purpose.  If you remember this poem share this post on facebook and I will see it.  Or contact me over there on the left.  I will probably not remember what I asked, but that, friends, is how it goes in my world!

People who forget the past tend to repeat it.  ;)

Some things we just do.

There are things we do because some one asks us to do them.  Some are every day chores.  Some are for survival.  Every thing we do and say impacts our life as well as some one else's.  I am not negating that some times other people do things that affect us.  That is life.  A big circle we run every day.  Some times we win, some times we lose, but at the end of the day, we reflect.  You know, look back on the day and think, I could have done this, or that, or nothing.  My actions really are a moot point.

I have had this ring for almost 2 years and it is the same every time I put it on or take it off; just an action.  It is no longer connected to any one or any thing.  It is just a piece of gold, but I know some one who will appreciate it fully.  This does not mean that I am in any sense of the word, letting completely go of the past, only that I am putting it behind me where it should be.  I will be moving forward as I have done all my life.  You know, the serenity prayer,

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

the courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference."

That simple prayer covers a lot of our lives, and it is one of my mantras.

And that being said, and not wanting to belabor the point further, I placed this in a box and sent it on it's journey home.  To the person receiving the box, probably today or tomorrow, I want to say "Thank You for sharing these past few year with me and hope to see you in the spring!

Your could have been sister-in-law."

And back to the Stroh place.

Mother had a very big yellow Tom cat.  As with all cats, he was very independent and just did pretty much as he wanted to do.  One day he must have wanted to have his head chopped off because he showed up at the door with one of mother's baby chicken's in his mouth.  Since my brother Jake was the only male present at the time the job was given to him.  Mother handed him the cat, an axe and sent him off to the "forest".  Now the forest was a grove of about 8 trees that was about 50 feet behind the chicken house.  Jake was probably about 9 years old at the time.  You need to remember that times were different back then.  We never were allowed to be "kids" because the mere act of survival made us grow up really fast.  In society today if a 9 year old kid chopped the head off of a cat he would immediately be put into therapy because he had all the makings of a serial killer.  Back then that tiny chicken was part of our cycle of life and no cat was going to snack on mother's chickens that would someday lay eggs for us to eat, hatch more chickens and eventually end up in the stew pot to feed the whole family Chicken and Noodles.  The cat, by killing the baby chicken,  proved he was a chicken killer and that does not work on a farm.  So, off they went to the forest and only one of them came back.

The chicken house was also an attraction to either a Fox or a Weasel.  Dad patched the chicken house fairly regularly, but what ever was getting in was not to be deterred.  One night him and one of his cronies hid in the chicken house and when the varmit surfaced we heard the blast from the shotgun.  That problem was solved, but then there was that gaping hole in the chicken house.  That is another story!

Have you ever gathered eggs?  In the Spring when the chickens first start to lay, several of the old hens also begin ti "set".  The setting is the fine art of laying eggs in a nest and setting on them until the hatch.  The hen has to turn them every day, keep them an even temperature, and be the most patient creature in the world because this takes 28 days setting time.  Did you ever hear the saying "Mad as an old wet hen?"   I used to throw some of my biggest fits when Mother would tell me to go gather the eggs.  She would tell me which nests had the "setting hens" on them and I did not gather those eggs.

I would walk into the hen house and several of the nests would have eggs in them where the hens had laid early that morning and then gone off in search of bugs, seeds or whatever.  Those were easy to gather because I just had to pick the eggs up and put them in my basket, but some of the nest's had chickens on them.  I knew which ones not to bother, but I was afraid of those beady eyed chickens any way.  I was terrified of the "setting hens" because they were very protective and I had much respect for thier mothering skills.  I gave them a very wide berth.  However, I was supposed to reach under the hens who were setting on nests that were not designated as nest boxes.  These are the hens that really scared me.  You do know that hens have sharp beaks, right?  Thier beak is thier sole means of defense.  So I would slowly extend my hand while the hen watched my hand with those beady eyes.  Time would stand still as my hand got slowly closer to her body setting on the nest.  If she inclined her head even the smallest bit, I would run screaming from the hen house.  Usually it would scare her so bad she left the nest in fright.  In that case I could go back and get those eggs.  I do not recall if a hen ever pecked me, but in my mind I left the hen house a bloodied mass every time.  And mother knew when I left the house exactly how many eggs I should have when I came back.  Mothers' are intuitive little creatures.  Too few eggs meant I had not done my job.  Too many and one of the last hatching had started laying.

We had a cow also.  Well, as I recall we had several cows and horses.  The horses were used to pull the plow, combine, trailer, or what ever.  Dad did managed to get himself drunk once when he went to Hutch to the sale.  He came home with a Shetland Pony for us kids.  That was like a dream come true.  A pony of our own for us to ride.  OMG!  That was the meanest damned horse I have ever laid eyes on in my life!  That thing came out of the trailer kicking and snorting and I sought the solace of the chicken house!  Scared me out of 4 years growth.  His name was Star.

Star had a pen and went into the barn at night for shelter.  Star had been ours for about a week when friends came by to see our new horse.  The friends had kids our age.  So Jake and a couple of the boys went out to see Star.  By this time it was dark.  How they came up with the next part of the adventure is beyond me, but Jake decided to crawl across the enclosure and scare the horse!  (There was talk of actually "goosing him with a stick" which I am sure is closer to what happened then these boys let on to Mother.)  To make a long story short, Star did not take to well to whatever happened and in typical horse fashion, kicked backwards.  His hoof connected with Jake's right cheek and sent him flying into the fence.  Much scrambling as the friends loaded Jake into thier car and took him and mother to Hutchinson to the emergency room.  It was a very long night.  Jake carried that scar to his grave.  It was about 4 inches long and a 2 inch scar across the bottom.  It looked like a "J" so he told everyone it was his initial.

Star was probably with us for 12-15 years and I do not recall anyone ever riding him.  Well, Josephine might have, but not me.  He died when we were at the Strong Street house.  Dad called the "dead animal wagon" which in those days, made house calls.  They probably still do.  The man pulled out a long length of cable, wrapped it around Star's neck, turned on the wench and drug him across the yard, up the ramp and into the back of the big truck on top of whatever else was in there, and drove away.  Fond memories?  Not for me.

Will try to get back soon and finish off the Stroh house.  Or maybe not.  A lot happened there.

Lost! Found! Lost again! Damn!

For Valentine's day, I received flowers and a tube containing 25 pot seeds from a benevolent friend who works in the "grow".  He assured me that these seeds would grow the marijuana but not the kind you smoke.  Something about male and female and buds and other stuff that these were incapable of producing.  This fits my criteria to a "t".  I want to make stationary out of them and sell it in my online store.  See this leaf?

Isn't that pretty?  I learned how to make this stationary a very long time ago from a very old woman who wanted to pass the craft along so it would not cease to be.  She chose me!  She also gave me boxes of dried flowers, leaves, and about anything that grows.  Now I have not partaken of this leaf myself, but I am intelligent enough to know what it is and what it looks like.  And in the treasures she gifted me with was some of these.  Seems she went down on the river and came back with lots of leaves and among them was some marijuana leaves.  Now you must realize that all the greens she gathered were then placed between the pages of books and a weight applied so they would be very flat and very dry, but identifiable. 

Now isn't that pretty?  I think that is a Japanese Maple overlaid with Dill fronds.  Hard to believe that I made it, isn't it?  Making this stationary is an all day job and requires full use of the island in my kitchen.  I lay out 12 of them at a time.  First is a layer of waxed paper upon which I  place my design, cover with a single layer of tissue, paint the whole thing with thinned school glue, sprinkle each with glitter and leave to dry.  To fully appreciate my efforts, you just try to paint one layer of cheap tissue with a paint brush full of thinned glue.  When I go to bed that night the whole house  is filled with these things drying.  Next morning it is ironing time.  Then trimming and folding, so this is no easy chore.  Lastly my name is signed in gold ink and I am done.  I sell these for $2.00 each so they need to be nice.  Since this stuff is now legal in Colorado, I want to get in on the market.  Hence the growing and needing of seeds. 
Back on track here.  You now know why I wanted the seeds.  Being a pushy broad I generally get what I want by just wanting it.  True with the seeds.  So any way, here lay this vial of seeds on my counter.  Patty and Vanny were here and the seeds just laid there.  I have  a lady who is a very good friend who shall remain nameless, who helps me keep this house from becoming a true "hoarders nest."  This same lady has been known to partake of the herb.  She must eat hers cause she talks about "the bowl."  To make a long story short, she was coming by to visit and I was reluctant to let her know my future plans in the "growing of the weed" area.  So I grabbed the vial and hid it.  Now I am sure you are a step ahead of me here and you know how my mind works.  Later that day, I laid out the container I wanted to use to hold  the seeds and dirt.  Whoops!  Where did I put those seeds?
I looked in all the usual hiding places.  Patty and Vanna searched in all the drawers.  The next day Bret and Amanda came for a visit and they were full of guesses as to where they might be, but it was all to no avail.   I knew back in the far recesses of my mind that I knew where I put them.  It is just that I rarely venture back into that area of my mind, because there are things there in the shadows that scare me! 
So yesterday, Patty and Savannah packed up and went back to Lakin.  I immediately had a nap.  When I woke up, I spent a few minutes looking into corners and then decided to call my friend, John.  I explained the seed business to him.  He of course thought it was funny.  While we were talking about a fundraiser for our friend Daneya that is coming up next week, I wandered over to the sewing machine I keep here in the office.  I opened the door, pulled out the drawer and voila!  My little pink vial of seeds!  Knowing how fleeting my memory is these days, I told John of my find and told him I was moving them and where.  Now 2 of us know where they are.  I am trusting that he remembers where I put them.  That was, after all, his job.  My job is to report on me, and I might note that is a full time job. 
So once more the seeds are found.  The container to plant them in is , however, out in the shed where it is now very cold, thanks to that damn Polar Vortex!  Looks cold out there today.  I think I need to go to the El Pueblo today with my spinning wheel, but I am not sure.  Nothing is ever sure in my life two days in a row.  I was up late last night listing seed catchers on eBay in a variation format.  I am almost afraid to check those out today. 
So, I called Patty and told her where I found the seeds.  Now, I am off to figure something out, but I do not know what.  Will be in touch soon and we will return to the Stroh place, Nickerson, Kansas, and see what I remember about 60+ years ago,  because I am not having much luck here in the present!


 

I like it better in the past!

Debbie, the wee tyke, called me after my blog of a week or so ago.  She thinks the cure for my writer's block may be in my past, since I write about it most often.  I think she may be on to something.  I sure enjoyed life back then when mother was the one who had to worry about putting food on the table and clothes on my back.  Not much fun when the burden is on my shoulders!
So I shall start way back as far as I can remember.  That would be before I started school.  We lived on the Stroh place on the edge of town.  That is where mother used to go to "Club".  I thought "Club" was a complete waste of time since it was a bunch of old ladies (They were probably 30 years old, which sure does not seem old now!) sat around and visited and exchanged recipes and patterns.  Us kids had to be clean when we went and I never knew why because we just sat on the floor and listened and tried to stay awake in case someone actually said something.  To my recollection, that never happened.  Then we would go home and we could get dirty again.
Oh, I do have to interject here what "getting clean" entailed.  Now try to visualize those days back then.  We had no running water; hence no water heater; hence no warm water.  Water was pumped on the back porch or kitchen, whatever that was.  Water was heated in a boiler on the stove for our baths.  Hair was a different matter.  That had to be washed about once every two weeks.  The way this happened was mother would catch us one at a time.  Our hair was wet in a basin of warm water and then suds up to get all the whatever was in our hair out.  That felt good!  Rinsing, however, was a whole new ball game.  Mother then tucked us under her arm and put our head under the pump where the water came out onto our head.  This took the cooperation of one of the bigger kids who liked to pump fast in hopes they would get done soon.
Now I do not know how many of you know just how cold water is when it is being pumped up from depths of the earth, but I am here to tell you, it is damn cold!  We were rinsed until mother could make our hair "squeak" when rubbed against itself.  That meant the soap was all out of it.  Then we were plopped unceremoniously onto the floor and told to go outside and dry in the sun.  Haircuts were given by a lady who lived nearby and she came to the house with her "hair cutting bowl."  This was placed on our head and she pulled her scissors out of her bag and trimmed anything sticking out from under the bowl.  Of course we all looked pretty much alike when the lady left.  Since our clothes were made out of flowered sacks that came full of flour or grain and had the "Gooch's Best" label imprinted on it, the little Bartholomew kids were pretty easy to pick out in a crowd.
Other memories of the Stroh place are coming to mind like there were a couple older half brothers that wandered in occasionally.  Apparently my father had been married previously and had 5 children.  Two of those children, a boy and a girl, had died of sand pneumonia.  Eventually the wife then died and the 3 boys were placed in an orphanage.  Richard was adopted.  Earl was adopted.  Gene was not adopted, but did go to a family named Banks where he stayed until adulthood.    Gene and Richard served in World War II.  Earl apparently  did not.
Earl married and had 2 boys and 1 girl.  Gene was married briefly to a woman named Louella and had a son.  His name was Billy (probably William Eugene Bartholomew.) I would love to find that boy.   Gene turned to a life of crime by forging someone else name on checks and seemed to fit well into prison society.  I know he was in prison at least three times.  He used to write me long letters and tell me how this time he had seen the error of his ways and when he got out this time, he would stay out.  The last time anyone seen him was when he was let out of a prison in Kansas and disappeard into thin air.  That was probably 50 +  years ago.
Richard suffered from "shell shock" after he came home from the Army.  When he would come for a visit, we would take him to the Arkansas River and drop him.  He would disappear into the underbrush and that would be the last we heard from him until we picked him up in exactly one week at exactly the same place.  Guess that was his way of coping with life.  Richard and Gene have both been dead for many years.
Anyway, these brothers used to pop in occasionally, but they were 20 years older than me so I was never close to them.  Brother Jake was a different story!
Well life is calling me to do something about my own life, so I will try to return tomorrow and tell you more about the Stroh place.

Chapter One...The Ant Lion's Den

I am setting here looking at Chapter Two...The Ant Lion's Den,  the novel I started almost 2 years ago when Sherman was first diagnosed.  I had a good start on it, but at that time Sherman needed me more than the world needed another novel.  So I put it on hold.  Then he extracted a promise from me that I would write the story of Sherman and Lou had life been different.  He outlined it for me and in the book, we met, fell in love and lived happily ever after.  In real life he died shortly thereafter.
But a promise is a promise and I put the novel aside and began the perfect work of fiction and the world's greatest love story.  I failed in my mission and ended up writing a true story where we did indeed fall in love and he did propose 10 days before he died on Friday the 13th.  The book has been finished and forgotten now for over 8 months and I stare at the blank page of  Chapter Two and my mind is a complete blank..I reread what I have written hoping something of the brilliance I felt when I started it will resurface, but nothing happens.
What I am thinking of is a scene in my mind from 50 years ago when Debbie was a wee tyke and I found an old typewriter at a rummage sale for $2.00.  It was a small Royal and after I took the toothbrush and cleaned the letters and replaced the ribbon, it printed pretty legibly.  But there I sat, staring at the pure white paper that waited for me to fill up up with all the thoughts in my brilliant mind.   But it never happened.  I spent the next 50 years waiting for my stellar mind to unleash a torrent of words that would make the world fall at my feet.  But they never came.  The old Royal gave way to a nice aqua typewriter in a case.  That gave way to an electric, which was replaced by a word processor and that was traded for a computer.  And I went through a string of computers and different word programs before I poured my heart and soul into Chapter One...Loose Ends.  I was on a roll, but now I am back to staring at a blank sheet with a cursor blinking and calling me.
Someone told me I should unplug the phone, lock the door, turn off the ebay computer and concentrate and it will come.  Well, that ain't happening now, is it?  I do think I will take a nice long walk the next day that is decent.  May go up to Beulah for that.  Something about just me, God and the open sky above that inspires me.  Maybe I will not finish Chapter Two...The Ant Lion's Den, or maybe I will. Maybe I will come up with something else.  I do know that I love to write and it is a part of me that needs to be functioning.  I know this blog is writing, but I mean something that I can build out of my mind that is not real, but seems that way.  Know what I mean?
Just my thoughts tonight.

Red Alert!!

　

YOU HAVE THE POWER TO AFFECT YOUR ELECTRIC BILL



"A Bridge To Pueblo’s Energy Future"

A presentation by Pueblo Citizens interested in stabilizing electric rates and reducing shocking charges.

Come and share your stories with your neighbors.

With your help we will craft a local energy economy that will benefit the entire community

~EVERY ONE OF US~

February 22. 2014

2:00 P.M. to 5:00 P.M.

SRDA Cafeteria

230 N. Union Ave.

Pueblo, CO 81003

(light refreshments provided)

For more information call

719-251-2888 or email revoltpueblo@gmail.com

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What is the second thing that happens before the book sale?

For over a year Ross and his cronies have been collecting books and putting them in my garage.  Just recently they began sorting them into subject matter and packing them in boxes that were labeled.  Now it is February 9 and the book sale starts tomorrow, so they have arrived at my garage and loaded the books into vehicles preparatory to transport to the Pueblo Community College.

So now they are gathered in my kitchen  to see just how many cinnamon rolls they can hold.  Charles only ate 2, but we managed to do away with 18.  The remainder I packed into plastic bags to ride to the site and be eaten by the workers that were unpacking the books and putting them out on the tables and racks. 

But first, Tere has to attempt to manipulate my 2 pound hula hoop!  Come on, Tere!  I know you can do it!

And we have lift off!!

So now the fun and games are over and the first truck is leaving the yard.  Now the work can really begin.  No, not really.  The whole last year has been a labor of love by a lot of people.  I am not going to throw names around because there are so many that made this sale possible.  Ross and Rebecca do most of the honchoing and are the two I deal with most often.  Course then there is Tere who can work the hula hoop, Charles who can eat the cinnamon rolls....see what I mean?  So they are all loaded (vehicles with books, I mean.) and  they are off to PCC for a fun time unloading.

Monday and Tuesday were sale days and I am happy to report that it was a fun time and we raised lots of money for the scholarship fund.  My back is almost returned to normal (and I did not even load or unload boxes) and the dishes are all done from the baking in the kitchen.

Life is good!

Welcome to my world!

So this is why I have no hot water this morning!  Better call Black Hills who has my service contract.  I know the water heater is on there.  That is why I have it.  Oh, wait while I am on hold let me just read my contract.  Yes the water heater is covered.  No, the tank on the water heater is not covered.  The tank leaking  caused the pilot light to go out which they will come and light, but it probably will not stay lit with water dripping on it from a tank that is not under warranty!  Ya think!

This is the sump pump Jesse put in for me several years back so if the water heater went south the sump pump would pump the water outside and I would not need to sop it up with this towel.

See how it is located right beside it?  To bad it does not work.  I used to pour a gallon of water in it and watch it empty just so I knew it would work.  Hmmm.  Guess it only works when you watch it.

Ater got clear over into the sewing room.  I feel so damn special!

Oh, wait a minute!  Today is Sunday!  Do plumbers work on Sunday?  Better yet do they work on SUPER BOWL SUNDAY?  Some how I think the Karma Gods have got me over a barrel here.  Ah, but there is hope.  I do not have to shower before church.  Or after church.  Or in the foreseeable future!

So those of you who have actual hot running water, enjoy!  And I will not say "Go Bronco's" because that would be like putting a curse on them.  What I will say is 

Enjoy the game!

Oh, Oh! Damn! Where does time go?

I looked at the calendar just now and January is almost gone.  3 days until the anniversary of my husband's demise.  This date coincides nicely with the Super Moon which I want to try to stay awake to see.  Then one
day to whip out the goodies for Addie's open house 90th birthday at the church, which is Saturday which is no longer January.  From here it is down hill through tax time, spring cleaning and garden planting, into the hot summer, through the fall and ito the freezing cold winter so I can start moaning about the lack of  Christ in  Christmas and then start the whole thing over again.
 
Many years ago I was into doing a lot of hand embroidery and made several cute little pictures that hung in the bathroom in little brown frames.  They were called Thumbprints and a little sheep looking thing said "Ewe's not fat, ewe's fluffy."  The little thumbprint then looked like a woman on top of a hill and said  "When you are over the hill. you pick up speed."  My favorite was the thumbprint with the confused look on it's face that said "Of all the things I have lost, I miss my mind the most."  That little collection seemed to mirror my life so I threw the whole bunch in the Goodwill box and never looked back.  I am now rethinking all of that!

The wise saying about being fluffy still holds true, although the fluffs now have wrinkles in them.  The picking up speed is almost scary.  If there was a policeman in charge of time marching on, I am pretty sure I would be ticketed every day as time whizzes past me.  And as for the mind being gone, it is not so much gone as just out to lunch a lot of time.  Some one asked for my phone number the other day and I drew a complete blank.  "How in the hell do I know.  I never call it.  There is no one home."  I did, however, manage to recall the sequence of digits.  I have only had the same number for 31 years.

Most of my day is spent running either upstairs and wondering why I came up here, or going back down the stairs only to remember what I went up there for in the first place.  After a few of these marathons sprints, I usually set down in my recliner and the cat jumps up on me and holds me down.  Since I am captive at that point, I usually fall asleep.  How long I sleep is a matter of whether or not a car passes by up on the road causing the dogs to unleash a flurry of barking in an attempt to scare it away which always works, hence the term "car passes by."  God help them if they are heading for my house and come up the drive because they will be licked to death!  But barking is apparently very important to them.

Now I do not want to make you think that all I do all day is sleep, because that is far from the way it is.  I do have my little ebay business and it keeps me busy listing things to sell, making things to sell, photographing things to sell, selling things I sell, packaging the things I sold and then running to the post office with my parcels.  Anyone who is privy to my operation is amazed that I know where anything is.  Me too!  I have lost a coral and turquoise ring some where between the roof and the basement, I think.

And I do manage to do a little volunteer work sometimes.  And of course visiting.  Going to have lunch on Friday with my friends Renate and Val.  Have not decided where yet, but I am sure we will.  Oh, and I need to get the oil changed and the tires rotated.  I need to pick up a bale of straw so I can clean the goose house, but may put that off until  Spring.  I do need to get down in the basement and dig out that box of old Playboy's and get them listed.  Pretty sure I am not going to read them.  I am pretty sure the garden is going to be taken care of by my friend, Richard, this year.  He plants, weeds,  waters, and harvests and I eat it.  Well, some of it anyway.  I told him I have the dirt and that is all of my involvement in this little venture.

And now I have rambled on for a full page and said absolutely nothing.  This, dear friends, is the story of my life!

My little lunch time gathering!

Decided to have a few friends over the other day for lunch.  You know,  just to get together to jabber and catch up.  I do this a few times a year, just to keep people in my good graces.  

I made Chicken and Home made Noodles since I was hungry for comfort food and that is the best one I could think of at the time.  After eating the subject of puzzles or wood working or something like that came up jarring my memory of little 1" by 4 " puzzles Kenny had made.   I had three of them up on my desk so I brought them down and opened them up.

They very soon were engrossed in the job of putting them together.  I had shown them to them when they were in one piece so they knew it could be done.  I do not know who finished first, but it occupied them for about half an hour.

It was a fun little diversion and when they were all put together and back in the plastic bags, our conversation turned to more interesting topics, like Black Hills Energy and their outrageous charges and heartless acts.  We think we may get a little more active along those lines. 

I wish I could find me someone to use that $1200 scroll saw and I could sell these on ebay.  It was a very lovely lunch and I hated to see it come to an end, but such is life.  Faye was the first to leave because she had to go clear to Spring.  Then Sister Nancy and Sister Barbara.  That left Paul and Nancy.  I meant to send the noodles home with Paul, but I forgot.  A good time was had by all!

This has nothing to do with anything and was not the same day, but I took a picture of Ito, who lives next door and then when I got through moving it around I wound up with this!!!

 

Same picture, but  look at the snow actually falling!  How in the hell did I do that?  Ross just called and I was telling him about it and he thinks it might be something I smoked back in the 70's.  Do you see it to?  Anyone have any idea how this came out like this?  I do not have a moving picture camera.  Maybe something lives in my computer.  You do see it don't you?  If it is not there, please do not tell me!!!

 

 

Cinnamon rolls are ready!

I rolled out about 3:45 this morning so thought I would bake my cinnamon rolls.  I made the dough yesterday evening and panned them up before I went to bed, so they were ready to bake when I woke up.  You may have to just take my word for it since Google does not want me to upload to the blog.

There we go.  Now let me just get a cup of coffee here.

Well, the coffee is some where not wanting to have it's picture taken!  Now, Debbie, don't you wish you were here?  How long before that last pan is done?

Hey!  I can see myself in the reflection.  That is a change.  Usually the grunge is so thick on the stove that nothing shines.  Good fairy must have popped in and shined it up for me.

There.  All done.  Guess I will go put this on the blog and let them eat thier hearts out.  Let's see, I started this at 3:45.  I have ate a half loaf of monkey bread and drunk 3 cups of coffee and all the rest of the time was spent trying to get pictures posted here and on facebook.  It is now 7:00.  So I have basically jacked away over 3 hours of my life so you can read what it took me 15 minutes to bake.  And I wonder why I am never getting anything done.  Hell it is now almost 7 AM and I am ready for a nap!

All I can say at this point is I hope you have a good day.  At least better than mine is shaping up to be! 

Lou's sweat shop

There is a first time for everything and boredom got the better of me tonight, so I made this slide show and uploaded it to youtube.  Hell, I may be in the movie business as soon as I figure out how to get sounds on here!

Probably just lucky that damn hog didn't eat me!

Thinking back to the "good old days" is mostly just a matter of perception.  Today I am remembering Irene who lived next door.  She is the one that slipped on the trailer tire....oh wait.  I may not have told you that little story.  See, back in that time dad had horses and they were used to pull trailers, hay racks, corn wagons and mainly eat everything in sight that was green.  So this one trailer (and I can not for the life of me remember what it was called.) that was just a box and dad could put side boards on it so it held more, or leave one of the side boards off and we would pick dry ears of corn and toss them in the trailer.  The board on the one side was so when we tossed it, the ear of corn would bounce back into the trailer.

So one day the trailer was just setting there and 4 of us girls decided we wanted to "drive the trailer" to town.      The way we accomplished this was one girl got on each tire, hung on to the side, and walked on the tire causing it to roll.  Looking back, I am pretty sure it would have been a lot easier to just walk into town and leave the trailer set, but they do not call them the "good old days"  for nothing.  It was indeed a time of innocence!  Oh, and did I mention that the tail gate and the front tail gate (please do not ask me to explain why the front gate was called a front tail gate.  I am just here to relay the story!)  were held in place by a steel rod which came to end with a very sharp point?   It had to be sharp to go through the hole in the bed that held the tail gate and the front tail gate in place.  There, the scene is set.

So I got on one wheel, Irene on another, Delores (Irene's sister) on one, and I forget who was on the fourth.  Usually it was steered by whoever was driving the horses.  Pull on the left rein and the trailer went left.  Pull on the right and it  went right.  Pull back on both reins and the horses stopped and this stopped the wagon.   We had none of those finery's!   We had only our feet.  We knew if we wanted to go left it would be necessary for the two people on the left side of the wagon to walk backwards so the left wheels would not turn.  We were so busy testing our theory and celebrating our genius that we forgot what we were doing and Irene's foot slipped off the wheel..  The only thing that stopped her from falling off was the steel rod buried in her thigh.  I remember very little of the particulars of that afternoon.  I know there was a lot of screaming.  A lot of cussing and a hurried trip into Hutch in some body's old car.  I do remember seeing her leg and the wound from that rod.  What is uppermost in my mind is the amount of yellow fat that was exposed.  Man that was gross!

We all stood around looking at the offending trailer and you should know we got in more trouble over that then about anything we had done before.  We were lectured for hours about the hazards of playing on the trailer.  But we were determined that there must be a better way to get around than to walk.  Next came a metal 55 gallon barrel (I think that is right).  Hop up on that and start walking and the barrel, of course rolled.
         
Close your eyes and picture that!  The faster you walked the faster the barrel rolled.  Best part was, there was no stopping that damn thing.  The only way to escape the rolling barrel was to jump off of it!  If you could do that and land in the soft dirt of a field or ditch you were very lucky.  Believe me when I say, I was never very lucky.  After you leapt off the barrel  it continued it's journey without you and usually there was someone in it's path that was going to get bowled over.

Another favorite past time was pig pen jumping.  I know that does not sound intriguing to you, but listen!  Mr. Reinke raised pigs.  He had pens in back for each pig.  They all were joined in a row; the pens, not the pigs..  Each pig had it's own house which was kind of an upside down "v" roof and about 8 feet long.  What we liked to do was start at one end of the lot on the first roof and leap to the second roof without falling in the pig pen.  Now I know this does not sound like fun to you, but remember, we did not have television, the only radio was WSM Nashville Grand Ole" Opry on Saturday night,   and the chances of getting a new brother or sister was a lot better than the chances of getting a board game to play!  And we had rules.  Someone was always designated as the one to run for help if somebody slipped and the hog attacked them.  Luckily no one actually fell into the pen, but the old sow was there grunting and hoping!

After dark we played "kick the can, if we had a can.  If we had a can it usually meant we had eaten that day.   To say that we grew up on the wrong side of the tracks would have been an understatement and to say the people on Strong Street were "strange"  would have really been stretching reality.  Strong street and the people who lived there were what made me who I turned in to today.  I never tire of remembering my childhood home.  The last time I went back to Nickerson and Strong Street, it had all changed.  My house was gone and in it's place was a double wide trailer.  Reinke's, Smith's and Hank Windiate's houses were deserted as was Goodrick's and Ayres.  I am sure by now they are either gone or replaced.  But that does not concern  me.  They are still in my mind.  They will always be in my mind.

Sometimes I think I may have selective memory.  Maybe we weren't poor, but I am thinking that 7 of us living in a 2 bedroom house could have been a clue.  But we all grew up and did not starve.  When we left Nickerson, Mother left the 3 legged kettle we heated wash water in for so many years.  She vowed that our new home would have a hot  and cold running water and one of those indoor bathrooms.  Know what?  She was right!

Happy New Year and here are my "did last year" and the hopes for this new year.

2013 Year in Review

Seemed like a pretty good year.  I think I was a good steward with Sherman’s money.  I bought glasses for a girl who needed them. Made donations to YWCA (Battered Women), Hospice, Memorial Fund, Los Pobres, Scholarship fund at PCC, Tere for her little charity helping indigents, bought flour and oil for 100 families at Los Pobres. 

From my own reserves I made SCAP social lunch and learn happen 10 times.  Also catered  the Christmas Dinner.  I spent a lot more money then I should have helping people, but I am not quite broke.  Replaced the transmission in the car.    Replaced the carpet in my house with laminate.  Attended several church gatherings as representative.  Went to Hutchinson to see my sisters.  Neglected to make the trip to see Mary who is the one I really needed to see.

Went hiking in the mountains twice which seemed to be the high point of my summer and that is sad.

Aspirations for 2014

I plan on going through the volunteer program at Hospice and then working in the 11^th hour program. 

I will do at least 10 lunch and learns for SCAP now that there is a director I actually like.  Will entertain the idea of the AIDS Walk in September.

I need to bring my will up to date.   

Go hiking with Tere.

Make sure I get Val and Dale to the mountains for a picnic. 

Check in with Jan at least every 60 days. 

Spend a couple days with Libby and Dave. 

Plan a trip to Dallas to stay with Sam at least a week. 

Go see Shirley in the spring and take a trip on the riverboat.

Start selling excess stuff ie. Spinning wheel, 8 harness loom, list variations of seed catchers on ebay,   scroll saw, sander, molds in trailer.

Publish Long Ago and Not Very Far Away.

Finish Antlion.

Decide if I really want to remain alone in this house until the day I die.  Do I want to move into town?  Do I want to move far away?  Do I want to actually start dating?  Am I really that lonely?

Get a manicure.

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And there you have it!  Oh, I forgot a few things, but I am sure I will remember them when I do them.  I am pretty good at doing whatever I need to do without a note to myself.  I want to figure a way to replenish my SSLBDGWorks trust fund and that is not even written down any where!

So from me to you and yours, have a happy and prosperous New Year and remember

You can not sprinkle showers of happiness on other people without getting a few drops on yourself!

HAPPY 2014! AND GOOD LUCK FORGETTING 2013!