Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: Meanwhile, back at the ranch!

Lou Mercer Words of Wisdom: Meanwhile, back at the ranch!: To say my life here on my little acre is boring would be an understatement.  It seems like there is always something going on...well, not d...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch!

To say my life here on my little acre is boring would be an understatement.  It seems like there is always something going on...well, not during Jeopardy!  Everyone knows what happens to me when I set back in my recliner with the cat on my lap and pull an afghan up over me so I do not get cold.  I watch Jeopardy! at 3:00 and again at 6:30.  Sadly, I have yet to see a full half hour.  If I manage to stay awake it is imperative that someone call  to ask just one quick question.

Now yesterday, I stopped at Big R to buy goose food since there is a storm coming and I do not want the geese to miss out on a meal and I hate unloading 150 pounds of feed in a blizzard.  So, I pulled into the back acre and started in with the first bag.  You should know, the neighbors have a Billy Goat Gruff with big long, curled horns.  He does not know where he actually lives so he spends a lot of time ripping things out of the ground on my side of the driveway.  As I started into the shed, I had to bump him with the feed bag to get inside.  I emptied that one, chased him off and grabbed another only to repeat the same scenario.  I do not even like goats and that is why I do not have one.  Third bag was tossed on top of the barrel and the goat chased off again.  I drove out and closed the gate behind me with him glaring at me from his yard.

To make a long story short, I got busy doing something and it was almost dark when I went to put the geese up for the night.  I let them in the outside wire enclosure and they were acting funny.  Since they usually do, I did not give it a second thought.  Then I remembered I needed to open that third bag and dump it so I opened the big door and took 2 steps inside and stopped.  Holy mother of God!  Inside the shed was dark and I caught a glimpse so something out of the corner of my eye.  It was big!  It was not a goose!  It was that damned goat curled up in the corner of the shed.  He was settling in for the night.  In order to get inside the shed he had to squeeze himself through the little door I have in the side of the shed designed for a much smaller animal.  Even the geese have to duck their heads to get inside.  Dammit!

Luckily I have a very good flashlight, so I went over to Mr. Goat and nudged him while shining the light on his path to freedom.  He could have cared less.  So I got him by one of his horns.  It became increasingly clear that he did not want to go home.  I finally got him out the door and that was as far as he wanted to go.  So I went next door to the house he actually lived at.  Cory came with me and between the 2 of us with a hand on each horn, we got him into their yard.  It was clear also that in the leap over the fence into my yard, he had hurt his back leg.  So I missed Jeopardy! at 6:30.  Dammit!

So, Michael brought up the subject of gardening a few days ago and I explained that I would not be doing that this year.  Why?  It seems that the last few years I have had a snake infestation.  I do not know how many times  there was a snake in the goose house.  I reached my limit when I was harvesting my zucchini and as I reached to move a leaf, I saw a snake curled up under it.  Centipedes love my basement.  Wasps build their little nests in the corners of my deck.  Spiders watch me from the shadows.  Farm living is just no longer conducive to my lifestyle!  I want to be where the lights are shining in my window and the jukebox is blaring from down below.  Well, not really.

I do love my solitude out here, but there is a lot to be said for the wild life that makes itself at home here on my acre.  I realize goats, spiders, snakes and centipedes are not exactly wildlife, but you do remember how the foxes devastated my duck farm.  But yesterday at the Big R, I saw my first signs of Spring.  They have three tanks full of baby chickens and they are so damn cute.  Maybe if I had chickens they would keep the snakes away.  I know they eat grasshoppers.

Something to think about.

Is it my turn yet?

Yesterday I took an afternoon and played Scrabble with a friend and his sister.  They are both very intelligent and loving people (Would you expect me to spend time on a Saturday afternoon with anyone who is not?)  To make a long story short, I got my little ass trounced royally.  I must say they were very gracious winners which in my world is a rarity.  It was nice.  I have not played a game since I played Dominoes with Bill Brown a couple years ago.  I beat him and never went back because I was afraid he would return the favor!

On my way home from town I stopped at another friends house.  This was not so much fun, but nonetheless a very satisfying visit.  This lady has always been open and loving and in her final hours I should have expected no less.  She smiled and actually beamed as I told her I loved her and wished her a peaceful crossing and a happy reunion.  As I kissed her goodbye she smiled the brightest smile I have seen from her in a long time and it came from the bottom of her heart.  I am going to miss her more than I can say, and I hope she will pop in on me from time to time in the hallowed memories of my mind.

As the angel of death (no capitals ) hovers quietly in the corner of yet another of my friends, I can not help but wonder when I will get my turn.  I have attended many of these and I have to say this lady is the picture of grace and never have I ever seen a person more ready to go.  Oh, Lord that I can be that accepting when it is my turn.

I look back on the shambles of my life and can not believe some of the crap I am going to have to answer for when I knock on those Pearly Gates.  Those of you who know me now only think you know me.  My mother always said "Your never really know anyone, you only know OF them.  You know what they let you see."  But here is the kicker on that:  I have let people see my kind, loving, caring side so long that I have become that person!  Who would have ever thought that the little girl growing up on Strong Street in a run down shack with an outhouse in the back  and no running water would ever be a respected member of any thing?  And yet, here I am!  When my sisters came for Kenneth's service they did not stay and visit.  (The largest chapel at Imperial Gardens was full and people were left outside.) They went home the same day.  The sole comment made was "Louella has a life out here that we know nothing about."  And that sister was right.

I do have a life with friends and acquaintances and respect from my peers.  That is something I never had in Kansas.  I was always just Louella, Chris's daughter.  Louella, Donna's sister.  Bob's cook. Some body's mom.  Some body's Aunt.  I guess that is good, but this is better.  Now that I am old, I can be selfish.  I can play Scrabble on a Saturday afternoon.  I can sleep through Jeopardy!.  I can have a sink full of dirty dishes.  I can smell the roses and kiss the wind.  I can pet my cat and dream of all the things I am going to do someday.  Who was it that said, "Of all the things of mice and men, the saddest of all is what might have been."?

I am not quite ready for the Angel of Death or the grim reaper, but when it comes, and it surely will someday, I will embrace the trip.  It is some place I have never been and I think it is just over the rainbow.  There I will see my loved ones and it will be wonderful!  I will get to meet Mother Teresa and Martin Luther King, Jr., Hank Williams, and all the people I have admired and loved for so long.

So enjoy my blog while it is here!  Hug your children.  Pet your dog.  Sing in the shower.  But most of all, get your house in order.  If you hurt someone, tell them you are sorry.  If you love someone, tell them.  Yesterday is gone and tomorrow never comes!

Peace to all!  

How do you eat an elephant? One bite at time!

I live in a 2400 square foot house.  I live all alone.  Every thing in this house is mine.  I have 2 floor looms and enough fiber to cover this acre of ground.  I have never thrown a magazine away.  House plants thrive every where.  2 couches, 2 recliners, 9 sewing machines and 64,000 yards of fabric.

I have a garage that is big enough to hold a full size commercial gravel hauling truck and trailer.  I have a tin shed that holds a full size car and 7,000 jars as well as a heavy duty rototiller, high wheel weed whacker, lawn mower and 7 weight sets without the bars.  Not to mention enough bug spray and weed killer to annihilate  half of the county.

My problem is this:  I want to sell everything and move into a small, one level apartment in town.  So where do I start?  I thought downstairs would be the place.  No.  All that fabric and machines I use.  The next level up is the weaving room and if I could just sell those 2 looms, but then what would I do with all that fiber?  And I make stationary.  I need that stuff.

Next comes the ebay/sales/spare bedroom/storage area and toy room.  Are you getting the picture?  At one point I decided that the only hope was to just drop dead and let the kids sort it out, but I could almost see the burning pile out back and them throwing me on top so I could enjoy my treasures throughout eternity!  But then this morning I seen a shared post that hit the nail on the head.  It was shared by Margaret Velveteen and it hit home with me.    OK, I tried to copy and paste and that is not working for me, so I will give you the gist of it.

"Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly...because doing it poorly is better than not doing it at all."
"Do things halfway.  Now you are doing 100% better than you were before."

Now what I take from this is that all my setting around procrastinating is getting me now where.  I have been in the "sell this damn place and move into town" mode for a couple years now and absolutely nothing has moved one inch!  So, the Patty daughter has been here for a few days and we have talked about this.  Well, I have damn near talked it to death, so today is the day that I am going to start eating that elephant!  And every day, I am going to take a bite out of it and some day (The good lord willing and the creek don't rise!) I will actually be able to look around and see bare floors and empty walls.

I am going to be just like that little ant that moved the rubber tree plant!  I have high hopes!  High apple pie in the sky hopes!  Whoops!  There goes another rubber tree plant!

Course you know I am as full of shit as a Christmas goose, don't you! And I may have had a sip or 2 from the vanilla bottle!  But I guess the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.  Wish me luck, because I am going to need it.  Come this fall when the leaves start to fall you are going to see that "FOR SALE" sign in front of this house or I will know the reason why.

And does anyone want 8 very old geese?  They are free to a good home!

But can I really know you?

I woke up this morning to the realization that something a friend told me many years ago should be my mantra.  I had once more been disappointed by someone I trusted and I said, "I really thought I knew him better than that."
 
To which he replied, "You never really know anyone.  You just know of them.  You know what they let you see."  And he was right.

I deal with many people, some more closely than others.  We talk and with some of them, we talk for hours.  We share secrets.  We share our inner most thoughts, hopes and dreams.  Do we really?  As I look back over the trail behind me, I am  astounded at how many of my friends have only let me see the outer veneer that covers their tortured soul.

We are placed on this earth by some divine plan to live our lives, hopefully, in peace and harmony.  Some of us have more peace and harmony then others, I have found.  It breaks my heart when I lose a friend to suicide.  Suicide is defined in the dictionary as "the intentional taking of one's own life."  It does not tell us why.  And yet the why is the first question we ask, isn't it?

And we search our memory and we recall the relationship we had with that person.  At least I do.  I remember the last time I saw him.  Right here at my table not very long ago.  He was a computer genius and he worked really cheap for his friends.  He loved cookies and I had his favorite kind.  I will make them again for his memorial service.

We can read all the psychology books and watch for the signs, but we never see them.  Is it because I let my guard down, or because the signs were never there, or did I just not want to see them?  Hind sight is 20/20 looking back, isn't it?

Many years ago when I was a Senior in high school I had a friend in Stenography class whose name I can not recall right now.  He went home one afternoon after school and hung himself in the garage.  Were there signs?  I never saw them and looking back I still don't.

Kenny and I had a friend 30+ years ago.  Kenny was working in Denver and was gone all week, leaving me alone.  He called every night and this friend knew that.  He would show up every night and set at the counter and drink coffee and reading truck books.  When Kenny called, he would talk to him for a few minutes and then he would leave.  It was never a conversation, really, just a "hello how are you?"  One afternoon he went home and put a bullet in his brain.  We never saw it coming.

So as I set here contemplating another memorial service I wonder about the very act of suicide.  No one ever says, "Well, I am just going to put my head in the gas oven and be done with it."  That would make it too simple.  So I shall do what I have always done, put one foot in front of the other and blindly go where I have always gone.  Maybe today I will make a difference to someone looking into that abyss.

Maybe not.

Some times my mind takes a turn.

 I remember when Duane and I lived in Glasco, Kansas.  At the time we only had Debbie and we lived in a large farm house on the outskirts of town.  At the time he was stealing walnut trees on the Solomon River just west of town.  Since he had a wench truck and chain saws it was a rather easy job.  Drop the tree, remove the limbs, wench the trunk and drag it home.  The buyer would come by the house and load it on his trailer.  Then he would hand Duane cold hard cash so it was pretty good money. 

It was winter at the time and the business of trimming trees was pretty slow, so it was pretty much catch as catch can as far as paying rent and buying groceries went.  He had wine fermenting in the root cellar and plenty of tobacco for “roll your own cigarettes.”  We did have a black and white television so we were not without entertainment.  Jeopardy was the game show of the day.  It was not hosted by Alex Trebec and I think the money amounts ranged from $10-50, but it was entertainment nonetheless.

Most of the entertainment consisted of trying to find something edible to eat.  Duane shot a lot of Doves that year.  Course it takes a lot of Doves to make a meal.  Fishing was also good on the Solomon river.  In central Kansas we caught a lot of catfish and Bass, but the Soloman had scary fish.  Pete pulled out a fish that looked like a snake which scared him and he beat it to death with a piece of wood.  We found out later it was a Gar.  Pete also killed a rattlesnake on the back porch late one night.  That scared hell out of me since I had just returned from getting the diapers out of the car.

There was a feed store in town and for 25 cents I could buy an old hen.  I had not cleaned a chicken in my life but I had seen my mother do it so I knew what had to happen.  First I had to put a big bucket of water on to heat.  Duane returned home it the old hen.  Her legs were tied together and I instructed him to chop of her head, which he did.  I dunked her in the scalding water just like I had seen momma and grandma do.  To my amazement the feathers pulled off very easily and very soon there were none left.  I lit a paper like I had seen them do and singed off the hairs that remained.  Then it was time to clean out the inside.

I was not very happy to slice through her abdomen and then reach inside and pull out all her innards, but I did it.  When she was as clean as she needed to be, I put her on to boil and then turned her to simmer.  My 25 cent chicken turned out to be a very good meal.  We bought a package of noodles in town for 15 cents  and ate for 2 days on that one chicken.  Course the coon dogs got the scraps and the bones.  Now the coon dogs and that business was a whole nother story. 

Duane and his brothers would go coon hunting with a man who lived a few miles away.  I never went, but he was quick to tell me how the dogs chased the coon, treed the coon and then ripped it apart when it fell to the ground and they killed it.  Now when he brought home a coon for me to clean and cook, it was a whole new ball game.  No way was I touching that to clean it, or cook it and I sure as hell was not going to eat it.  I would rather eat the barn cat and that was not happening either!

I do not know how long we lived in that farmhouse in Glasco, and I do not know where we went when we left there.  Surely some where better.  Funny how somethings just come into our minds.  Glasco was that way.  I know Duane made wine there.  I know Maudie put gas in the diesel truck.  I know that is where I enrolled in a writing class and Duane bought me my first typewriter.  I know I was pregnant with Patty when we left Glasco.  I know there was a championship boxing match that lasted only a few seconds.  I think it was Cassius Clay and somebody. Or maybe Sonny Liston, or lord only knows.

Sometimes when my memory fails me, it is a good thing.

I used to have a family.

I came across this picture the other day.   I am the first one  on the back row.  I used to be young, believe it or not.  Mother is in the middle of the back row.  I probably miss her more then you can even imagine.   The last one on the back row, is my older sister, Josephine.  

The lady in white on the front row, is sister Mary Shea.  Donna Bartholomew is in the center  and hiding behind her elbow is the youngest sister, Dorothy Anderson.  It is sad to say, but there are only 2 of us left.  Donna and myself.  We were ranging in age of oldest to youngest, Josephine, Me, Donna. Mary and Dorothy was the baby.  

How I managed to survive while my younger sisters did not, will never cease to amaze me.  Growing up, I smoked like a train and drank like a fish.  I went through husband like they were disposable items and for the most part they were not necessary to my survival.  I had 5 kids with the first husband so he stands out in my history as one of the few I could actually tolerate for more than a few months.

Josephine had married very young.  Now when I say very young, we are talking 13 or 14 years old.  She married a man twice her age and if that had happened in this day and age, that man would be in prison for a little thing called statutory rape, but back then, the sooner you married the girls off, the less mouths you had to feed.  Not excusing it, by any means, but at the time the legal age for a girl to marry was 16, with most states being younger than that.   I think Mississippi stayed at 13 and was the last to be raised to 16 and then 18.   So Josephine was not really a participating member of the family dynamic that I grew up in at the time.  She was however, an active member, just lived somewhere else.

Dad died in February of 1965 and Jake died in October.  Many years passed and then Mother was the next to go, followed by Josephine and then Mary and Dorothy.  So all that is left is one sister and maybe some cousins.  No Aunts or Uncles and I guess there are nieces and nephews, but I never see them.

I have been asked a few times why I do not move back home.  Back home?  I have been in Pueblo, Colorado for over half of my life, so I pretty well call this home.  But in all fairness, this world is not my home, I am only passing through.  There are songs written that say that.  My family consists of people I meet on the streets and in back alleys that are seeking something that I can give them.  Usually it is just a kind word, but sometimes it is my coat.  My church is my solace and my refuge, but if I did not have it I would still be here.  The homeless and the down trodden are my family now. When I lay down at night I hear a lonesome train whistle from the railroad that runs through Nickerson, Kansas.  I hear the cougar scream from the river.  I see my brothers eyes and I feel my mothers breathe.

It is only in the far recesses of my mind's eye that I will ever be home.