TAKE A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE. The Older We Get….

Before you start reading this dissertation, I’d like to implant a little ditty in your brain for you to carry with you all day long.  You must go back to the 70’s music to Lou Reed and listen to “Walk on the Wild Side”.  This is insured to stay with you for at least a day.  It’s been buzzing around in my head for a couple of days….God only knows why.

“…. Hey Babe, Take A Walk On The Wild Side,
Said Hey Honey, Take A Walk On The Wild Side.”

Being a Senior Citizen is not for sissies’.  Ask any of my high school classmates.  So, I’ve aptly entitled this little story TAKE A WALK ON THE SILD SIDE.

Ask any of them, and they will still tell you that we still see things through the eyes we were born with, only with a bit more wisdom and maybe a little more aplomb (but not much). We try to be tactful, but the older we get, we see things for what they are, and it’s very difficult to just let stuff slide.  We’ve learned to call a spade a SPADE:   And, NO, there is NO racial slur there.  It simply means we call it as we see it.  However, I have found that it sometimes gets you ostracized from any group you happen to have joined; especially if the others are under 50 years old.  They see to it that everything falls under the politically correct terms.  We, on the other hand, we just don’t give a rat’s ass.  I’ll be the first one to say when I’m being sexually harassed, or discriminated against for my age!  You will definitely be informed.

One of my pet peeves is when I’ve had an oil change at the Dodge dealership.  It’s really good service, and a really happy guy comes right up to the window ready to take information and exchange pleasantries for the morning.  That’s not what I’m opposed to.  It’s the fact that, as soon as you return home from there, the phone starts ringing.  They want to speak to “Mr. Anderson”.  I know it’s because I just had the oil changed in his Durango.  They want to take a survey on the service performed at the Dodge dealership.  They ask for “Mr. Anderson”, and I tell them, “He’s at work.”  And that’s the truth.  That’s why I took his car to get the oil changed.  I know what they want, but I resent the fact that as soon as I return home they want to take a survey. They ask if there would be a better time to call, and I give them an unequivocal, “No”, after which a looonng silence ensues.  Finally they just say, “Well, I’ll just call back.” …. Click.  This keeps up until they are allowed to speak to “Mr.”   I have my speech all planned for the next time they call.   “Don’t call me:  I’ll call you!  BE WARE!  We senior citizens can be wild, especially if irritated by pointless surveys."

I’m just saying, Don’t mess with me!  I’ve just had the oil changed.  That’s all.  If there was a problem, you would know BEFORE I leave the premise!  I will let YOU know.  I have things to do when I get home; and none of them includes answering a very annoying “short survey”.  Leave me alone, or I will verbally smack you with my imaginary cane!

LIFETIMES OF FRIENDS AND LIFE'S CHALLENGES AS I SEE IT

For the past several weeks I've had a touch of the dreaded writer's block, and I've been thinking a lot about all my friends and lifetime challenges that we've all faced.  It's true.  Over the past few years I have had the privilege of becoming re-acquainted with many people that I grew up with and went to school with.  I will admit that Facebook has been largely  instrumental in this.  This is the year we had one huge class reunion that included all classed of 1960 through 1969. 

I will be first to admit, that even though I have seen faces, “friended” and “chatted” with most of these people, and I ended up, (just like everyone else), looking at name tags.  I actually did recognize many of them, and  I’m just as sure that there were many that perused my name tag as well.  All of the people had changed in one way or another, including myself, and I suppose one doesn’t notice subtle changes in self as much as one would notice changes (after long periods of time) in others.  People adjust to changes in themselves and their spouses, and children rather quickly.  My, my, my…how we’ve all changed, and we’re all still cute and adorable, but just in another way!  We all turned out to be pretty magnificent people.

The Mexican restaurant was beautiful….up on a hill, the dinner was served on the patio.  There had to have been at least 30 large round tables, each seating about 8 people. We seated ourselves and were joined by six other folks.  This made the evening even more special.  I introduced the Royster around for a while, and then circulated a bit, bought raffle tickets and chatted.  By the time I got back to our table, it was time to get in line for some really good Texas cooking. 

While sitting at our table, gazing around at peers and teachers from the past, I thought; We are common group of unique individuals. 

All of this brought forth the “rules of people and acceptance”.  I put that in quotation marks because these rules are in my head as though I invented them myself, though I don’t really believe it to be an original concept. 

•  We are a common grouping of animals, classified as humans, who are unique as individuals.  No two are exactly alike.  
• People will change with time, and should be allowed to be exactly who they are. 

• It's vital that we accept individuals for who they are, and do not expect them to be anything more or less than they are.  If I could make them more like ME, then I probably wouldn’t find them very interesting, nor would I like them very much.
• No one sees me the same way I see myself in the mirror, nor do they perceive the who in me as I perceive myself to be.
• Play the game with the cards you were dealt.  This means use what you were given. This makes one sit down to take inventory.  We forget what beautiful gifts we are given; and we take these gifts for granted.

We all have been down our prospective roads far enough to realize that we were put here to handle whatever is in front of us at the time, and further, to learn from it.  I sure hope I’ve learned from all the things I’ve stumbled over in the years I’ve been on this road.  Looks like there are several more miles of things to stumble over, study and learn from, and I can truthfully say that I look forward to it.  After you get over the shock of some of the stumbles, it’s just so damned interesting.

None of us solve problems and/or dilemmas in the same way, because we are all different and think differently.  There are NO cookie cutter kids.  And on another positive note, everything seems to fall back into place just where it’s supposed to; and not necessarily in the same place it was before, but just where it’s supposed to be.  That keeps us on our toes, and interested.   I think I’ll hang around for “the rest of the story”.

LITTLE, LOST SALLY

This story is another marker of my daily observances.  Seems that I’m so much more aware than I have ever been.  Keeping an eye out for things that are unusual, or just out of place in any scene I happen upon on any given day.

Thursday, I had procrastinated leaving the house for some reason.  Just didn’t want to get out right away.  Dark clouds and thunder in the distance were a very welcomed indication of much needed rain.  I wanted to go to the store before the rain for a couple of items that I would need to make dinner.  This is a habit that I probably won’t ever break…going to the store for “just a couple of items”.  It gets me out of the house.  Finally, at about 10:00 I headed out the driveway, around the corner and down the main drag of our subdivision. 

About a block from the light at the entrance to our subdivision, I spied a small white dog running down the very middle of the street.  She held her little head high, little pointed ears straight back, and running purposefully in a straight line…a bee line toward the intersection.  I could see that the little Chihuahua could be great peril.  I’ve never been very fond of the notion of owning a Chihuahua, but someone would be heartbroken.  I couldn’t bear the thought of possibly witnessing little Sally getting hit by an oncoming car.  Dammit!  I’d already named her.  Okay, then….already attached, I pursued the little lost Sally.   I always get too attached.

I pulled over to the curb, turned on my flashers, hopped out of my truck, and started after the little white Chihuahua.  Apparently, she heard footsteps and glanced back at me without losing her pace.  We neared the driveway of a small business park, and I noticed a car about to pull out into the street.  I caught the young woman’s eye and begged that she stop for the little dog. She stopped.   And, as if signaled that there would be a place to hide, little Sally turned to look at me as I neared, then backed under the front wheel well of the young woman’s Toyota.  Thankfully, the young woman knew not to move forward and put her car in park and got out to help.  Sally backed further underneath the car.

 

The young woman was on her way to work.  Perfectly groomed, neatly dressed in her hostess outfit, and sporting a really cool chili pepper name badge, Sylvia got out of her car and squatted down to have a look at the situation.

 

“Oh, the poor little thing!” She cried, as she reached towards the little dog.  Sally feigned a vicious growl and Sylvia calmly withdrew her hand.  I reached out and tried.  Sally would have none of it.  Sylvia offered that she might have something in her car that might entice the little dog out.  I was all for it.  She disappeared into her car and produced a few Gummy Bears, and I bit my cheeks to avoid laughing, reminding myself that I didn’t have a solution at all.

 

Sylvia offered the morsel to Sally, who sniffed at it, stared and back up suspiciously.  She tore one of the Gummy Bears in half and tried again.  Sally came forward a bit, sniffed and licked the Gummy Bear.  She appeared to like it, and moved a bit closer.  Sylvia reached in and picked up her new friend gently.  What a sweetie that Sylvia was!  She handed Sally to me and bid us farewell.  She had to be at work at 10:30.  Good thing the restaurant was just around the corner.

I took Sally and put her in my truck.  She was cute.  She had no collar and was white with a black left eye, and had a black spot over her right eye.  What a cutie!  She was pretty chubby…like a little sausage.  No….not like a sausage; a fat burrito with a Chihuahua face.  I noticed that she held the tip of her tongue out.  I also noticed something very remarkable for a Chihuahua.  It was evident that she was frightened, but she did not tremble at all!  She stood at the passenger side window to lookout.  As soon as I started my truck, she was in my lap and looking out the window on my side.  This wasn’t her first car ride.

I turned the truck around, and decided to go down the first street and ask at a couple of residences if they recognized little Sally.  At the first house on the corner, a very pleasant woman came to the door.  She didn’t recognize little Sally, but offered to take me across the street to another neighbor, who might shed some light on the lost little dog.  Her neighbor didn’t recognize the little lost Sally either, so Sally and I took our leave, and headed to the veterinary clinic across the main road.

 

The woman at the vet clinic window offered to scan Sally to see if she had an I.D. chip.  Sadly, no, she did not.  I said, “Well, I don’t really know what to do with her, but I’ll….”  The woman that had just scanned Sally interrupted to say…”Uhhh….Are you going to take her back to where you found her?”  I was outraged!  The very idea!  I said, “Of course not! I’m taking her back to my house!  Here’s my phone number just in case you hear of someone looking for this little dog!”    I took Sally and left.

As I drove off, I thought; Now look what you’ve done!  You’ve compromised your entire day!  And then I felt instantly guilty for thinking such a selfish thought.

I drove home and put Sally down in the back yard and let Hank out to welcome her.  He gave her the sniff test, and she passed.  They headed out towards the far back yard to check their Pee-Mail.  I came in the house and printed up some “FOUND, WHITE CHIHUAHUA” notices to post around the front and back of the subdivision.  I let Hank in the house, and took Sally with me to post the signs at the entrances to the subdivision.  Again, she hopped in my lap to navigate our drive.  I used packing tape to post the signs on the light polls, and we returned home just in time for a torrent of rain to start coming down.

I sat down at the kitchen table (my kitchen office) to mess around on the computer while observing the dogs bonding.  Actually, Sally sniffed around a bit and took up her post sitting on my right foot to watch Hank, who had decided he was not getting replaced by a Chihuahua.  He laid down in the living room to take another nap.  Sally stayed on my right foot and watched Hank intently.  Apparently she had been an only dog in her household and was not familiar with hanging out with a big dog.

 

The rain was really pounding down, and I was grateful.  We had not had a decent rain since January.  Both dogs disappeared into the bedroom.  I followed to see what the attraction was.   It was a missed Kodak moment, as they stood at the open window together to watch the rain.  It would have been a great picture.

After a while, I fixed myself a P.B. & J. and fixed some lunch for the dogs as well.  Hank started in on his bowl, and Sally sniffed at hers and looked up at me as if to say…”No thank you.  I just want my family.”  I sat down to eat my sandwich, and Sally resumed her post on my right foot.  Hank went back to resume his nap.

 

The rain had let up, and I wondered if the signs had held up.  Just in case, I printed up 3 more signs and headed out to check on them.  As I suspected, the rain and wind had knocked the signs down.  I dried the light post and posted fresh signs and returned home.  Someone should be calling about Little Lost Sally.

Royster would be coming home soon, so I sat back down at my “desk”, and Sally again resumed her post on my foot.  I noticed a few minutes later, that Sally had crept off my foot and was creeping a little bit at a time towards Hank (still sleeping).  Ears pointed forward, she’d creep forward a step or two until finally she was right behind Hank’s head.  She turned to look at me, and then turned back around to sniff Hank’s ear. This made his ear twitch, and it startled her.  She hurried back to my foot at once, and stared at the otherwise undisturbed sleeping dog.  About that time The Royster drove up, and both dogs got up to go greet him at the back door.  Royster was not surprised, and Sally recognized that he was part of the family.  I find this humorous, as other stray or lost dogs would have growled at a “stranger” at the door.

We all adjourned to the bedroom to watch the evening news.  I hoisted Hank up on the bed, and Sally looked at me expectantly, so I lifted her up as well.  She immediately snuggled up next to me.  This wasn’t her first rodeo!  Hank accepted the extra company on the bed.

It wasn’t long after that the phone rang.  A woman asked me if I had found a white Chihuahua.  I told her I did, and that she was here and safe.  The woman was ecstatic in Spanish.  She didn’t speak much English, and put her daughter on the phone. She told me that they lived near the park, and that we should meet them in the parking lot there.  I asked her what the dog’s name was, and she said Lisa. The Royster and I left, with Sally/Lisa in tow, first going to what we know as the park.  No one was there, so I guessed they meant the club pool.

As we drove up, we saw a tan van, a woman and three children waiting anxiously for Sally/Lisa, and I handed her over to the children.  The mother was in tears, and I could tell that she would have done anything for those children. The youngest had a fist full of $20’s, and tried to hand it to me. I told them, “NO MONEY!  No, No dinaro!  No es necesario!”  They insisted, and I finally told them that I would take hugs instead and they finally agreed to that.  It was very plain that Sally/Lisa belonged to them, or they belonged to Sally/Lisa.

I knew too, that the name (Lisa) that the girl had given me was probably her own name, and not the little Chihuahua’s name, which I will probably not ever know. All was as it should have been…. And,I just love happy endings.

IT JUST MAKES SENSE

Not long ago, I was having lunch at an Italian restaurant with a group of my peers. This restaurant had a Wednesday lunch special with all you could eat soup, salad and fresh hot bread.  This is what we all swore was a light lunch because there were no main courses involved.  There were four of us, and we were discussing all the things that women of our age discuss; weight gain, diets, recipes, surgeries and other maladies, husbands, children and grandchildren.

 

Jacqueline had decided that she was 25 lbs. overweight because of her grandchildren. “Yes”, she said.  “I’ve gained this weight because the grandchildren come over here at least once a week, and they always want me to bake, and of course I bake extra for Rick and myself.”   She captured the waiter’s attention.  “Could we please have some more butter?”

Karina chimed in that she had gained 30 extra Lbs. over the past 3 years sitting at a desk.  “Ladies, that’s ten lbs. a year!”   It was a demanding, thankless job.  Someone always brought donuts or breakfast burritos in the mornings, and everyone eats out at lunchtime. The workload was grueling, and by the time she got home, she was hungry, and  too tired to work out.  “Bogart always has dinner ready for me when I get home….usually something fast, and sometimes ordered out, like pizza or fried chicken.  I’ll be retiring in three years, and I’ll start working out then.”  Well, I guess it makes sense, to wait until you’re finished putting it all on.

 

We all ruminated on that a bit, while eating our diet lunch of soup, salad and bread.  The waiter brought out a basket of freshly baked bread to replace the empty bread basket. “Could we please have more of the olive oil for the bread and 4 more soups?”  Georgina asked.  “And we could probably use a little more salad.” 

“You know”, continued Georgina, “It’s a damn shame that we have to age this way….I mean look at how much weight we put on!  And, it’s so hard to take off.”  “Harlan just doesn’t seem to understand that we cannot continue to eat like pigs….especially at night. He insists on a bowl of ice cream every night…..And, of course, he knows I simply cannot resist having a little ice cream as well.  And, he doesn’t even gain an ounce! No wonder I’ve gained 35 lbs.!”  It just makes sense, doesn’t it?

It’s so true! Year after year, and holiday after holiday, our husbands, children and grandchildren demand that we cook all of the seasonal delights.  Our jobs donate sedentary assignments and projects that hobble us to our desks.  We fall into a routine that’s really hard to change.  Even the dog gets fat with us.

I finally had to add my two cents worth.  “You know, girls, I think we’re all in the same boat.  The older we get, the easier we gain weight, and the harder it is to take off the extra weight.  I’ve been thinking about this for a while now.  We are definitely less active and our metabolisms have slowed down dramatically….waaayyy down.  I think there must be a perfectly good reason for this extra weight. Girls, I’m pretty sure we’ve gained all this extra weight over the years to fill in all the wrinkles.  Y’all don’t laugh!  I’m serious about this!”  Georgina almost choked and laughed her wine through her nose.  Karina laughed so hard that she had to excuse herself to the bathroom, and Jacqueline fanned herself wildly…..”Stop it!  I’ll wet myself!”

After two solid hours of soup, salad and bread, there was usually only room enough for the four of us to share a dessert.  The favorite of which was the frosted, nut filled brownie pie a la mode.  To be honest, one person could not (should not) eat one alone.  I said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you girls to help me through this on Wednesdays.  Honestly, this dessert is just really to die for!  Dig in, ya’ll!”  With that, we all grabbed our spoons and started in on the chocolate delight; and it all started to make sense.  After all, we had some wrinkles to fill in.

IT’S ALL ABOUT COMFORT - AT LAST!

While chatting with my friend Carolyn on the phone the other day, the subject of endearing old practices and traditions arose.  Somehow, it came around to the smell and feel of freshly washed and ironed sheets, and how nice it feels to just snuggle into them.  Since we lived with my grandparents for a little while when I was very young, I do remember my grandmother’s maid, Lillian, ironing them.  I learned how to iron from Lillian, and she would let me stand on a box and iron pillowcases while she prepared other clothes to be ironed.   She ironed everything from table linens, sheets and my grandfather’s dress shirts, khakis, boxer shorts, my grandmother’s nighties, to hankies and even the baby’s diapers. I must have been about five years old.  Remembering just how nice they smelled, I tried to iron sheets after I married, but I just got too busy working and taking care of a baby.  I did iron the pillowcases for a while; and that really made a difference.  The sheets could just be wrinkled.  Thinking about all of this, I thought of all the items that were ironed and starched, and then remembered all the old comforts that are now settling on my shoulders like a favorite old bathrobe.

There are certainly wonderful old comforts to be reviewed, but I started remembering way back when some things were just plain uncomfortable or un-cool.  I recalled net and crinoline petticoats.  

As little girls are from the very beginning, we were very fashion conscious from kindergarten up.  Fashion and beauty were to be attained at any expense from then on.  Crinoline and net petticoats were a big fashion statement, and we’d starch them in heavy starch, and then lay them out on a flat surface on a sheet to dry.  Once dried, we could wear them under our fullest skirts to fluff them out, or under a circular felt skirt with a poodle appliquéd on the front.…Very fashionable in the 50’s and 60’s.  The really bad part is that they were so uncomfortable as hell to sit on, not to mention that we didn’t have air conditioning in our schools then.  We would sit on those petticoats in the sweltering heat of the classroom, only to get up with them stuck to the backs of our legs.  Next trip to the restroom we peeled them off our legs and tried to fluff them out once more. Oh, the work ... the agony!

Crisp white blouses were starched to wear with the full skirts; and gym clothes were another couple of things that were a bit chaffing; and after one ran around the gym or played basketball or volleyball enough to break a sweat.  The stuff just stuck to you.

We little girls showed extreme interest in shoes even back then, and we knew what we wanted.  Saddle oxfords were high fashion when Mom was in high school, but she made us wear those late 30’s and early 40’s “fashion statement saddle oxfords” until we were in junior high school.  My sisters and I hated them.  We wanted cute shoes like the other girls wore to school; the black patent Mary-Janes, and later in middle school, the “flats” and penny loafers. 

Mom would buy us the Buster Brown brand or saddle oxfords, and then she would swear we would thank her later for our perfect feet and nice straight toes.  And, according to Mom, you didn’t need to polish your saddle shoes very often.  It was fashionable to let them get worn looking.  I didn’t think that was right and was always polishing mine.  If I had to wear them, then they would look as new as I could make them look, that is, until I outgrew them.  But, out growing these shoes took a long time, as Mom would buy them two sizes to long for me, in anticipation of my growth, and the new ones always rubbed blisters on my heels.  With these, she bought a box of band-aids. What a bonus.

In about the 6^th grade, I started bugging Mom to let me shave my legs.  "No!” She said. “You’re too young!”  She said I couldn’t’ until I was 14.  Well, that was just forever!  So, with that, I just quit asking and just gave myself permission to shave my legs during the summer before I entered junior high school.  I was sure she wouldn’t notice.

So, I crept into the upstairs bathroom and closed the door.  There was a razor in the cabinet that my older sister had used.  I lathered up my right leg with the bar of Palmolive soap and started out by taking a big swipe from the ankle of my right leg.   In the process, I cut a nice, neat slice from ankle, almost to my knee.  Geeeeeezzzze!  How was I going to explain that?  And, since that was the first pass at my leg with the razor, the job never got finished.  I was much too busy trying to stop the bleeding.   It looked like I was going to need stitches, or at least butterfly sutures.   At any rate, since I didn’t ask (because the answer was going to be “no”), I got in a lot of trouble and given extra chores to do; and of course, GROUNDED!!!!  The subject was never brought up again, and I just became very careful about shaving.   I learned early that it’s painful trying to be gorgeous and fashionable.

I finally reached junior high school and was allowed to wear flats and penny loafers.  I never had to wear saddle oxfords again!  With the flats, you needed hose.  A girl needed all the right paraphernalia to hold up the hose, a garter belt, or a girdle.  I guess nothing comes easy.  Panty hose were still very new on the market, and still being perfected.  You needed at least one back up pair of hose, because inevitably you’d get a run in one.  I learned to use clear nail polish to stop a run.  I was getting a real fashion education.

Penny Loafers required crew socks.  This was really a problem, because there were three of us girls in high school or junior high school at once.  We learned early to try to do our own laundry separately from everyone else’s.  Mom tried to mark all of our clothes with color codes. No one seemed to take the color coding seriously. If your socks got tossed into the laundry for the “general population” the crew socks were as good as gone; the general population being eleven of us kids and Mom and Dad.  Possession was the general rule for the general population laundry.  ALL socks from the general population laundry got tossed into the sock bag.  The sock bag was actually a navy-blue canvas bag that used to fit on the back of one of the old strollers.  If your socks got chunked into that bag, you might as well just kiss them good-bye.  You’d never see/match your socks again, unless they were on another sibling.  Most times I’d end up wearing the revered hose with my loafers, which worked, but wasn’t as cool as it was when Mom wore loafers.

Makeup was a whole different matter.  Dad was a real watch dog about this.  He’d send us back in the house to “Wipe off at least half of that!  You look like a clown!”  On those days, we were usually late for school.  From those days forward, I wore makeup, shaved, wore penny loafers, flats and hose, started coloring my chestnut-colored hair and used hairspray.  After a while, I got pretty good at all of that, and it became just a part of who I was.

Now, there is a paradox in all of this.  As I got older, I have noticed that wearing less makeup looks much better; and shoes that are more the shape of my feet are much more comfortable.  I actually had a pair of Earth Shoes for years; and wish I still had them.  The picture below is exactly the style I had to wear with my hip-slung bell bottoms and Tees. 

When I lost all of my hair in chemotherapy, I was amazed at the color that grew back.  It was a color it had never been, and it had literally been every color under the rainbow.  It came back in black and silver.  That was quite a switch from the natural chestnut color I vaguely remember before I started coloring it when I was about 26.  I found that, not only can I live without coloring my hair, but that I prefer to leave it alone.  I am very comfortable with it.

I look for comfortable clothing in the department stores.  Sometimes it’s really hard to find jeans and slacks that come to the waist.  I asked a clerk what I was supposed to do with the muffin top that bulged out of the top of the pants cut below the belly button.  Blouses must be loose with three-quarter sleeves, and just the right neckline.  I love my clogs, crocks and walking shoes.  My favorites are still my flip-flops.  However, I still have a few very classic dress shoes that I just refuse to get rid of; just not very many places to wear them.  I guess it’s just the girl in me ... hanging on to them.

So, I’m getting to where comfort overrides style, but I’ve developed my own style over the years.  No one noticed or cared when I quit wearing mascara 10 years ago.  It saves me money and several minutes putting on a face in the morning; and that’s been pared down to just the very basics.  I love dressing up in comfort and looking good at the same time.  Why didn’t I think of that years ago?

I guess the older you get, the less you depend on what others think.  It’s called having a mind of your own.  When you worry about what someone else thinks of you, you’re just handing them a lot of power. 

And guess what?  I washed all the pillowcases and ironed them today.  They smell heavenly and provide a wonderful memory and comfort of long ago.  I might just do that again.  So, I’m all about comfort now, and I’m off to watch the “eye-lid movies”! (Dad used to say that.) with my head on a freshly washed and ironed pillowcase.  Nighty-night y’all!  Sweet dreams!

COWBOY COFFEE, CRITTERS AND ARROWHEADS

I found a twig the right size, and put it in the coffee pot … keeps it from boiling over. 

Our Cowboy Coffee is made in an old blue, enamel coffee boiler by pouring the ground coffee in the bottom of the pot, and then filling it with water.  Then, you sit it on the campfire until it just starts to boil.  The twig does keep it from boiling over.  Once it gets to the stage where it almost boils, you move it out to the edge to “steep” for a few minutes and to let the grounds settle to the bottom.  You can make it on the Coleman stove if you want to, but It just isn’t really Cowboy Coffee that way.  If you don’t have an old blue, enamel coffee boiler, then you can put coffee in a plain white cotton sock and tie a knot in it and toss it into a pot of boiling water.  Do make sure the sock is clean.  I have done that when we were out of power during a hurricane.

Sitting at the campfire, staring at the embers and waiting for the Cowboy Coffee to be ready, The Royster and I would sit chatting quietly and watching the dawn wake up the landscape.   In the faint light of dawn, you could see a few deer grazing several yards away.  There are just no other smells or sounds like the smells and sounds at dawn out where we used to camp.  Nor is there the peace that one feels in that place and at that time.  Roy had been camping at that same spot yearly, long before he and I met.  His friend, John, called the spot where we camped, Roy’s Camp, which made it that much more special. 

The place where we camped was on a ranch in Montell, Texas near Uvalde.  You have to go through about seven bump gates to get there.  Our little camp was situated among the hills and native trees below a ranch house, and just above a creek that flows on a limestone bed.  There are real human foot prints fossilized, both in the creek and along either side.  There were also limestone depressions about the size of a bathtub that two grown people could actually sit in. The whole area holds an enchantment of historical times when the Montell Indians lived there.

Where we camped, there were no conveniences as we know them in the everyday life of urban and suburban dwellers.  No timer to set to have the coffee ready when we wake up; no plumbing, and no electricity.  Our tent, sleeping bags, a small table, a couple of folding chairs and a lantern were all we had.   We used an old Coleman two burner stove if we wanted to cook breakfast, and a couple of large coolers for food and drinks.  Oh, yes, and The Royster's homemade stereo.

Since our Hosts would pop in unannounced periodically (And, they were always welcomed), we devised a really good make-shift shower using two solar camp shower bags, a very large Hula Hoop and a couple of shower curtains to hang in a nearby tree.  Perfect.

It was during these early mornings when Ol’ Vic would show up to have some Cowboy Coffee with us.  Roy had met Ol’ Vic through his son, John, whom he had contracted to do some work on an oil lease.  They became good friends.  He and his dad owned the land that we camped on, and, in his younger days, Ol’ Vic had been a 1936 Bronc Riding Champion.  Vic would sip his coffee with us and tell us stories for a while before he would tell us that he had to get on with the day, which usually meant a casual day of fishing or deer hunting through the window of his cabin from his rocking chair in the living room.  The window just happened to face a deer trail, and he knew just when to “hunt”.  He made his own venison sausage, and cured and smoked it in the old smoke shack that had been there for generations.

Later on in the day, John would show up.  I’d never hear his horse approaching, nor would I hear him sneaking up behind me to pick me up and spin me around.  It always just scare the poop out of me; not just once, but every time he’d do that.

 

Sometimes, John would just call Roy and tell him that he’d just plowed up a field, and there had been a pretty good rain right after plowing.  “There’ll be plenty arrowheads surfacing.”  He’d say.  We’d pack up the truck and head out west to see what we could find.  With a stick and a good eye, we could go scratching around and usually come up with several good arrowheads and a pretty good artifact or two; even if it was just an old horseshoe or cow bell.

 

We would look for arrowheads, and snoop around until it just got too hot, and then we’d go back to camp and have some lunch and possibly a nap in the shade of a tree, or maybe take our lawn chairs down to the creek to loll in the cool clear water.  On another day, we might go to Blue Hole, which was a really  beautiful place further up the creek, where torrential rains had pounded a hole in the creek about 20’ deep, and maybe 30’ wide.  The result was a perfect swimming hole, complete with a stone diving platform.

 

One afternoon we’d just finished a lunch of sandwiches and coleslaw.  Since the slaw was gone, I just dropped the spoon in the Tupperware bowl and put the sealing lid back on and sat it on the table.  As we gazed around, The Royster pointed out a small armadillo that was sniffing around.  It was several feet away, and Roy picked up a clod of dirt and chunked it at the armadillo.  Startled, it popped up like a piece of popcorn.  We entertained ourselves by chunking clods of dirt at the poor thing, watching it pop up with every clod of dirt tossed near it.  Later in the evening we would join John and friends for a little band music and dancing up by the ranch house.  After that, it was back to camp and a very peaceful sleep.

 

In the wee hours of the morning there was a startling rattling noise; sort of like a spoon stuck in a garbage disposal.  I jumped up and woke The Royster, who would have slept right through it.  The rattling just kept on.  I let my eyes adjust to the dark, and peeked out of the tent.  There in the moon light, sitting on the little table was a raccoon with the sealed bowl with the spoon it.  The raccoon was shaking the bowl violently, trying to get at the food inside.  My hero, The Royster, came out and hurtled a cantaloupe at the little raccoon to chase it away.  I brought the rattling bowl back into the tent with us.  The little raccoon had won after all…a wonderful cantaloupe for a nights foraging.

We have not been out to Roy’s Camp in years, but I think about it fondly, and wonder if I could camp like that again.  I think I could, but not in the heat of the summer.  We had so much fun out there, and there was so much to see.  It took away the fast paced, rough and tumble of the city life and the suburban life.  Yes, I think I could get used to that kind of living on a daily basis … maybe not camping out, but out away from the masses of toil and haste.   

Yes … I think April might just be perfect. 

BIRTHDAY DINNER INTERRUPTUS

There is a new Mediterranean Grill restaurant down the road, and I chose that for my birthday dinner on Monday night.  The Royster and I drove there and took a seat.  It appeared we were the only ones there besides the staff, and they were glad to see us.  We ordered our salads and were brought some wonderful bread along with our salads.   So far, so good.

Finally our main courses were brought out.  I had ordered lamb kabobs.  It was cooked to perfection.   Forgive me if this is sounding all too familiar.  I tasted the rice with it, and it proved to be very good.  Then I selected a piece of roasted lamb from the kabob; cut off a bite size piece and savored the taste as I chewed.  Excellent!  As I swallowed, I noticed a familiar feeling as the morsel moved down to a stop.  Okay, M’liss … relax.  It’ll move if you just relax.  Sip some water. 

Oh! *#%$@!!!  It’s happened again!  The Royster guessed right away what had happened, and was watching me intently, as if watching for the winning lottery numbers roll out. 

       

Food had lodged in my esophagus and it was not going to move.  The Royster asked me if he should take me to the hospital E.R., and I told him that we should go home and give it a chance to move on its own.   Besides, we needed to let the dog out, and if need be, find someone to check in on Hank if we had to be gone.  We asked for doggie boxes and took both our full meals home.  What a bummer!   On the way home, he watched me out of the corner of his eye for something good to happen.  Nothing!  We agreed that this always seems to happen only when we eat out; and usually it’s an expensive restaurant.  When we arrived home, I promptly got into the shower to try to relax….even knowing that scar tissue isn’t going to relax, once it’s constricted.  After about an hour, I decided that we should go to the E.R.   So we got in the car and drove the 15 minutes to St. Luke’s in The Woodlands.

So, once again, I found myself in the hospital E.R. waiting room, with a chunk of food stuck in my gullet.  The last time was Labor Day week-end.  I’ll call that The Beef-Tip Incident.  And, again, the Royster dropped me of at the E.R. entrance to get a jump on signing in while he parked the car.  I was at the desk in no time, and filled out the short form.  The woman asked me what was wrong, and I told her I had food stuck in a stricture in my esophagus.

 

She said:  “Oh my gosh!  Are you in pain?   Discomfort?”

My eyes rolled as I said:  “I’m in considerable pain and discomfort!”

She said:  “Alright then, have a seat, and doctor will be right with you.”

I asked:  “Any idea of how long I’ll have to wait?”

She said:  “Oh, it shouldn’t be long at all."

As I turned around, I saw that there were about 40 other people ahead of me.  My heart sank with the realization that most of those people were there with cold symptoms.  Runny nosed kids running around and maybe a couple people with serious hangnails.  They were there because they didn’t want to go see a regular doctor they’d have to pay.  They were there because emergency room care is free to people with no insurance.  By law, they cannot be turned down.  The only seats left were next to the automatic door, which opened every time someone walked by.  It was cold.   I sat and watched for an eternity, as one after another snotty nose and hangnail was called in to see doctor.

This brought to mind a song by Stevie Ray Vaughn – HANGNAILS AND BOOGERS.

  

We had arrived at the E.R. around 9 p.m.  Around 10 p.m. I went to the desk and asked when I might be called to see a doctor.  I was told there were only a few ahead of me.  Again, told the nurse at the desk that I was in a great deal of pain and discomfort.  He asked again what was wrong; and again I told him.  He looked surprised.  “It shouldn’t be long now.”  I returned to my seat.  The Royster and I were both squirming and very tired.  I made at least two more trips to the restroom, and each time, I passed by the desk, I asked again, “How long?”   The third trip around 12:30 a.m.   I was told there was one more ahead of me.  I thought there was truly some hope.  Another eternity slipped by.

The nurse checking a list and calling patients called three more…by that time it was 1:45 a.m.  I’d had enough!  I stood up and glared straight at the male nurse that had told me there had been only one ahead of me.  My glare said that I was coming over the desk to do some damage to him.  He quickly took side-bar with Nurse Nancy who had been calling all the snotty noses and hangnails to see the doctor.  He casually gestured in my direction and acted very nervous.  Nurse Nancy side-glanced in my direction…..and I gave her a full glare.  She nervously went back to her rolling podium and looked at her list…..”Oh, yes!  Here she is!” she added with a nervous “Ha-ha”.  She nodded to me and called my name.  The Royster and I jumped up as if someone would hop in front of us.

Nurse Nancy escorted me in to see doctor.   By this time, poor Royster was sleep-walking.  Doctor asked me what the problem was, as if I hadn’t told anyone.  When I told him that I had a chunk of meat stuck in the stricture in my esophagus, he acted surprised, again as if ... and then asked me if I was in any pain or discomfort!  I was ready to explode, and I said:

“YES!  I’m in a GREAT DEAL of pain and discomfort, not to mention that I cannot swallow my own saliva, and have been spitting in this plastic barf bag since 9 p.m.”   He actually had the nerve to ask why I didn’t tell anyone when I came in.  I think he sensed that I was going to take someone’s head off, so he had someone come in with a wheelchair to whisk me off to x-ray at 2:30, and after that, around 3:00 to the E.R. Examination cubicle.

 

They didn't have a G.I. person there, but they'd try to get the "on call" G.I. person.  In the mean time, I was to sleep on a gurney in the E.R.  There were no rooms available in the hospital.   I sent the Royster home to get some sleep and let Hank out.  Arriving home at 3:30 a.m., he didn’t get much sleep before he was back by my side before 7 a.m.

We were told that the on call G.I. doctor was on the way.  We hurried up to wait longer….until 11 a.m. the next morning, when I was whisked off to surgery, prepped and lectured by a doctor I was sure didn’t like his job, or at least didn’t want to be there.  Without knowing anything about my history, nor having seen the problem, he fussed at me and accused me of taking too big a bite and not chewing.  I guessed that I’d interrupted a golf game or sex, or something equally as important, and he was really mad at having been called to surgery.

 

He said he’d take out the blockage, but was not going to dilate me.  I implored him to please dilate me, because the stricture had shrunk once again.  Surgery performed and the offending piece of lamb kabob extracted, and gullet dilated (9th time).  I guess he finally realized the situation.  He admonished me again for getting food stuck.  How stupid of me!  Further, he had the nerve to hand me his card, and ordered me to report to him in one week for a follow-up.  I’ve made an appointment with another doctor for the follow up.  I’ll be writing a complaint on him to the hospital.  I was released from Recovery at 12:42 p.m.

After picking up prescriptions at the pharmacy, we were home by 1:30 p.m. and we slept all the rest of the day.  We woke to have something to eat.  I had a little broth, took some Aleve for pain (my head, throat and chest ached terribly from straining), and slept until about 5 a.m. the next morning.   I'm on a soft diet for the next week....No problem there. 

I do feel much better today; ran some errands, and will finally dismantle the Christmas tree. A nap will be in order. I do have pictures of the procedure and the offending piece of lamb kabob, but I don't think I'll put it on display.  We did bring home doggy boxes from the Mediterranean Grill, and I will make soup with the kabob meat....for Roy....I think I’ll just just have some of the broth … thanks very much.  And the lamb soup was pronounced good, and enjoyed by two very hungry people.