CONUNDRUMS

In my 75 years of observance, life seems to be a constantly winding road of Yea's and Boos, ups and downs, happiness and discontent, receiving and giving, etc. When we are small children, we can't wait for our birthdays, Christmas, Easter, the first day of school, for grandma to get there, etc. Well here it is. As an adult, we have already experienced most of our firsts, unless you are planning to skydive, or fly to the moon at the age of 80." Granted, that by this time our physical bodies have waned in strength and balance. The skin and bones holding our bodies together have softened; and because of this we have become more sedentary.

Here's the point of this dissertation. Years ago, I was pretty much forced into an early retirement because I'd had been found to have lung cancer. Luckily, it was non-small cell, which moves slowly. If you can call having a lung removed lucky, I am. When I returned to work, I pretty much sounded like Darth Vader. So much for receptionist positions. So after many attempts at temporary assignments, I just decided to take an early retirement.

What an adventure I've been on since then at the tender age of 55. I started writing, and that was a good thing. With the help of my handsome nephew, John, I set up a blog to keep my stories in. Still love it, and I have vowed to be more on top of it this year. Thank you Johnny-Boy! However, it pretty much kept me on my derriere, and in the house. I've kept that going, and still love to write.

That still wasn't enough, soooooo, I started making sock monkeys. It got me out of the house to find clothes for them! Shoes, of course! I made sock monkeys from all walks of life. It got me crawling around on the floor to cut out multiple patterns at once! I'll bet I made over 30 of them, and fell in love with each one as I stitched them together. After all of that planning, sewing, dressing and playing with the sock monkeys and snakes, I still didn't keep one for me. Maybe I need to make a Cowboy Jim monkey. Let me just think on that for a while.

On one trip to the craft stores, I found a pattern for some really cool 7' snakes! Oh, how cute! Of course I bought the pattern and then went to the fabric store to buy up their surplus of scraps that they sell at a discount. Oh, my GOD, this if fun!!!! After I'd made monkeys and snakes for everyone, I had to slow down a bit. So, I started snooping around the resale shops for their jewelry. I'm familiar with the resale shops, because you never know what kind of classy item you will find. The glass case always had jewelry on display. It caught my eye. I didn't really like the style of most of the pieces, but........I HAD HATCHED UP AN IDEA!!!! I could buy these pieces, take them apart, and string them back to my own style and satisfaction! What magic comes from snooping in someone else's old discards!

Needless to say, I fell in love again. Beading has been IT since then. They are magic, it seems. When I sit down at my very messy beading table, things start to happen! Colors come together to make something very pleasing to the eye. I will have to say, it's a pricey hobby, but maybe not as expensive as golf, deep-sea diving, or skydiving, but it's not sending me to the poor house.

I still want to make a Cowboy Jim monkey for me. I promise to put her in a prominent place in the house.....but I think she needs a stick horse. Let me just think on that a little.

I think the point of this message is find something to do, and stick to it, until you find yet another passion. Think of what grand things can come from that, and the stimulation for adventure and life that will take you on further adventures.

Whatever it is. Hiking would be great! What's next?

LATE BLOOMER

 LATE BLOOMER

I can't remember the exact day it happened.  Growing up was hard as far as keeping up, measuring up, keeping in step.  My mind wandered, giving me the tag of "daydreamer". 

When I wasn't daydreaming, I was catching up.  In a family of 11 children, I was #2 in line.

On report card day, we were called into the living room, one at a time to "discuss" our grades.

I wanted so much to hear a positive note.  Sadly, there was no such stimulating accolade for grades, even when they were improved.  "Well, that's nice......I know you could do better." And then the dread lower than a C.  It was always the math. "You're grounded until next report card."  Geeeeeez! 

I was second in line to be called on the flood to be grilled and assigned my fate for grades not up to par with the standard.  Admittedly, they were never up to par.....and even with improvement, there was always....."Well, you could do better."  Grade school through high school.................

I swallowed hard and went into the living room to hear my grades read out loud to me, questioned, and to accept my fate.  It was the last report card I would receive.   It was my senior year.  Surprisingly they weren't so bad.  I had managed to bring all of my grades up.  And, sadly, I got the "We know you could do better."  I was also aware that I was not the only one that heard that "line" every time. The prospect of not being grounded was promising. At least I didn't get grounded.  I stood there waiting for the other shoe to fall......and it did.  

."Well, we know you could do better."  And then it dawned on me that they always said that.  Maybe it was a compliment to my abilities.  Maybe they did know that somehow, I had the potential of becoming a genius.  Oh, come on now!  Even I didn't believe that.

As time moved on, I looked to my aunt a lot for inspiration.  She so inspired me with her many art mediums as well as her genuine interest in cultural art, and especially Southwest art.  I dug up some of the old letters and information on her many talents.  She was extremely creative, and displayed her talents in clay pottery, painting, jewelry and horticulture. She filled up her yard with beautiful iris of all kinds. Everything she did was with flare.  Even the old blue Plymouth, which she hand-painted blue and sprayed with speckles.

Mom encouraged the writing by making up a family newsletter called The Bull Sheet.  The Bull Sheet didn't last very long, but I think I even have a few copies left.... somewhere. The writing thing was also encouraged by our sweet next-door neighbor, Jeannette Farmer.  She would always tell us, "Read, read, read, and then write!"  She was truly an inspiration to us when she would come out of the house and talk to us.

After I married and had children, I was mostly pre-occupied taking care of kids, hearth and home, along with working to supplement our income.  I'm sure I'm not the only mother that managed to juggle all of this.  I did manage to keep some of my artful urges by taking a ceramic class and creating some beautiful ceramic elephants to hold a plexiglass coffee table.  The ceramic elephants were bronze. Once they were fired and ready to bring home, I purchased a large 6' oval plexiglass tabletop to sit on the bronze elephants.  This, but with a bronze glaze:

I instructed everyone that came in the house, that if anyone broke this table, heads would roll.  This seemed to work, until one day (after about 10 years) while vacuuming the living room, I absentmindedly backed into the glass table.  It snapped in two.  How was I going to explain this?  Mea culpa. There was no blaming-shifting for this gross display of carelessness.  I carefully took the two large pieces of glass out to the garage.  This was sad.  I had broken my most prized creation and had to tell my husband and daughters.  After having confessed my clumsy accident, they burst into guffaws!  The elephants then became end tables for the couch.  The room looked horribly bare, but it was what it was.  We were to move to a new location north of Houston, and I sold the elephants to a nice couple who loved them.  And later I even sold the two pieces of plexiglass.

One would think that this discouraged me from making any form of art, but I marched on to making and dressing sock monkeys.  I'll bet I made 35 of those little beauties, all different.  All for family and friends.

Sadly, I didn't save one for me.

After that itch was scratched, I started making bracelets and necklaces.  Beads, beads!  Beautiful beads!  I've stuck with this, and they have improved with time.  And I've earned some money at this, though it was never my intention to "go into business".

I've learned a lot and received much satisfaction.  Maybe I have finally started blooming....at 74.  Looks like the beads have won out over all of these artsy endeavors.  Perhaps I will finally bloom after all. Could there be more?  We'll see, but, until then I will continue to find great satisfaction in putting the pretty colored beads together.  It makes me happy.

GUIDED TO THE STARS

My memory was stoked this morning when one of my younger sisters noted to us that she had taken on a new assignment through an agency that sends people to be present for people who are passing from this life to the next.  She said, "Everything is as it should be in the best of all possible worlds.".....which quoted Voltaire.  I know the feeling of being present for people who are in their last moments.  I think it very import to do this for someone who is making their exit from this life. There is definitely a special peaceful feeling in being present for them.  

The memory I refer to is from years ago, when Roy and I had brought his mother, Gen, down from Missouri because she could no longer take care of herself.  We had been waiting for her room to be ready at The Atria.  It was late at night, and we were taking her to a temporary place near our house.  We were getting her tucked in and making her comfortable.  The elderly woman who would be her roommate held out her hand and beckoned me to her side.  As I held her hand, she seemed to be in a trance.  Then after a moment she spoke to me.  "Why, you must be the angel that will take me there (Heaven)."  The attendant said that she had been asking for someone all day.  So, I held her hand while Roy and the attendant made Gen comfortable. As I held her hand, the woman drifted back to sleep.  I gently put her hand by her side and straightened her covers. 

We finished getting Gen settled in and left for home, about a mile away.  It was after 10:00 p.m.  The next day, we went back to check on Gen and make sure she was comfortable.  When we walked in the room, the elderly woman's bed was empty, but freshly made up.  I asked where the woman had gone.  The attendant said that she had passed away in the night......and I wondered where her family was.

So, my younger sister will have a very important assignment.  She's just the right person for the job.  She will do well.  There is absolutely no accurate description of what happens when you sit with someone in their final moments.....the peacefulness that descend upon you both when you are holding their hand, helping to escort them to the next place.  Sleep in peace and tranquility dear lady. Your place is ready for you. 

EMOTION ASSIGNMENTS

EMOTIONAL ASSIGNMENTS

I always thought that anger was a wasted emotion as it didn't serve to help us in any way.  Some would say that it helps to get our frustrations out.  That may well be, but how does one channel anger when it takes such control.  It makes everything else we know and feel confused, and logic seems to be shoved into a corner.  Someone or something has occupied our mind with a negative signal that just rages though us. How utterly uncomfortable when rage reaches out to harm people who have done us no harm.  Certainly this emotion needs to be validated in some way.  

I see people dissatisfied with what is within their paths, their comfort zones.  "How dare they defy my own train of thought, deny me what's MINE!"  We forget that we are not all alike, and yet, we seem to want the same things; comfort, food, shelter, harmony.  Sometimes anger takes over all other emotions.....and for many of us leading us down a really bad  path, resulting in group shark frenzy, rage, fury, almost a thirst for blood.  "You DEFY my orders, my authority, my needs?"  And a riot ensues.  I don't believe riots are good for anyone.  

I believe  peaceful protests are good, without weapons, and without blocking public roads and streets.  How in the world would an ambulance or police get to you if you are injured?  And, I believe mass mailings to our public servants (Mayors, Governors, Presidents, etc.) will make a difference.  There are so many venues for this. They are our public servants. They want to keep their jobs, and they want to be re-elected.  

I see unbridled rage and anger every day on the news and rude, thoughtless behavior of people who seem to have on blinders to anyone else in their path.  I see their negative views and their brutal destruction of their own towns and properties. But on the other hand I have witnessed huge kindnesses of people who have compassion for others.  There should be more of this from all of us.  I do catch myself being judgmental, when I should be much more objective.  I don't know their story.  I believe the media deliberately stokes anger in all of us just for a story.  They want to keep the public watching, so it has become a "one-upmanship" enterprise to keep you watching what each media has to say.  

I don't have much of a temper, and usually just stuff it (anger) down.  Anger is a very uncomfortable emotion for me.  So, I'll continue looking inward to validate my own anger, try to channel it in a positive way, and then LET IT GO! I don't live there any more.  Help me to do good for all instead of being judgmental.  Let me be a person I admire and can be proud of. Help me be kind and understanding of others.  I must move on and, I have better things to do.  

GROUNDED

(Covid 19)

I really can't complain about anything.  We're lucky to live out in the country, with polite and caring neighbors.  We have five neighbors, and we congregate in the dirt road that runs in front of our house to visit....socially distanced, or at safe distances on the porch.  This dang Covid 19 has everyone afraid, and social distancing and masks are the norm.  

We take a ride daily, if only to get a loaf of bread at the store.  Royster goes in  From 7:00 a.m to 8:00 a.m. every day is Old Folks Shopping at Smith's.  Everyone is politely distanced at 6' and masked.  Puck and I stay in the car.  I could no longer navigate a grocery store or any other establishment to find anything, as I have not been in any of these establishments in three months.   I will not go to any medical facility unless it's a dire emergency.  I am considered "High Risk", as I'm old and have a respiratory issue.  So far, so good!  There is one doctor that is pestering me to go get a cat scan because, according to him, it's been 17 years, and it's time. I'm pretty sure he was just drumming up business.  He couldn't give me a good reason for it, so I politely declined with, "Are you crazy?!  No!"  I think I hurt his feelings.

Staying at home has it's merits.  We've found more time to do the things that make us happy, plus a big task going on in the back yard on the mountain.  As usual, my beading makes me happy, and I can get totally lost in it, meditating and molding a beautiful piece of art that speaks volumes of my moods and surroundings.

The large project in the back yard is a big wall made of railroad timbers to hold back the mountain erosion behind the house.  It's really a huge undertaking, and it actually looks good.  I will be planting seeds of hollyhocks and sunflowers in front of this wall.  

Our little garden on the hill is coming right along, with a couple of kind s of green beans, tomatoes, onions, yellow squash, zucchini, cabbage, and rhubarb occupies a prominent place in the garden.  We've found a great deal of satisfaction in growing our own veggies.  And, yes, they do taste better than store-bought.  Royster made us a "Tomato Garden" in 10, 5 gallon buckets next to the driveway.  It's tomatoes, peppers and lettuce.  This makes it easy to just go out and pick a salad for dinner on any given night.  

We had some much needed rain, interspersed with a bit of hail yesterday.  Puckster loved it, and stayed out in the middle of the back yard until the hail started.  After the rain and hail, he ran down to join his buddies Bob and Daney to go play in the mud in the river below us.  He has no shame, but he's usually cleaned up enough by the time  the sun goes down to come in the house, at which time he sits in the kitchen and mumbles at me.  Apparently this is our time for "conversation".  He mumbles at me, and I mumble back.  He really is a good conversationalist.  This volley goes on until dinner is ready, when he waits patiently and attentively for anything to fall or perhaps something gets tossed his way.  He's a good catch.  Never misses. 

The river below moves on and the beavers build again.  The rainbows out my kitchen windows are spectacular, and I miss our kids and grandchildren.  I wish they were here.   All the grands are grown, and going to college, getting married, and living their own lives.  Life is good on our mountain in the Taos Canyon, and the beat goes on and on and on.

OLD THINGS AND STUFF

Old stuff and things keep our memories churning and connected with the past.  Items with sentimental value and finds in the dirt, flea market finds and gifts from friends.  All these things have huge value, and not necessarily monetary value.  I believe that China and silverware should be used daily…. not just saved for “special occasions”.  After all, every day we live is a special occasion that is to be celebrated.  It helps keep a person young.

The above sideboard with the marble top had a matching table that was handed down from our family in the north.  The vague inscriptions say that it was made in Massachusetts in the early 1900’s.  The table sat 13 every night for a long time. It has since been handed down to family members to keep safe, and hopefully they will use it.  I passionately believe that people should use these old heirlooms.  They are not just for looking at.  However, the China doll is comfortably sleeping in a cedar chest between some blankets.

The older we get; it seems that we recognize the value of old things that we have accumulated over the years.  We also finally realize the value of these things and manage to fit them into the motif of our daily homes and lives.  I don’t know about you, but I certainly appreciate them more than I would have 50 years ago.  It doesn’t matter how “modern” the décor in your home, there is always a place for these old items.  They become a part of our lives and are subject to being conversation pieces…. therefore, stoking more memories and desire to have more of these “old things” around us. 

Several years ago, I went into a re-sale shop in a Houston suburb just to see what was in there.  There were two wall tables that had been decoupaged with aluminum foil, and SURPRISE one had brass claw feet. Upon further scrutiny (turning them over), one of them was a Duncan Phyfe table.  I took them home and stripped them down.  It took a week of working to gently remove the aluminum foil and strip the wood down, both revealing beautiful mahogany, which I restored.  I still have these little wall tables.

I’ve found myself looking for “old things and stuff” everywhere; up on the hill, digging in our vegetable garden, in resale shops, etc.  I found a penny in the garden that’s so worn that the date cannot be read.  It just sits in the kitchen window.  There was an old log cabin up on the hill where the vegetable garden is now.  I have no idea of the age or the history of that cabin. It’s been gone a long time. There is an old structure that has remained intact up there; and we’ve had a look.  Turns out it’s the outhouse that was several feet from the old log cabin.  It’s a two-holer.  What a find!  No telling what else is up there. 

I read that during the Civil War, in the south, people would throw their valuables in the outhouse to hide them from the marauding soldiers that came to pillage the homes.  I doubt that’s the case with this little outhouse on the side of a canyon mountain in Taos, NM.  Probably just some timber rattlers, which would discourage anyone from digging around there, much less placing their delicate rear-ends over the holes in there.

I’m intensely curious, and in the meantime, I’ll just keep looking for Old Things and Stuff because there is value in all of it, and so much to learn. 

COWBOY JIM

and 

Other Imaginary Friends

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 2019

Sappington, Mo., 1953 is when Cowboy Jim started to emerge.  Cowboy Jim came equipped with a 2-way radio that doubled as Tinker Toys, and a beautiful palomino that doubled as a stick horse.  We lived in a two-story brown brick home just outside of down town St. Louis, Mo.  There were Joanie 7, Melissa 4.5, Anne 3.5 and Joe 2.  I’m guessing Claire was in the oven. Dad was a salesman for Corning Glassware.

I recall a shady back yard with a big furnace for burning one’s own household trash, and a coal shoot to the basement for the furnace.  Mom had paved a small area in the back yard with natural sand stone and had put a fence around it.  This was for Joe, who was a horrible flight risk.  Once, I had walked a few houses down from ours, to find Joe hiding in a dog house with someone else’s’ dog.  He had shed all his clothes, including his diaper somewhere along the way.  Needles-to-say, I was the hero of the day for finding him.

I remember our neighbors quite vividly.  The Powers lived on one side, and they had a boy about Joanie’s age named Cammie (short of Cameron?).  There was a vacant lot between our houses where we played on a swing set.  On the other side was an elderly woman named Mrs. Caskey.  She was really sweet to us, giving us heart shaped lollipops.  Across the street was an enormous white house.  The people that lived there were the Lovelace's.  They had some boys that were much older than any of us.  Down the street towards town were the Pobaninskys.  They had a son my age, named Chris.  He’d come down to play every now and then.  Down the street the other way was a little boy named Richard Strumph, who always had a snotty nose and couldn’t pronounce his “Rs”. Richard had a pedal fire engine, which he'd ride down the sidewalk to our house.  My last memory of him was when he got his head stuck in the little ladder attached to the side of his pedal fire engine, and his pitiful crying until his mother came to his rescue.  Some of the neighbors' names I could pronounce, but I’m still not at all sure of the spelling, since I was only five years old at that time.

Joanie still held onto her two imaginary friends, Pinkie and Lemon that she kept in the laundry hamper in the upstairs bathroom.  She would go into the bathroom and open the hamper and talk to them.  I kept trying to see them, and every time I'd try to see them, Joanie would slam the hamper closed.  I guess it was a private matter between Joanie and Pinkie and Lemon, but I think they disappeared when she went into the second grade at Christ The King Parochial school.  Soon after that, she would come home on the school bus and declare that she HATED SCHOOL!  One day, she came home from school and stood in front of the house crying and kicked off her saddle shoes so hard that one of them flew up and broke a window on the second story.

Anne and I usually stuck together most of the time, being almost Irish Twins, but some of the time, we were just wandering around talking to our own imaginary friends.  Anne would sit on the stairs and talk to her imaginary friend, who incidentally, was invisible.  The dialogue was usually, “I got two eyeths, a nothse, a moufe, and lots of fingers and toes…..And what have you got?  Nuffin’!”

We had an old mahogany Emerson Radio/Record Player that Mom would turn on in the dining room to listen to various radio shows, and sometimes we could listen to Arthur Godfrey, Hopalong Cassidy, Roy Rogers or Gene Autrey.  With that, Cowboy Jim started to emerge.  I was becoming my very own imaginary friend. I would listen to those stories and then emerge from the dining room as COWBOY JIM!  

I did have my very own stick horse, and I rode it all over the house.  I was getting pretty realistic about my C.J. status, and one day, while riding my stick horse, (jumping on the bed), it occurred to me that I could ride higher and faster if I climbed up on the dresser and jumped down on to the bed.  So, I climbed up to the top of the chest of drawers, and jumped off, totally missing the bed except for the rail on the end of the bed, on which I caught with my mouth.  My two front teeth went through my bottom lip.  I didn't really cry until Mom walked into the room and saw all the blood. That jump ended up costing my two front teeth and requiring 6 stitches.  Don’t know what happened to my stick horse after that.  The next day, Anne fell down the front steps and cut her mouth in the same spot.  We both ended up with identical bandages. It was hard to tell us apart. 

Soon after, we moved from St. Louis back to Texas.  I continued my exploits as Cowboy Jim for a while longer.  When we packed up and moved back to Texas, my C.J. persona dwindled away.  This left a whole new world open for the imagination, but Cowboy Jim still lurks in the shadows of my memory as a good friend, and memories of grand stories to tell.