PORK 'N BEAN MUSINGS....IN THE ATTIC

A cold norther has blown into town on this,

the second day after Christmas, and things 

being much quieter by far since the kids have

all gone home, I'm sitting up here in my cozy

attic, a little log in the woodstove, the wind 

whistling around the house, the old mulberry

branch slapping under the window, and I'm

studying my larder shelf of canned goodies!

I was cozied here, having coffee from an heirloom 

chrome percolator, vintage 1960's, and just

relaxing---taking a break from reading "The

Poetry of William Carlos Williams," my eyes 

settled on (why I do not know)--- a can of Van

Camp's Pork 'n Beans.

(Those of you who have kept up with my. attic

stories know that I have a  "knocked -together"

rustic raw wood pine shelf filled with Wolf's

chili, Hormel tamales, canned tuna, canned

salmon ((small cans---which I eat "raw")),

Vienna sausage, Dinty Moore Beef Stew, and

sardines in tomato sauce!) Plus SPAM.

The age-old question was nagging at my 

mind: "Where is the PORK...in those pork-

and beans?" You'd think Van Camps, with 

their excellent, amazing product would---of 

all companies---show the world---SOME 

PORK!

I know, I know---what you're going to say---

"Hey, haven't you seen that little tiny square 

white thing, amongst the beans? You dummy,

THAT is the pork!" "Doncha know?!"

All possible joking and levity aside, let's 

be serious.  "From time immemorial,"  as they 

love to say at weddings, pork 'n  beans seem

to have been with us.

Even before some West Texas highways were

paved, and when gas pumps were uprights;

and there were no McDonald's, and people 

didn't have the money anyway---filling stations 

all sold cheese, crackers, and pork 'n beans.

A self-respecting hunter of half a century ago

and earlier would not have been found in the

wild without his can(s) of beans, Vienna sausages,

an onion, and maybe some crumbled crackers

in his old kit bag.

Sometime later, a miracle occurred in the halls

of Van Camp Company. Some innovative young

outdoorsman invented (TA DUM, TA DUM !!!

DRUM ROLL) ---"BEANEE WEENEES!"

I hope they gave him a big fine office, a bonus,

and erected a statute to him, wherever Van

Camps is located.

For you see and know, (if you read much at all),

that most hikers, bird-watchers, hunters, and

outdoor people (check Creek Stewart)--- have

what they call "Bug-Out-Bags," These bags are

ready to go at all times, in case of emergencies.

Which we all hope will never come.

These bags are filled with a versatile Swiss Army

knife, a heavier survival sheath knife, a small

aluminum-looking space blanket, .22 ammo and

piece, Advil, a spoon, socks, Fruit-of-the-Looms,

parachute cord, waterproof matches, compass,

Faulkner's "As I Lay Dying," and canned foods.

Yes---pork 'n beans, Beanee Weenees, small

cans of fruit cocktail, peaches, and pears...

oh, oh, almost forgot the biggie---SPAM.

I am loving this quiet time often Christmas,

quiet---except for this marvelous storm 

blowing just outside my attic window, and

whistling through the vent crack...

I think I'll just open me a can of those Beanee

Weenees, up there in the shelf, and get a chunk

of cheese out of my Avanti former-office-fridge

and wash it all down with a big NEHI-GRAPE!

HAPPY NEW YEAR.

**************

By MIL

12/27/16

l

TRUFFLES

"TRUFFLES"

((I'd heard of "truffles" somewhere along the

way...and I guess, paying little attention to 

their mention, I thought "Well, I've never hunted

them...mostly it's been bob whites and blues and

once't some Gambel's and prairie chickens....

and of course---pheasants!"

"Guess they are like grouse, ptarmigans, and other

Alaska birds..."truffles..." Hmm, I'll look into it!))

                       TRUFFLES

I'm a simple boy from the cotton country

of that Great Place! West Texas!

They can cook down there and know how

to cure unbelievably-good bacon and sausage.

Their "main sauce," you French, is BUTTER---

except some old-timers like sage on their corn

bread dressing at Thanksgiving.

We left there when I was four and moved to NM,

just ten miles from Texas. Clovis---a fine town!

The first really big joys in life that I remember, were 

the five cent candy bars, mostly made of 

chocolate:

Hersheys, Snickers, Baby Ruths,  O Henrys,

Milky Ways, Black Cow suckers, Bit O' Honeys,

Best Pals, Mounds, Almond Joys, and 

Walnettos!

Somewhere, much later on, there came the

chocolate candies which came in boxes like 

Whitman's and collections too numerous and

expensive to name...

Chocolate covered cherries were unusual

and one always wondered how they put those

things together so nicely....but they were messy

when bitten-into!

Now one day, a dear friend of me and BE, sent

us each a fancy little box with a two-word

French name...and it had "truffles" written on

it. There were two big ones in the box.

Ah, truffles are candy!

They were almost as big as golf balls, I thought.

You bit into one and ate and ate the creamy

chocolate filling (and it didn't "run") which was

"decadent," as they love to say it! I mean---these

were  big---compared to some I ate later---which

were much smaller.

BE and I finally found out where to buy these big

ones, but the gift-lady did not remember the

name of the truffles!

We will head out to Model Pharmacy, almost to

downtown, and see about a BIG BOX FULL...and

they may run $2.00 each, per truffle---who knows?

No prob---we are not going to Branson and 

spending the big bucks.

Also, Model is known far and wide to the-lunch-

crowd for its great sandwiches!

***************

BY MIL

9/17/16

AND THE REST OF THE STORY.....12/26/16

Sit down, my dear reader for this one!  Christmas gift 

opening occurred at our house two days ago.  But 

before that...

My son was here and had to make a long run downtown,

was passing the Model Pharmacy, and had heard of my

desire for some REAL, GENUINE truffles!

He stopped, went in, and bought me a DOZEN!  They are

made by Le Grand.  The lady at the counter will load you

a box of two, four, or six.  A very attractive real chocolatier

box!

Yes, two boxes he gave me!  Hand packed.  Choice of 

truffles from counter:  $3.50 each.

Mil

PLAYING "GOOBER TOWN" IN THE SNOW

By Richard Drake, guest writer

It did not snow often in Clovis when we were growing

up.

The annual football game with The Portales Rams 

was always played on Thanksgiving Day....it was an

old tradition.

One Thanksgiving we had to play the Rams after a

big snow. The Clovis school system did its best to

remove the snow from Wildcat Field. They "cleared"

the field pretty good and a freeze followed...just 

enough to make a messy field.

There were ridges everywhere. I loved it! I had good

cleats and knew which direction I was going. Jerry 

Lott and Dwayne Perry were good with their passes.

It was a wonderful game, especially since we beat

"Goober Town" High School. The exact score is lost

somewhere in the mists of time!

They had found that their manager had a good passing

arm, and they put him in and threw a spread formation

at us. Their problem was that their guards and tackles

did not have enough speed to block our crashing ends!

It was not fair but we did not let up. The poor passer

barely survived.

Bob Snipes, CHS, had a good game as our fullback.

WHAT HAPPY MEMORIES!

*****************

FOR MIL'S PLACE

By Richard Drake, 

   "The Bard" of CHS '53

THE SCARY BASEBALL PITCHER FROM CHS '50

IN MEMORIUM, Cameron Mactavish 

                  1932-2016

   The Clovis "Boys of Summer"

*******************************

That spring afternoon in 1947, at the chicken

wire backstop at the corner of Reid and Tenth 

Streets, we were "old enough" and trying to 

play real hardball!

Art and Bob Snipes and I and one or two others

had gone to the old lake bed for wire and

2X4's; also houses galore were being built

all around the neighborhood at that time; they

in turn had lumber scrap piles, that somehow

got filled with long two-bys! Fair game for us 

kids...needing a ball diamond backstop!

Rule One: You couldn't be forever chasing 

missed balls and our "hind-catchers" were 

generally either "chicken" or inexperienced 

when it came to catching HOT pitchers---some 

of whom could throw mean curve balls and 

more terrible (to kids)---faster fastballs!

That is why I, at the tender age of thirteen found

myself flat on the ground by home plate...dirt in

my mouth...I had barely ducked, I thought, a

curve ball headed straight for my head...I mean

right at me..and for a curve it was moving!

This was my first real experience with real 

hard-ball, with real pitchers...for you see, there

were some guys in our class (and the Class of

'50) who were richly endowed athletically...and

THEY COULD "THOW!"

They had radar too, and if anything like a 

baseball field with backstop showed up in the 

NW quadrant of Clovis---they'd be there---

with real Clovis Pioneer baseballs---no friction-

tape-covered-balls for them..which were all we

had! (They were likely Bell Park shaggers.)

Cecil and Bruce Davis were two ('50 and '51)

CHS friends of ours who were very talented

pitchers.

Cameron Mactavish, CHS '50, was another. He

lived, I think, up in the WWII "Santa Fe Heights"

subdivision, north of us four or five blocks, at

Thornton and Fourteenth Streets.

Cameron, as he appeared to us younger guys,

was hard as nails..he was a tough wiry kid. He

wasn't the type to sit in the shade on a summer's

day, and shoot marbles, or tell ghost stories, or

play mumblety-peg---I mean that boy was all

business...and could he pitch!

In fact, it was his curve ball that had me flat on

the ground that day, in front of the backstop...

not fifteen feet from the intersection. 

Have you ever tried to hit a real pitcher throwing

those hard balls right at you? They say being a

"good batter" in baseball is the hardest single

feat in all sports. You must have no fear of the

ball and you need instant reflexes...quickness.

It was the day I realized that baseball was not my

sport, though I was a mean shortstop with good

hands. Batting was incredibly tough.

I don't remember much about Cameron in High

School---he was a year ahead and the boys of '51

had their own fish to fry. But I always admired him

as one of the toughest kids I knew...and he has

crossed my mind now and then, through the years.

Cameron Mactavish...Clovis High School 1950...

passed away last week. I just heard from Vernoy

Willis (CHS '50). He was one of us boys  that 

grew up in the finest of American towns...along

with us on the journey...and he is gone..

I remember him fondly, tho' we were not close

buddies. I don't know how his life turned out

but he was okay to us young "boys of summer."

"Therefore, never send to know for whom the 

bell tolls...it tolls for thee." ...John Donne, 1620

**************

MIL

10/04/16

"WE MOVED TO CLOVIS ON PEARL HARBOR SUNDAY"

WE MOVED TO CLOVIS ON PEARL HARBOR SUNDAY"

    By  Dr. Albin Covington

    CHS '51

"I reminder that fateful day well."

Our president, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, on  December 8,

asked  a joint session of congress for a declaration of

war, speaking these famous words: "A day that shall live

in INFAMY..."

The horror of that day, in the surprise attack that killed over

2400 Americans, is indeed a day that we will never forget.

I was eight years old at that time. I had no idea what Japan 

was, nor where Pearl Harbor was. But I do remember that day!

We learned of Pearl Harbor over our car radio as we

drove from Sudan, Texas to live in our next home in Clovis,

New Mexico. We were residents of Sudan for only a short 

time as we made the change from Mertzon,Texas  to Clovis.

Dad has transferred to Clovis to work on the "bridge gang,

in that area for AT&SF.  He had finally found a house for us

to live in at our new town.

All eight of us had been living for a short time in a three-room

house, and now we moved into a nice house on Thornton 

Street. I had never seen indoor plumbing before. In fact, Mom

got all over me for standing in the bathroom flushing the 

commode over and over just to watch the water, as it swirled!

Our "new" abode had a basement and we five boys slept

down there and life was so much better!

But there was another--special thing--that I remember. I had

never remembered having a friend except for my three older

brothers and one younger one. (I didn't really think so at that

time, for Ross was always chasing me and hitting me.) Now

I think the world of my brothers.

But there is another person who befriended me. He lived 

down Thornton a ways toward school at La Casita.

It was Arthur Snipes. He befriended me. We used to walk

to school together. He was the first real friend I ever had

outside of my family.

****************

FOR MIL'S PLACE

by Dr, Albin Covington

CHS '51

THE SIX-HUNDRED-NINTH POST....LOOKING BACK

THE SIX HUNDREDTH POST... WAS PSALM 90...and 

   "O GOD, OUR HELP IN AGES PAST"

                          "My Writing Place"

That glorious day, December 26, 2010,  the day after I'd seen

that new -fangled "i-Pad" my daughter-in-law had received

for Christmas, and I had blurted out "I want one of those,"---

BE and my son, Alan, had braved the lines down at the Apple 

store, and came walking into the house and up to my chair

and handed me a sack with a nice white BOX in it!

It was my new iPad...and I named him "Henry" on the spot!

(My attitude toward computers, up to that time was a whole

"nother story" which I will not go into right now. Suffice it to

say I had a bad experience with early ones in my second 

career.)

I was really an ignoramus that December day about what 

one could find out on a computer. My first two searches 

were (tentative to say the least)---Central Park, in NYC,

and Westminster Abbey. I was very proud of myself

when they came up.

Late March 2011 came, and beautiful talented Donna

(later to be know as "B.E."--- "Beloved Editor,") said

one day: "You ought to be writing." (In my first career

I wrote a weekly piece.) "You write 'em and I'll put 'em

on!" She had great skills as a computer person.

"You'll put 'em on what?" I asked.

"We'll start you a blog." she said excitedly.

Now this is the truth. Being unlettered in computer

lingo, I said: "WHUT'S a BLOG?" (I like the concept of

plain old people writing but really think "blog" is an

unfortunate term, and I recoil every time I hear it.)

The first one went on my new MIL'S PLACE on March

31, 2011.  It was titled "The Tree of Freedom" and was

based on ideas from Thomas Jefferson. 

My mailing list was not lengthy at the time and a couple

of folks didn't cotton to Jefferson's premise and told 

me so. I almost ceased to write---with only one under 

my belt.  Then I realized that you have to write as best

you can and if someone doesn't agree, not to worry

about it.

Over the five, almost six years we have been posting 

MIL'S, one of the things I'm proudest of is the number

of writers who have  contributed stories and poems.

Some have authored quite a number of pieces and

other have offered. shorter comments and paragraphs..

At the risk of leaving someone out, I have tried. to

recall these writers.

Most of them are "kids" who attended Clovis Schools 

and  graduated from CHS. I have compiled a list of

fifteen or so, and their CHS classes were 1950, 1951,

1953, and 1957, as best I remember. Ned, who was

to become a famous football coach, attended La

Casita circa 1947.

Listed alphabetically they are: Ned Biddix, Levi Brake,

Bobbie Burnett, Albin Covington, Richard Drake, 

Wylie Dougherty, Sue Hale, Don Phillips  Art Snipes, 

Bobby Joe Snipes, Robert Stebbins, John Sieren,

Elizabeth Sieren,  Gene Walker, and Vernoy Willis.

All good writers, helping remember things that would 

have otherwise been lost from the history of our

lives and times. My deepest appreciation to all of you!

(There are several classmates that I have invited  and

encouraged to write, as yet to no avail. B.E. herself,

is an excellent writer, but as yet she is contented to

edit and post.  She is, in fact,  a most important

person, and I thank her immensely. For you see, I 

don't have the moxy to put these stories on.)

My first career was spent in almost twenty years as

a Gospel singer, and there are some twenty hymn

stories which appear on MIL'S. These are among the 

most-read of all, according to tallies, which we can

trace.

I was seventy-seven years old when we started MIL'S

PLACE on March 31, 2011. Have you ever scraped a 

watermelon with a table spoon, out on the farm, until

you were down to the rind?

That's how my mind felt a few times..."scraped out,"

A good feeling really, because it seemed to fill up

with fresh ideas.

Then I was inspired by the unforgettable poets Mary

Oliver, Robert Hass, and William Carlos Williams

and started writing poems.

Writing poetry turned out to be incredibly interesting

and satisfying, as well as fun . And it smooths out the 

wrinkles ...levels out the mind.

There is a stack of pieces,  maybe four feet tall, resting

and jelling in the corner of my writing place, awaiting

fine-tuning and publication. Ninety percent will likely

never make it---unless I should become famous and

every scrap should be searched out by the literati.

I have tried at every turn, to always extol our great 

hometown of Clovis, its wonderful people,

our beloved parents, the finest teachers in the world,

friends of our youth, love for the USA and patriotism,

and above all---our Creator and our blessed  Lord

and Savior.

All of life is a story...or a poem...waiting to be told.

And thanks so much to the kind readers who have

encouraged all us "writers!"

****************

THE SIX-HUNDRED-NINTH POST

BY MIL & B.E.

11-16-16

THE THINGS AT MIL'S WRITING PLACE

---Oil cloth cover, with cheerful fruits and flowers...

---Two small "credenzas" with little drawers...

---Atomic clock...

---several scissors, various sizes

---Scotch tape, masking tape, duct tape

---Band Aids and rubber bands

---a shoe spoon and back scratcher

---magnifying glass

---a small orange sucker, from hearing aid place

---a miniature peanut butter Snicker

---Cross "rolling ball" pens, with real ink refills

---black and red Sharpies

---spiral phone number book

---Staples 5 1/2 X 7 1/2 white legal pads

---holder full of 4 X 6 cards

---some meds

---small yellow-handled reversible screwdriver

---small pliers, made (where else) in China

---stapler 

---Norelco electric shaver (dull)

---handy little Kleenex box of tissues

---small binoculars

---assorted ballpoints

---a small peanut butter Snicker

---two six inch straight edges

---desk calendar showing June 2016

---camp spoon, small can of Van Camp's beans

---half-full Whataburger coffee mug, cold

---can of SPAM, for atmosphere

---SNOOPY, wearing a winter knit cap

---envelopes full of old photos

---a Swiss Army knife

---tortoise comb

---stack of writings

---bottle of leather balm for Mini-Apple case

---Deluxe poems and photos of Robert Service

---"William Wordsworth, Selected Poetry"

---pack of Trident chewing gum, made in England

---nearby, two bookshelves---top shelf covered 

     with animals...A Moose, A "Buffler," a duck

     decoy, a camel, a lounging frog, "Gus," my

      symbolic MIL'S PLACE pig, dozens of tiny

      gift animals; & "Jeremiah," the Meditating Frog

      down at the end of the top shelf, by the 

      Globe of the World...

---not least...a miniature  5x5 stained-glass 

     window, the BIBLE, and a 1957 Hymnal---

     all to ever point me upward...

How can one help but write...with all these

wonderful aids?!

***************

BY MIL

9/23/16

"THE LAST ALARM CLOCK"

THE QUIETEST PLACE IN THE WORLD,
SUNDAY MORNING AT FIVE A.M.?

A BOYS' COLLEGE  DORM

I know, because an awful alarm clock awoke me

there in my Hardin-Simmons University dorm

room---a brand new dorm on the south side of

the campus---every Sunday morning at five a.m.

Struggling to wake up, get a cold shower, dress

and head off to FBC, Ozona , a hundred-fifty

miles southwest, to lead the music in church 

services there---I looked longingly at my cozy

bed---still warm---and I thought: "I'll see you 

again after nineteen hours!"

Those were the days! After following this regimen

through the fall of '54 and the spring of '55 and

graduating in May from HSU, I said "Never again

in my life will I ever use an alarm clock!" 

I may have looked like Scarlett in GWTW, if I

raised my fist to heaven (as she did when she 

swore not to  starve.) 

But it is true, one can get along without them, and

I cannot ever remember using one since. "The Last

Alarm Clock," for me, anyway. 

There were a few times I didn't want to go. After

all, driving a hundred-fifty miles on Sunday morning 

with no breakfast was not a great plan in my

twenty-one year old sleepy mind. Not to even

mention that my great Saturday nights were...only

memories.

The first leg of that journey was ninety miles to

the SW on Highway X (Note, some guys rattle off

highway numbers "to beat sixty;" not me---I just

want to be on the right road, whatever its number.)

to San Angelo.

Luckily there was a blinking caution light fifty miles

down the road at (Greater) Bronte, and a good truck

stop cafe, usually with several truckers sitting at the

counter.

If I was running a bit ahead of schedule, I'd get out

and go in and sit a jaw a bit with those guys---after

all, I had been a wild and wooly wheat trucker at age

fifteen back in '49, and I could see their envy of me

and respect, when I told them.

Usually though I was running late and just grabbed

a danish and coffee in a paper cup and was outta

there and back on the road in three minutes, with

just a nod to my ilk.

 I always just breezed through SanAngelo. You can
 lose a lot of time going through big towns. But for
some reason I had a kind of fondness for Mertzon,
a little town 35 miles west.

(Have you ever noticed (and this is true) anytime

anyone  mentions Mertzon, they always say:

"Mertzon, do you know where it is?")

I always bought gasoline there...enough to finish

the whole trip. My trusty beloved 1948 Chevrolet

got good gas mileage and my driving speed was 

usually about sixty.

Another 30 miles west to Barnhart, and I turned

left and south another 25 miles to Ozona and 

paralleled the big arroyo that severely flooded 

everything in that area in '54 and was still a tender 

subject with the people. Sixteen people were killed

and "half the homes in town damaged."

There is a square in town with a magnificent 

Crockett County courthouse, a Crockett County

Museum, and a statue of Davy Crockett.

Crockett County is one of the nation's leading

producers of wool and mohair. Hunters flock

to the area in season for deer, javelina, and 

game birds. The 2010 census  listed Ozona's 

population at 3,225.

I tried to arrive by 9:30 a.m. and get everything 

checked out...music ready  and choir warmed-up

...and find a cup of coffee in the church kitchen. 

After church it was always the happy time of going

to a member's home for fried chicken or a good

pot roast, a nap in their spare bedroom,

or on a church pew.

Then it was a burger at the little cafe on the highway,

heading west out of town...choir practice...evening

service... youth fellowship and by nine p.m. I was

headed north for Barnhart.

When I hit San Angelo around ten-thirty I always

bought a 32 ounce coke, or whatever, so there'd

be  enough ice to eat and keep me awake that last

ninety miles back to HSU.

Arriving back at the school, all the boys who had

churches congregated in Ken's room and had 

laughs, told stories, and blew off steam...a hard 

day over...

They paid $50.00 a week, which was pretty good 

pay for the time, a lot of cash for a college boy!

Several of us always met down at Mack Eplen's 

Cafeteria for a nice lunch on Mondays at noon.

In those happy times one could get chicken fried

steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans,

friend okra, a slice of corn bread, and pecan pie

for about $1.90. That's what we did. Almost ev'ry

Monday!

But I must level with you...one of my worst memories

of life...is having that alarm clock go off in my ear

every Sunday morning...signaling nineteen hours

of hard work. I was only human...

So no more alarm clocks ever for me, if I can 

help it...yes...The Last Alarm Clock.

(I loved the people, was glad to sing the

gospel, and was grateful for a job.)

***********

BY MIL

HSU '55

11-6-16

THE TOMATOES WILL SOON....BE GONE

those marvelous

     bright red shiny

plump juicy tomatoes

     of summer

are almost all

     gone

except for a

     few

lingering

     green ones

the election is

     over

and so will

     be

the tomatoes.   

     soon

a freeze is 

     coming

*****************

BY MIL

11/10/16 ....0906

A POEM WRITTEN,

    in the style 

of William Carlos Williams

    the "Physician Poet"

(photo by Mil)

MY GRANDDOG IS OKAY

My granddog probably

     has 

less guile than

     most

human beings

And, check this

     he is a

thinker...

     always

pondering the things

      of life

Or maybe he is just

     always on the

          lookout

for "skwer-ruhls"

(just say that word

      the right way

and he at once

      goes to

FULL ALERT)

How gentle golden retrievers

     are

and "personable"

Just bring him a

     big rawhide

          bone

from Target and sit back

     and watch

For

    you have created a

        "social occasion"

almost unsurpassed by

     dog standards

he will take the delightful

     treat in his jaws

             and

go spinning around the

      room in circles,

all the while making

     joyous grunts,

swishing his furry tail

     knocking things

over, something awful

and settling down for his

     big treat, gnawing...

all as if to say---

     "celebrate this 

joyous time with me!"

Ah, but no dog 

     is perfect

Remember the Christmas

     when he ate the

thirty-five dollar

      special Holiday Delight

white-frosted cake

     from Whole Foods

while the family sang

      carols around the

piano?

There was no denying

     his guilt---his face

was white with

     frosting.

With his special 

    red cap,

he was wearing

     he looked like...

a dog Santa

     white beard

and all...

***************

MI

11/1516

Photo by Kindell Brinay

     

WEATHERING OUR FIRST BIG 2016 FALL STORM....IN THE ATTIC

The usual autumn storm finally hit us, up 

here on the high mesa...at 5800 feet and

five miles from Sandia Peak. It came early

November, as if it had been delayed for a

time up north, somewhere.

You can enjoy your attic at any time--if it

is filled with good books, old John Wayne

and Gene Autry movies (plus the entire 

collection of MASH, which we have)---but 

attics are best on cold, stormy, snowy days.

What makes storms so great is "Nature's

Imagination." They're all different, every 

single one. Some rain, some sleet, some 

hail, and some snow. Just about all of 'em

come with high winds---rattling the eaves,

the curtains , the vents, moaning through

windows left ajar...and with us, our trash can

lid blows all over our double-driveway, as if a 

lost cymbal, looking for its orchestra!

And a storm wouldn't be a decent storm if

our pesky long mulberry branch didn't whop

against the house, almost in rhythm, in the 

wind. (B.E. says: "If you don't trim that big 

branch off the tree, it's going to damage the 

house." I tell her: "You don't understand, it 

complements the storm and and is all a "part

of the plan.")

"Remember Kurt Wallander, the Swedish 

detective, and HIS pesky branch that 

whopped his rented apartment wall, during 

vicious Sweden northers!," I tell her. "Don't

you recall how it made the storms--great?!"

Now this thing started a day or two ago, 

with a cool breeze coming up, gently 

swaying the trees, the little bushes, the 

tomato vines, and the wind chimes were

playing...almost like an intro to the 

symphony which was coming...

Then Joe on Channel Seven forecast an

extensive wind warning, lasting 24 hours;

wind would be coming through Tijeras 

Canyon at up to 55 mph! Heavy rains were

to be expected.

It's Saturday now, wind still blowing big-time,

and I am up here our attic, a couple of small 

cedar logs are popping merrily along in the 

little wood stove (which is so efficient, it's 

supposed to heat a house.)

This cozy place was cleaned up by me in 

September. Then I could hardly wait until cold

weather. I washed and aired some of the quilts,. 

I vacked every corner and under the 3/4 GI bed. 

I even scarfed that feather thing that BE uses to 

dust and tried it on the books and pictures on 

the wall, but I think an oily rag would be better... 

and more masculine.

Did I tell you that my "larder" up here, usually 

full of hunter/fisherman/outdoorsmen---healthful

snacks---has become sorely depleted over last

winter and through the summer.

You see, friends  drop by and say "We have read 

all your attic stories and we don't have an attic.

Could we just sit a spell up there and read, or 

nap an hour on you great bed, with those famous 

quilts?"

What can you do? Also guests would rather stay 

up there on the 3-4 bed, (with all the books and 

movies, and snacks---I have one of those little B&W 

TV's with a place in the bottom to insert DVD's) 

than in a regular BR downstairs...

I've figured it out! That's where my snacks---

Snapples, Ritz crackers, Jif Crunchy, Vienna 

sausages, (ketchup), sardines, tamales, Wolf

Chili, cashews (in the big jars from Costco),

trail mix (covered with melted garlic butter),

popcorn, and black elephant toe bread from

Trader Joes has been going!! They're filling 

up on it!

It's those pesky "friends," who "drop in," to

spend time...or the night! It's all coming to a

halt!

Now, my place has been restocked at heavy 

expense. Delaware punches are two bucks 

each, from Old Mexico. Diet Snapple iced tea

bottles are high now...Rush did such a good 

job advertising 'em. 

Two cans of SPAM sit prominently in the shelf 

for all to see, for if conversation lags, you can 

almost always get a rise by asking "How do 

you like your SPAM?"

Yes, sitting blissfully here at my garage sale 

table, breathing it all in...and pondering...you 

don't need big fancy mansions to be happy...

good books, warm quilts, great snacks and

beverages wil do it!

The rain late this Saturday is now pouring 

down! And what's that loud roar on the roof?

Wow,  it's hailing big time. It's splattering against

the window. I look out and the ground is white!

What a storm! In an attic, things hitting the roof

are twice as loud.

Someone is coming up the stairs. It's BE! She 

"loves a good storm" almost as much as Wylie's 

mother. "It's hailing, it's hailing," she cried, and

left to watch downstairs.

How nice, I thought. I may just crawl under a quilt

and get that Faulkner book from under the bed---

the one I started last year and never finished---

and just read a spell...and maybe fall asleep.

************

BY MIL

11-06-16

THE WONDERS OF THE SONORAN DESERT

THE WONDERS OF THE SONORAN DESERT

          ....by E. Levi Brake

I've been back down here in Ajo for a few weeks now and have been truly enjoying the warm weather.  It was getting just a tad too chilly for my old bones up there in Prescott Valley, at about the same elevation as you are in Albuquerque.  The morning temperatures were down awfully close to the 30s and I suspect, very similar to what you're having in your neck of the woods.  But it's easy to tell that winter's on the way here In Ajo.  The daily highs are in the low to mid-90s and the nights are down in the 60s. 

The first morning I was here I went out into the arroyo to scatter some feed for the quail and there was not a bird to be seen anywhere.  They must have found the feed during the day though, because the next morning just before full daylight I went out and I could hear them chattering away in the brush.  Not two minutes after I came back in there were at least 30 of them partaking of their "manna" and they've been back every morning since.  I haven't yet seen many doves but they'll figure it out soon.  There were the usual several cottontails competing with the quail for the feed.

I've been serenaded every evening by a coyote singing his yip-yipping song from across the arroyo.  He (or she) always sounds like he's just outside my window.  We'll have a bobcat patrolling the arroyo when the rabbits start reproducing fast enough.  Old bobcat will stay in the arroyo long enough to make sure he's got the rabbit population reduced to where he thinks it should be and then he'll leave for a while and come back later to resume his patrol.  Once in a while during the winter we'll see a wily fox hanging around, but not often.

The amount, and the variety of wildlife in this part of the Sonoran Desert always causes me to marvel at the diversity of Mother Nature.  Some of the best and sleekest-looking deer I've ever seen somehow live and do well in this old desert. 

The javelina that normally live out away from town learned over time that they can also do quite well in town, so we just have to put up with them.  They are the ugliest, most foul-smelling and pestiferous creatures I have ever known.  They so resemble a domestic pig that local folks typically refer to them as such even though they're not even distantly related.  In fact, they are a peccary.  

They are almost blind but have an extremely sensitive sense of smell.  They are tusked and will defend their young vigorously if they feel threatened.  The males have a musk gland that can produce the worst smell I've ever experienced.  Their flesh is edible, but just barely, so most people that hunt them during the season do it just for sport.  Years ago when I lived in Superior, AZ, there was an old Mexican lady who could make a pretty tasty red chili using javelina meat, but she is the only person I've know who could.

Of course there are the snakes, and the one most talked about is the diamondback rattler.  Although there are many different kinds of snakes here I think the rattler is the only poisonous one, but I could be wrong.  Many varieties of lizards exist in the desert, some of which can be up to four feet in length.

Not being an expert I won't even try to list the hundreds of varieties of plant life.  Just about everything that grows has thorns or some other means to protect itself not just from humans, but from other animals which would feed on it.  The most conspicuous plants are the cacti, chief among which is the tall, stately saguaro.  The skeleton of an old saguaro has been standing behind my place for an untold number of years but this year I see it has been knocked down, likely from javelina which seemed to enjoy scratching their hides by rubbing against it. 

The common trees are mesquite, palo verde, ironwood, and cat claw and they grow mostly in and around the washes.  During the summer monsoon season these washes, or arroyos, will sometimes run bank to bank with water, but only for a short time and then they revert to their more natural dry state.

There are a number of old abandoned mines out in the desert, none of which ever produced much except blood, sweat and tears.  The exception is the big open-pit copper mine operated here for many years by Phelps-Dodge Mining Co.  Nearly all the old mining folks are either dead or have moved away by now and most of the current residents are either retired, working in one of the local stores, or providing services for the townspeople.  This is a quiet, laid-back lifestyle and I suppose that's why I like it.

    ---30---

   FOR MIL'S

    By E. Levi Brake, CHS '51

CLOVIS BOYS AND THEIR BICYCLES

"I WAS THE STAR OF THE SHOW"

     by Vernoy Willis, CHS "50

Two or three things came to my mind, Mil, after

 reading your recent post---

1.  I had a very nice, modern bike at beginning of War.  It had a compartment between handle bars and seat for a battery operated horn.  I was the star of the show.  We would use my bike as a command car and pretend to be sending morse code messages.  Took a little pretending, but we were good at that.

2.  Our store was next door to auto repair shop so we had some good items to use.  We took our handle bars off and used old salvage steering wheels on our bikes.  It took a little engineering but we finally perfected the method.  Lots of fun riding down the street on a bike with a steering wheel. (and a morse code radio)

3.  The little round green reflectors, for our mud flaps, came at a premium.

4.  We learned to ride the bikes backwards.  Sitting on handle bars facing the back of the bike.  Kind of like driving with a mirror.

5.  Had a good friend stationed at Cannon.  Sometimes he could scrounge up a few pieces of a windshield of a B-24.   Made great, hearts, and other cutie pie things to wear on a chain around our necks... OR give it to the cute little blonde next door.

6.  Had to disassemble our rear wheel brakes and wash with gasoline, put new grease in the chamber, wash the tires, new paint job at least once month and away we would go.

Today's kids would think all of this is nonsense.

7.  Oh yes, if you drove one end of your handle bar into the ground, the other end pointing up, drop a lit firecracker into the upward pointed handle bar, then drop a good size marble, or steelie, into the handle bar on top of the firecracker -   then bang!  you had a small minature cannon.  Lucky to be alive.

********************

 "MY SECOND-HAND BIKE COST FIVE DOLLARS"

         by Robert Stebbins, CHS '51

Mil, Vernoy did a good job ---he jogged my memory.

         

I remember some of the guys had bicycles with that battery compartment.  Their bikes may even have had fenders. My second hand bIke that I had in 1946-47, I think cost $5.00, and was not quite as fancy.  It lacked fenders, lights, and a horn, and had a chain that frequently came off. It had been repainted a dark blue.  

Without fenders, it wasn't much of a rainy day bike, but as you know, we usually didn't have to worry much about rain often in Clovis.  $5.00 was a lot of money in those days when I was setting pins at the Playmoor Bowling Alley (between the Mesa Theater and Busy Bee Restaurant) for Mr. Murray for 5 cents a line.  

There was no air conditioning there in those days and very little cross ventilation in the "pits" behind the muscle-operated pinsetting machines  It got pretty hot on a summer day when the bowling teams were hotly competing.

     

I remember one bIke ride that I took.  As you will recall, the old Post Office at Mitchell & 4th had an elevated loading dock and a ramp that lead West down from the back of the post office and exited to Mitchell.  

At the bottom of the ramp on Mitchell, you had to make a quick 90 degree turn to the right while trying to avoid any cars that might have been coming around the corner from the intersection on the left.  

The post office officials probably discouraged bicyclists like me from riding down the ramp, but we used to sneak one in now and then.  You know how the government was.

     

Well, one day I successfully launched myself down the ramp from the platform on my bike.  I had, I thought, carefully looked to the left toward the intersection to make sure it was safe to go.  However, as luck would have it, a car came around the corner and by the time I had reached the bottom of the ramp and the street and before I could turn, the two of us collided.  

The driver stopped immediately, and I assured him that I was not seriously injured.  I may may have had a bruise or two, but no broken bones. Fortunately, in those days drivers didn't drive as fast as they do today.  The car only "grazed" me, but my poor bike was put out of operation for good with a bent frame and broken wheel.

     

That's my bike story.  Today, that kind of incident probably would lead to ambulance chasing lawyers and a never ending lawsuit for who knows how much money, even though I was probably at fault.  

But, we lived in different times in those days.  We took responsibility (or kept our mouth shut) if we were at fault, but today there are much different rules for the "ball game of life". 

     

Anyway, that's my bike story.  Feel free to use it any way you wish. 

  **************

  FOR MIL'S PLACE

  Vernoy Willis, CHS '50

  Robert Stebbins, CHS '51

  10/27/16

"A THOUSAND AGES IN THY SIGHT....."

MIL'S PLACE: THE SIX-HUNDREDTH POST

************************************************

"Lord thou hast been our dwelling place  in all

   generations.

Before the mountains were brought forth or

   ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world,

even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.

Thou turnest man to destruction, and sayest

   Return, ye children of men

For a thousand ages in thy sight are but as 

   yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in 

the night.

Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they

   are as a sleep; in the morning they are like 

grass which groweth up.

In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up ;

   in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.

For we are consumed by thy anger, and by thy 

   wrath we are troubled.

Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret

   sins in the light of thy countenance.

For all our days are passed away in thy wrath; we 

   spend our years as a tale that is told.

The days of our years are threescore and ten, and 

   if by reason of strength they be fourscore years,

yet is their strength labour and sorrow, for it is

   soon cut off, and we fly away.

So teach us to number our days, that we may apply

our hearts to wisdom.

     ......PSALM 90: 1-12

-------------------------

        "O GOD, OUR HELP IN AGES PAST"

              .....Isaac Watts (1674-1748)

              ... .Tune: St. Anne, Wm. Croft

"O God, our help in ages past,

   our hope for years to come,

our shelter from the stormy blast,

    and our eternal home.

Under the shadow of thy throne,

   still may we dwell secure;

sufficient is thine arm alone,

   and our defense is sure.

  Before the hills in order stood,

     or earth received her frame,

  from everlasting, thou art God,

    to endless years the same.

  A thousand ages in thy sight.

     are like an evening gone;

  short as the watch that ends the night,

     before the rising sun.

  Time like an ever rolling stream,

     bears all who breathe away;

   they fly forgotten, as a dream

      dies at the opening day.

   O God, our help in ages past,

       our hope for years to come;

   Be thou our guide while life shall last,

       and our eternal home."

-----------------

PRAISE BE TO GOD.

****************

MIL'S PLACE

THE SIX HUNDREDTH POST

October 22, 2016

     

THAT OLD, FRAYED MUSTARD-COLORED SPORT COAT

MY FIRST ONE...

                        CLOVIS JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL

There was, I reckon, along about the spring

    of 1948, just east of Clovis Junior High,

maybe 100 feet and on the blacktop---

    a very popular little cafe, called I think.

"Johnny's Drive In."

Kids attending the school in those days had

     no cafeteria at the school; thus you rode

your bike home for lunch, or sat in the 

     bleachers at Junior High Gym, and had

a sandwich and an apple, on stormy days...

Now then, as you may guess---there were 

    some kids who always had money...and they 

let on that the burgers at Johnny"s were "to die 

    for.!"

No, I never had but one...it was on that fateful 

    late spring day in 1948...and thereby hangs 

the tale of the mustard-colored sport coat!

Here's how it all went down, as I attempt to

     recover the story from the mists of time...

After school that day, for some reason, a good

     friend and I (was the "friend" Jack Murphy?)

 sat at the counter, on stools, at Johnny's

     drinking a coke...it was a warm afternoon...

We all knew Johnny, and he himself walked up 

     to us...and surprised us with: "How'd you

boys, like to work an hour or so for a free burger

     and a chocolate shake?"

We 'bout fell off our stools, and said with humor:

     "When do we start?" 

"Right now...my old white garage back there 

     behind the cafe... needs to be cleaned 

out, swept good and proper, and a stack of debris

    piled up to be carted off."

We tackled it...with vigor...all the while sneezing

     from the dust...and salivating from thoughts

of the hamburgers.

Oh, there was detritus galore back there...for 

     awhile I couldn't even spot Murphy, in the

murk...we had to check with Johnny coupla 

    times, on items...

Now, the times were hard...and I had never 

     owned a  sport coat...and I was about fourteen.

And there, hanging on a ten penny nail, on

     the south wall (and visualize it bathed in a 

miraculous golden light) was a beautiful (to me)

     mustard-colored sport coat, with years of 

dust settled on. it..

Glory..ah..glory..ah!!! (He said: "Get rid of stuff.")

I tried it on (sneeze, sneeze)---a little big! Sleeves.

     frayed, moth eaten, and a bit long!

I nearly ran up to the cafe. "Johnny, there is an

     old moth-eaten (I was showing acting skills

that would be evident later in school plays)

     sport coat, a' hangin' on a nail in your garage:

think I could take it home?"

"I'd be happy never to see it again," he laughed!

Murphy and I got our burgers and shakes...and

     Mother about flipped out when I got home

with that dirty, dusty, sport coat..."Er, Mom, reckon

     we could get this dry-cleaned? For me?"

Seems like we shortened the frayed sleeve edges

     and maybe fixed some moth holes...and I

know I wore that mustard-colored sport coat, 

     my very first, with a necktie, to the Boys' 

Debating Club banquet, held at El Monterrey.

     a year later. in the spring of 1949.

Johnny was okay.

*****************

BY MIL

10/19/16

AN AFFINITY FOR COFFEE MUGS

"UM....WELL.....SO I COLLECT 'EM.....IS THAT BAD?"

The standard line to make the above question

a joke, is: "Ah, come with me to my attic---I

have twelve hundred on shelves!" (Not so.)

Yes, if I am quirky like pundits say all people 

are, I reckon it is my penchant for coffee mugs.

You know, BE thinks we have enough.

But guess what. that day, maybe twenty years

ago, when good old Baldridge Hardware was

still open, down on Indian School Road---I was

in there buying some faucet "warshers" and other

man-stuff, when I spotted the blue coffee cup

pictured above...cool white designs of various 

kinds were carved into the slick blue finish.

I stifled myself as best I could but still walked out

of there with four! They are a neat medium size.

BR cottoned onto those blue ones and they are

now her favorites. I like 'em too.

My most-favorite cups are the "NICKEL COFFEE

CUPS" sold by WHATABURGER in the 80's. There

was one about a block from our office (during my

second career) over on Lomas. Memory says you

paid 80 cents for coffee in one of those cups,

pictured above, and thereafter for life you could

pay a nickel and give 'em your special cup...and

they would fill it!

Over time, I accumulated six of them. BE dropped 

ONE.  We have five left. I like them because of the

handle...note the finger positions.  It's what I drink

from almost every morning.

Note the third picture above---a real genuine Texas

Longhorn coffee cup in burnt orange. Now THAT

IS a good cup. And being a Texas boy, I've always

liked the Longhorns...and burnt orange.

One day in the late 90's, I was headed down on

Carlisle on some business and realized I'd need

to eat lunch down there somewhere...and 

remembered there was a WHATABURGER 

near Carlisle and Menaul.

Thus I left the house with one of my WB cups.

And went into the place and ordered a burger. I

asked for my FIVE CENT cup to be filled. This

created great distress. The surprised waitress

showed my special WB cup to the manager. 

They jawed awhile and according to her, he 

said; "Charge him a nickel." He had hardly been

born when I bought that cup!

After that I decided it wasn't worth the hassle.

We've got some neat Southwestern dishes with

very colorful mugs...but in micro-waving our food 

or coffee, most of the heat goes into the dish...and

who knows---is lead released?

Couple of decades ago we had some dear friends

from Pennsylvania, who returned east every 

summer. They knew I liked unusual coffee cups

and came back every year with one or two. 

It was fun. They brought some weird mugs to us.

I always paid them, over their objections, as they

were living on a retirement income.

An interesting thing is that they loved stopping

for a day in Newcastle---"the hot dog capital of

 the world," (which he knew of from his youthful

days) where he loaded up good and proper on NC

hot dogs.

He always brought us.a bottle of special Newcastle 

"hot dog" sauce.

Alas, our cup cabinet got full, as well as my little

shelf in "the cozy attic," and we had to quit

collecting coffee cups.

In this great life, it seems, that all things---even

good things---must come to an end. But we've 

got enough...

***************

BY MIL

10/21/16

BARN IN AUTUMN

 SOMEWHERE IN THE WEST

The old (marvelous)

        barn

somewhere 

    in the west

(doesn't matter where)

Was looking out

     as if with 

          a giant 

square eye on yet 

          another

  cool, fresh autumn morn

         --one more, maybe

in its hundredth year

Was it totally abandoned?

     No more 

milking cows or stabling

            saddle horses?

Not likely "abandoned" ----

    Maybe a home now

         for the usual 

      denizens

like barn swallows

       mud-daubers, crows,

      and likely

  A skunk, a slinky weasel,

           a solitary porcupine

     a random scorpion

and who knows what

           creatures

Every being needs a home

     and

          the rather nice earthy

   smell of old sweet hay

                  decaying

in the barn floor, plus its

      slight warmth

can be       appealing

       to critters

(Ky-oties don't cotton

      much to barns---

          forget them)

Now a little fragrant 

    left-over hay

       in the hayloft

would attract a 

      roving-line-cowboy...

It would be a perfect place

    to throw

        his bedroll

    (with his tarp)

Any shelter

     appeals 

   to a cowboy

Were the cracks 

      planned

or

    was the wood

green...and shrank?

And who stole 

      the door?

The world seems

     to have passed

on by

    and who cares

anyway

     about an old barn

with a square eye

I'll tell you who

Those with perception---

     poetry in their souls

Those with eyes for

     beauty...and history...

Those seeking meaning

     and inspiration

(tired of the madding 

     crowds)

Those who seek 

     solitude

     cool mountain air...

    

 .....and peace.

*************

BY MIL

10/16/16

Photographer unknown