FALL CLEANUP AND READING...IN THE ATTIC

My cozy attic, with the  window looking out to the 

north, is not a place I frequent much in the hot 

summertime...tho' it is air-conditioned, it doesn't 

seem like a fittin' place to hang out in 100 degree 

weather such as we've had, seemingly---all summer

long.

It is a fine place to be in the fall, when the brisk 

winds rattle the house and the leaves are beginning

to scurry down the street, along the curbs...and there 

is an unmistakeable smell of autumn in the air...the

aroma of green chillies roasting is everywhere...

Ah, and when the snow comes I love to slip off

upstairs, throw a small log into the tiny but efficient

wood-stove, put on "Rio Bravo" or "Shakiest Gun In

The West," open a can of Beanie Weenies, and 

settle down on my surplus steel GI bed, sipping 

a good old Barq's Big Orange! Maybe under one

of Mother's old quilts...

Now on this mid-August day, the light is beginning to

remind one of autumn-- here at 6000 feet, in the shadow

of the Sandias. The mornings are getting cool, and

my attic called and here I am...planning to spiffy-

up the place a bit, inventory the "larder," (snacks)

and my special beverages, in my Avanti fridge.

Sometimes when I come up here (it being a place

filled with all kinds of memorabilia), I get sidetracked

and head off down "memory lane."

What else could you expect from a man who sees

his old beat-up straw hat, worn on so many cat-fishing

trips...his KaBar hunting knife, rakishly stabbed into

the end of the knocked-together pine bookshelf---or

Dad's old minnow bucket over there in the corner?!

Everywhere I look, this place is filled with happy stuff---

even the pictures on the wall...and especially the books 

filling the six-foot-wide bookshelf. Did I mention my fifty-

year-old Red Wing hunting boots over in the corner?

(They need a water-proofing job...)

I thought to pick out a good book about Alaska...maybe

to re-read an old one. Nothing greater than to settle

down with a "log cabin book," snow and ice everywhere,

temps below zero---at the end of a hot summer!

These wound up in my stack on the garage-sale table.

I pulled up my former office chair (with the rollers) and

began to peruse the stack.

"FORTY YEARS IN THE WILDERNESS," by Dolly 

   Faulkner.

"THE  IMPOSSIBLE RESCUE," by Martin Sandler

"THE WINDS OF SKYLAK," by Bonnie Rose Ward

"CHASING ALASKA," by John Green

1. "TRAILS,"

2. "THE LAST HOMESTEAD,"

3.  and "HOMESTEAD RECKONING," a TRILOGY

    by Warren Troy, who once homesteaded at

    Kachemak Bay, Alaska...and now lives at Willow.

    These Troy books, though being novels, really 

     capture the true ALASKA, tell a most interesting 

     and compelling continued story.

I settle down on my bunk with some Ritz crackers 

smeared with JIF EXTRA CRUNCHY peanut butter

and my last NEHI GRAPE---and "THE WINDS OF

SKYLAK," to re -read--- maybe the best Alaska book 

of all!

After a time I began to doze off---my thoughts 

drowsily thinking: "Who's been into  my "larder" up

here, eating my man-food? I must buy some more

tamales, Spam, sardines, and onions...and get some

more Delaware Punches, out of Mexico @ $2.00

each.   zzzz-zzzz-zzz.....

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

BY MIL

8/11/16

MY OLD FADED BLUE DENIM SHIRT

There are few things in life

     that bring such

comfort and joy as an

     old faded

blue denim shirt...

One that has been a loyal

    companion and

worn many days of life

     thru' hot and cold,

work and play...times hard

     and easy...

Becomes almost like a "favorite

     blanket" of a child...giving

 a feeling of security and invincibility

     to an old timer

One look---at my rugged, wrinkled,

      heavy-denim...American-made

Carhartt...a shirt much-worn 

      and much-washed --- a 

picturesque and beloved friend

and you'll see what I mean.

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

BY MIL

8/10/16

     

"EEK, A MOUSE ON THE GRAIN!"

When we got

    the grain cylinder

and hung it outside

   my writing window

to watch

   and enjoy 

       and inspire---

the plan was not

   to feed 

        all nature

it was to feed

    only beautiful

        birds

A "somewhat cute but
unwelcome intruder"
(exact words of my wife)

showed up yesterday

   on the grain

"BIG AS IKE!" 

    and piggish

("Look who came to

    dinner!")

(exact words of Mil)

It was a mouse.

In a flash BE banged

   on the window

     and was out there

unhanging the grain.

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

BY MIL

8-04-16

WHITE WING WRITING, EARLY FALL

The sun is shining this bright August morn

   thru my waxy bush and thru 

the window...making mottledy shadows

   on the fruited table cover

The day is cool and the early sky is clear

    .... the light has a hint of fall,

as it does every August here in the 

    shadow of the Sandias...

The bird-grain twelve-inch cylinder, a mere

    five feet to my left is swaying ever 

so slightly with the weight of three hungry

    sparrows, pecking merrily away...

getting their breakfast.

I am busy writing down some ideas...WHEN

    a big shadow falls over my Staples

tablet, as the sparrows flit away fast...and

    I look up.

A dove, as big as a small chicken is sitting

    on top of the grain---and staring right

at me! I know the drill...and move nary an

    eyelash!

I marvel at the bird. Oh there are hundreds,

    maybe thousands of bright-colored-birds

in the world, but this "plain" one always 

    grabs me!

It is as if, the Creator is saying: "See what 

    I can do with simple whites, grays, and

blues...and aren't subtle colors a nice idea?"

  

This bird has a long smooth light gray

   breast and body, and with the darker

gray wings folded, strips of navy blue 

   and pure white run toward the tail,

barely showing under the wings...

The tail feathers are several inches long

   and put the finishing touches on its
 graceful body. 

His graceful neck is constantly moving, right

   and left, somewhat jerkily...his sharp

dark eyes, not missing a thing. Everything
on my writing table puzzles him.

He has a lite breakfast and is GONE!

   No wonder he is so slim and graceful!

Yes, you guessed it! My morning visitor

    is a "WHITE WING DOVE."

I sit and meditate upon the beauties of

    the earth, and our Loving Creator, 

for a long time,

and then begin to hum a hymn,

"all things bright and beautiful,
all things great and small....."

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

BY MIL

8/316

THE COMPLEAT "UNBORED" FISHERMAN

THE COMPLEAT "UNBORED"  FISHERMAN

It was a cold winter day when I dropped by

   to visit an old timer, who sang bass

      in my church choir....a man whom 

I had always admired.

There was no question: God lived in his

    heart...it showed in his face...he did

       miss church sometimes...when he 

           was out somewhere fishing.

He was in his shop, back of his garage, with

   a cozy little vented heater

going full blast.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that this

   man was an avid fisherman..."A Compleat

       Angler," as some book once had it.

For all around the room, hanging on the walls,

    stacked in corners, were creels, wading 

        boots, tackle boxes, fly rods, and 

remnants of mud and

            dried moss...lingering appropriately

There were trout and bass pictures, cut from

    old Field and Streams and Outdoor Life

        magazines...a mountain stream 

            flowing...stapled to the wall

and a picture of him, smiling and holding a 

     giant trout...

The walls were lined with shelves stacked 

    with clear, plastic boxes, all visibly

        full of many-colored trout flies.

All around the room, bunched and hanging 

    on eight-penny nails were feathers

       of all kinds, colored fabrics, and 

          what looked like pieces of fur...

At his sturdy workbench, with the tiny vises,

    sat his beat-up old leather office

       chair, with the rollers...neat deal

Little long-neck pliers, tiny scissors, spools

    of thread, fishing filament, and

        little tubes of glue littered his bench.

He produced an old rusty steel folding chair

    from somewhere, unfolded it  and said: 

"Sit down...let me show you some 

     beautiful fly- fishing flies!"

Reaching up, grasping a stack of boxes, he

    opened several and began to name 

       them, as if they were OLD FRIENDS.

          (they were---he had created them!)

This is a Blue Wing...and he laid them out

    for me---a Hare's Ear, Royal Wulff,

Parachute Ant, Elk Hair Caddie, Pheasant

   Tail, Frilly Dilly, Griffith's Goat, Yellow 

Worm, Royal Coachman, Real Warrior,

    Copper John, Bluewater Bait...

and on he went...eyes shining..."Many of

  these I thought-up, made and named

     myself..." 

"You've heard of the Rio Grande King,

    one of my favorites...and I am partial

       to the Black Wooly-Booger!"

I was no doubt watching, open-mouthed 

   and in awe, I may have even been day-

      dreaming a bit, visualizing myself

up in northern NM, near the Colorado border,

    on the remote Los Pinos Creek a' fly-

fishing...for trout...

Then, as he began to pull more boxes off

    his shelf, I realized that there were

        hundreds more flies, yet to be 

           named...and I was already

                mesmerized.

I said to my old bass singer, "Wow, you 

    must have a thousand or more 

        fishing flies in this room! How 

           can you ever USE THEM ALL?"

"I probably won't, 'cause most of us anglers

     have a half-dozen favorites, chosen

         for the particular stream, time of 

            year, time of day, and the "hatch..."

I replied: "Then why tie more flies than you 

    will ever use?"

Then he said something I will never forget.

"Well Mil, as wonderful, beautiful, and

     marvelous as our Earth and lives

        here are, all men are constantly 

            trying to overcome BOREDOM."

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

(I, being an old catfish fisherman, was never

  any good at fly fishing. I think my sinker

       was too heavy.)

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

BY MIL

8-1-16

THAT BELOVED...... PEPSI COLA!

by Art Snipes, CHS class of '51

Mil, your Coca Cola story brought back memories of

our boyhood in Clovis...however, mine are about

PEPSI COLA!

There was at our house---once a week---a day when

Mother did the ironing. We had no air conditioning

in those days and it got very hot in the house.

Mother seldom had pocket change so she would

sometimes find coins that had fallen into the couch.

She would say to us boys (me and my brother, 

Bobby Joe) "Why don't you boys go to the store

and get us a cold Pepsi?" (In those days a Pepsi

Cola was a better buy than a Coca Cola because

it was "twelve full ounces--that's a lot!")

So we would head out to Murphy's Grocery---a

block north of our house. Sometimes we had

enough money to also buy a bag of Planter's 

Salted Peanuts!

Peanuts and Pepsis---ah, nothing better--

on a hot summer day!

This is a Tribute to my MOM, Melba Snipes.

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

MIL'S REPLY: During our boyhood years in

Clovis, (1940--49) ART and BOBBY JOE 

lived exactly one block east of us--we on Reid

Street...and they on Thornton.

It was during the momentous WWII times.

How oft have I seen his hard-working mother,

Melba, laboring in her kitchen...many times

cooking or canning in her pressure cooker.

We little barefoot boys, in the summers, and 

sometimes a little bored, would  hang around

her kitchen, hoping for some Koolade or maybe 

a cookie. 

She was pleasant and talked to us about things.

One day she said something I have never

forgotten...and here it is, almost verbatim---

"One of these days, you boys will be twenty-

one---and all grown up."

Time was going so slowly in our lives---

a summer was like an eternity...and I thought---

"it's impossible."

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

There was a jingle, advertising Pepsi Cola,

which must have played on KICA  Radio a

thousand times:

"Pepsi Cola hits the spot

Twelve full ounces, that's a lot

Twice as much for a nickel too

Pepsi Cola is the drink for you...

Nickel, nickel, nickel 

Rubi-dah-daht-tah....

Nickel, nickel, nickel..." fades...out...

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

BY ART and MIL

7/27/16

THE BELOVED OLD COCA-COLA

"COKES, CHOO-CHOO TRAINS, BLACK COWS,

     SANDSTORMS and POTATO CHIPS"
**************************************************

There was once a time in the good old USA, (about 1939)

when little kids of five or six years, could buy a "soda pop"

for a BIG FIVE CENT BUFFALO NICKEL!

(Dimes were okay to us little guys, but nickels were bigger---

and thus better!)

We bought the Magic Steam Laundry in Clovis, N.M in the

summer of 1938. It was located at 417 West Grand, just

four-plus blocks west of big, busy, bustling Main Street!

  

We left W.Texas and journeyed to our new town, pulling

a cotton trailer with all our wordily goods in it, covered

with a tarp.

A good many people in those tough times were barely 

surviving The Great Depression, which was still going on.

Thus we moved into a drafty old house behind and

connected to the laundry.

Grand Avenue was actually Third Street---three blocks north,

parallel to the railroad tracks. The Round House where railroad

locomotives were taken apart and repaired, and there were all

manner of side-tracks, and switching, joining and unjoining cars,

went on all day.

Oh, the blissful nights I grew up with---sleeping to all 

those interesting  railroad sounds. . plus the SPEWING 

STEAM being released from engines.

And sometimes...the sound of a whistle...cutting through

the air...I grew up loving Choo-Choo Trains!

What did that vignette have to do with five cent soda 

pops? You young 'uns have to understand the times,

and visualize the scenes...

A dollar was a dollar in those days. A nickel was a nickel

and quite a bit of money. Ladies worked all day pressing

pants or shirts or feeding sheets through the mangle, for

twenty cents an hour---good pay at the time---and never

blamed anything on the government.

People worked...or they starved. About as simple as that.

So to hot little bitty kids like me, hanging out in a steamy,

summer-time laundry, with only a giant fan blowing---

(AC was unheard of), when Mama said "Here's some

change---go get us some "cokes" and candy bars, I was

off in a flash a block west, to 521 West Grand, to Tom

Phelp's RED and WHITE STORE, on the corner, facing

north.

Tom was a tall, slender, older fellow---and having a nice

white little meat counter in the back, he thus wore a white

apron and clothes --plus a ten-inch butcher's  hat, with a 

"puff" at the top!

Anyway, I'd always take empty pop bottles or there was a 

two-cent deposit to pay. My little brother would tag along 

to help carry the drinks...and CANDY BARS!

Generally we would get Barq's Big Orange drinks, maybe

eight or nine ounces...or big NEHI grapes; Hires' Root Beers 

helped break the monotony. Flavor drinks were popular

with little kids.

Mama and Dad were fond of the thick little green coke 

bottles full of six-and-a-half ounces of the strongest

Coca Cola you could ever imagine.

Once or twice I bought me a Coke. in the fascinating 

little thick green bottle. They were eye-watering-strong 

to a relatively new-being-on-the-planet!

Recently B.E. spotted some old-fashioned green cokes

in a carton and brought a six-pack home. Just for old-

time's-sake, I drank one. The bottles are thinner- made 

with less "green glass." And they have added a RED 

LOGO which was not there in 1939.

Ah, but the kick was still there, even to an old timer. No

canned cokes ever had that MAGNIFICENT strong 

flavor!

Mama's favorite candy bar was (a rare ten cent bar)--

a Best Pal. Dad was so busy working that he paid little 

attention to snacks, and we always got him a Hershey.

We kids bought something different every time---Baby 

Ruths, Butterfingers, Milky Ways, Snickers, O Henrys, 

Bit-O- Honeys, or even a Black Cow caramel sucker,

now and then.

There was an old fridge in the corner in the Magic Steam

Laundry, and it was full of brown bags as the ladies 

brought their daily lunches.

I'll never forget it---a "snack vendor" came by one afternoon

and talked Dad into putting one of those five cent Potato 

Chip racks on top of the ancient laboring fridge. It held on

chip-clips about twelve nice little bags of potato chips---six  

to a side. A little dish was there under it for the nickels.

Being about five, and always hungry, I watched it constantly.

No worker ever bought a single bag of chips. A NICKEL

WAS A NICKEL in those hard times. Why nine cents would 

buy a loaf of bread! Or almost a whole 5 lb. bag of potatoes.

We were never allowed to eat those...until one fall afternoon

late...the laundry run was done for the day---and that

incomparable smell lingered in the air---of clean, starched,

ironed, pressed clothes---

No customers were dropping by---for a massive sandstorm 

was coming in down West Grand, from west of town..

Mama said: "Why don't we open a coupla' bags of potato

chips...it seems like a good time!"

I will tell you; "Those were the best potato chips I have ever

eaten...and to this day, I can still taste 'em, seventy-seven

years later." And you got twice as much for a nickel--then!

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

BY MIL

7/26/16