"UPHILL"

Uphill

by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Does the road go uphill all the way?
    Yes, to the very end.
Will the day's journey take the whole long day?
    From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting place,
    A roof for when the slow dark hours begin?
May not the darkness hide it from my face?
    You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?
    Those who have gone before;
Then must I know or call when just in sight?
    They will not keep you waiting at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?
    Of labour you shall find the way.
Will there be beds for me, and all who seek?
    Yes, beds for all who come.

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MAY YOUR JOURNEY BE FULL OF PEACE, REST, AND JOY
    THIS COMING YEAR.    FROM MIL
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MIL'S PLACE
12/27/12


Sent from my iPad

A TALK WITH MIL ABOUT........"TRANSLERS"

                                        Chilean Rose-Hair Tarantula

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WERE THE CLOVIS "TRANSLERS" WORLD--CLASS?
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No, my reader, this was not a sports team. as my editor thought. (That team was the "Wildcats!) These were hairy spiders that lived in little holes in vacant lots, all around our neighborhood! To be exact, they were about number fifteen on our unwritten list of "go to" activities, if things got slow and boring and we got tired of playing (with the water hose) "JAP ZEROS DOWN~IN~FLAMES."

Let me try to explain this spider activity to anyone who did not live in the forties. You see, when we got a little bit of spare time on our hands, we set our to rid the world (and Clovis) of these vicious spiders-- one neighborhood at a time! These "translers" lived in round holes, right out in the middle of the prairie. I reckon these holes were about the size of forties-boys' most commonly-used currency- a Buffalo nickel.

The accepted way of catching "translers" was to get some Fleer's Double Bubble, chew it up a right smart, get a hefty piece of string, wad the gum around a knot on the end of the string, and proceed to yank it up and down the vertical hole, out there in the middle of the prairie, tempting the spider to cling to the irresistible gum, enjoying a good chaw! Then you'd pull up your string quickly and he was caught!

Mil, just how big and vicious WERE these spiders that were threatening Clovis? Well. er, you know, we had heard through lore that they were very vicious and deadly-- if one of them bit you, What lore was that, Mil? Well, you know--"Kids' Neighborhood Lore,"--the Grapevine. Good dependable boy-lore! You know.

I don't want to minimize the danger, risk, and the courage we showed in this activity-- for we were tough little American boys-- with True Grit,  but they were probably NOT your LOWER PAPUA NEW GUINEA: SIZE-OF-A-HAND TRANSLERS.  And they were not always that vicious, I guess, though there was a rumor going around that there was a "jumping/spitting" venomous transler that could spit in your eye at three feet!

So Mil, are you saying that the Clovis spiders that you caught with bubble gum, were picayunish, pusillanimous, garden-variety, run-of-the-mill, third-class translers, and not-- Lower Borneo, Amazon Rain Forest, Honduran Jungle, Bataan Pennisula world class "TRANSLERS?"

Yep! I reckon that's about it. But remember, they were all the translers we had, and we would have caught bigger ones but our gum was pretty much chewed out, you know--the flavor was about gone!

You may say, "Well, Mil, it seems a little strange for an older guy to be as interested in translers, as you are, don't you think? " Well, boyhood was an interesting time, Clovis was a great home town, I grew up with the best of friends, and those were pretty hefty spiders.

Any other word for us, Mil? "My readers, I have a confession to make to you: I got a transler for Christmas!"

(This post proudly dedicated to "Country Boy Bob,"a Transler Hunter" "in his own right," and of the First Magnitude; one who braved those weedy Clovis vacant lots with me!)

                                         Mexican Red-Kneed Tarantula

Mil's Christmas Tarantula

(Is it real?  I'll never tell!)

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BY MIL

12/26/12

Sent from my iPad

POINSETTIAS

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"FLORES DE NOCHE BUENA"
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This beautiful red flower's connection with Christmas probably somehow began with an old legend in 16th century Mexico.

As the story was told, a young girl, too poor to provide a gift for the celebration of the birth of Jesus, was inspired by a vision of an angel telling her to gather weeds from the roadside as an offering. The girl took her humble weeds to the church, and laid them on the altar, and miraculously, beautiful crimson blossoms came out of the weeds and became colorful poinsettias. They were and are called in Mexico and Central America---"Las Noches Buenas."
.

Poinsettias, were not known as such, or even known in the USA until the 19th century. The flower is named for the first US ambassador to Mexico,  Dr. Joel Roberts Poinsett. who "discovered" it in the wilds of Mexico. Dr. Poinsett was not only a politician but fancied himself an amateur botanist. In his random wandering in the mountains of Mexico, he came across this beautiful flower, which today bears his name. He shipped clippings home to South Carolina circa 1825.

Dr. Poinsett's discovery interested the people, and his plant was grown and enjoyed around the country, but not to a great extent until the 20th century. It really came into its own as a Christmas flower around mid-century.

A German immigrant by the name of Albert Ecke came to the U.S. in the year 1900 and somehow became interested and involved in growing and selling poinsettias, He peddled them from stands on city streets.

Albert's son came along and really gave the flower sales a boost by pioneering mixtures of strains (there are over 100 varieties) and grafting. His efforts, along with others who followed him, insured a full plant of "flowers," thus a more beautiful product. The term "flower," just used, is actually a misnomer---it's the leaves which turn red, or whatever the color might be. Poinsettias may be found in pink, orange, white, light green, and marble.

It was left then to the third son in this family, Paul Jr., to be the one who really helped
sell the U.S. public on this idea of beautiful red flowers at Christmas. He hustled and got displays everywhere he could---where they would be noticed by the most people. TV was
coming into its own, and Paul passed out free flowers, where necessary. His flowers were visible on The Bob Hope Show, and other television  productions.

Today, poinsettias at Christmas time are found extensively all across North America in homes, businesses, and churches. The Ecke family companies are said today to supply 70% of the poinsettias in the U.S., and 60% of the world's supply.

This is an unusual flower to produce. It requires a considerable amount of darkness in the autumn to develop the beautiful red leaves at Christmas. It does not like heavy watering but prefers just damp soil for growth. It may be replanted, outside, in warm weather, and taken inside again before the next frost. In its natural state in the wild, it is a shrub or small tree, ranging from two to sixteen feet tall.

While poinsettia leaves are not considered fatally poisonous, ingesting them could cause digestive distress, and a drop of oil in an eye, from a leaf, may cause loss of vision temporarily.

This plant is known in South America as "THE CROWN OF THE ANDES," and in Spain is used at Easter season and called "FLOR DE PASCUA." In Mexico, it is called "FLORES DE NOCHE BUENA," ("flowers of the holy night.")  Because of its usual five crimson "flower" leaves, it is often referred to in America as "THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM."

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BYMIL
12/19/12

"O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM"

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AN AMERICAN CHRISTMAS CAROL
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One of the world's most-loved Christmas carols originated in America, right after the Civil War. The text was written by the popular and well-known Episcopal priest, and Rector of the Holy Trinity Church in Philadelphia, Phillips Brooks (1835-1893).

Rev. Brooks, who had been a speaker at President Lincoln's funeral, visited Bethlehem in 1865, and his impressions and memories of that trip caused him to write his carol three years later in 1868, at Christmas time.

He gave a copy of his poem to his church organist, Lewis Redner (1801-1903), who then wrote the tune "St. Louis," which is the tune most-used in the U.S. The United Kingdom folks seem to prefer a setting for Brook's text called "Forest Green," a tune adapted by R. Vaughan Williams, from an old English folk song---"The Ploughman." One source mentioned that "O Little Town of Bethlehem" is occasionally sung to the tune "Carol," though the meters are slightly different.

By the time of Phillips Brook's death in 1893" the song had become very popular and used around the world. It is said that it was sung  for President Grant in a White House Christmas concert. Another story tells of Roosevelt and Churchill together at a White House service, and Churchill, normally a lusty singer, did not know the tune.

Those interested in the music of hymns and carols, will find "Forest Green" to be a singable, pleasing, and interesting substitute for Redner's "St. Louis." An advantage to occasionally branching out into unfamiliar tunes is that it often helps us to sing and hear the words in a fresh sense.

Here is the text to Phillips Brook's carol:

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie!
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark street shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O Morning Stars together.
Proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear his coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.

O holy child of Bethlehem
Descend to us we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today!
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell;
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Immanuel!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jVOpenuXHKo&feature=youtube_gdata_player

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BY MIL
12/18/12
Sent from my iPad

"DON'T GET ORANGE MARMALADE ON YOUR APPLE!"

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ALSO, KEEP IT OUT OF THE KOHLER!
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When I retired from my second career (insurance), I sat there one morning, cleaning out my desk and musing about the probably thousands of calls I had had over the years---calls at the office, calls at home, calls at six a.m., calls at midnight. Believe me, I was up to here (chin) with those calls!

Wishing I would never ever hear another phone ring or listen to an answering machine again, I sat there with my can of Diet Pepsi I was drinking and I rubbed it, saying---"O Genie, if you are in this can, please...my wish is: "no more phone calls!,"

I should have saved that can, because there was a good genie living in it---a productive genie! Since that day, I just don't get phone calls, (if you don't count all the surveys, free cruises, credit card solicitations, and all that stuff.)

Wonderful! Bliss! No more midnight calls anymore saying---"If my teen-age son borrows a Hummer to take his date home from a party, and he is a little tipsy, is he covered on my insurance?" You know the  type calls.

It amazes me---anytime I go to the grocery store, bread store, Walgreens, or whenever, there are people standing around on the front sidewalk, talking on cell phones. Waiting for seats in a restaurant, people are talking on cell phones. I marvel at this! What is so important and urgent to discuss that they couldn't have covered it at home---in private? For example---look at me---my business was all caught up! Why talk out there on the sidewalk?

We did get a couple of those rudimentary cell phones in the late nineties; this was to help the wife in an emergency, if she had car trouble, etc. You see, we were once (in 1996) on the way to a party in the Sandias. It was HOT---mid-July and our car quit out east about 8 miles; it was the timing chain! The cars were zooming by at 70 mph, each one spreading a giant wave of hot air and fumes all over us.  A friendly, helpful, guy with one of those old "lunchbox"  (big black portable)  phones stopped and helped us call a wrecker. We finally got back to town, but missed the party.

Out first set of phones were just phones, no cameras or any of that. They were only about twenty-five dollars a month.  The only exciting thing to tell about them is that mine fell into a Kohler. Alas, it was not waterproof. On replacing it, for a fee, the girl laughed and said that it happened all the time.

We updated our cell phones later on for better acoustics. We  got cameras, which I was not too keen on, having used a Koni-Omega 2 1/4 by 2 3/4 for several hundred photo jobs. A camera in a phone was beyond me!

My phone paid off once big time! I knew of a client who was an older lady, and she fell in her garden once and lay there several hours before someone came along and helped her up. Likewise,  a man I knew lay on his cold driveway one winter and nearly froze while waiting for help to get up. So, I hate to admit it, but one day I bent over to turn on the yard faucet, which  was at ground level, and got off balance and my knee buckled and I fell. No serious injuries but scratches from a pyracantha bush which damaged me and ruined my shirt.

There I was. I couldn't get up. The wife was at work. I had my cell phone in my shirt pocket and luckily, my neighbor who is a plumber, and a former Marine, had his pickup parked 20 feet away in his driveway, and there was his phone number on the door! I called him and he came over and helped me get to my feet.

Sometimes, when you need a cell phone, you REALLY NEED ONE!

Now we Americans have moved into the era of Blackberries and Apples, among a bunch of others! It seems that now everybody's  got a fancy phone! When our kids come to see us with their kids, the "awfulest" amount of texting, tweeting, twittering, peeping, and beeping is going on. We are constantly checking the ovens, smoke alarm, and timers!

The wife has been wanting one of these new phones; I was not as interested as she. After all, with all our electronic gear that we have now, the house probably glows in the dark already! But we bit the bullet, got Apple iphones, (fours), and we are up and running. (I think!) I, myself, the most unlettered electronic gadget person there is, have already sent out five "peeps," all by myself. How about that? Yes, it is a heady feeling!

Be careful with this expensive phone. You know "Smucker's Law of Marmalade." "One drop of orange marmalade can somehow make everything within a square yard sticky." It's true, my friends. While writing today, and eating a PNB marmalade biscuit, I got my new Apple iphone lying innocently nearby---sticky.

          So Mil, do you have any advice for us, now, with your experiences with cell phones?  Um, yes.
                1. Be careful to not carelessly run up your "peeping" bill.
                2. Try to keep the orange marmalade off your Apple, and
                3.  Keep your phone out of the Kohler!

          Well, reckon that’s about it for now.  Think I might just listen to some Christmas carols which my wife put on my new Apple 4.  Yes!  You can do that.  Or…you know…I believe I’ll run down to Walgreen’s and walk around in front on the sidewalk, with my new iphone, nodding at all the other talkers, calling my home phone or something…faking it somehow….and trying…to look important!  

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BY MIL
12/12/12






Sent from my Pad

THE TIME OF "WHITE CHRISTMAS"

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A HUNDRED MILLION SOLD INCLUDING ALBUMS!
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One of the most popular songs of all time was written by Irving Berlin and first introduced to America on Christmas day in 1941, by Bing Crosby, on his Kraft Music Hall Show. He then performed it in the movie "Holiday Inn," and recorded it in 1942 with other songs.

In 1942 the song really caught on and appealed greatly to the American people, a year into a war they didn't want and were having to send their boys off to fight. It was sung throughout the war, getting more popular each year. Its mix of nostalgia, melancholy, memories of home and better times, appealed to the American people...and their sons away in uniform.

Sources cite fifty million singles sold over the years and one states a hundred million total records sold, counting albums. Any way one cuts it, the song is right at the top of all time!

In recent years we seem not to hear it as much on radio or TV and there are those who suggest that it is sentimental nonsense---after all, it never snows at Christmas in most places in the USA, and who among us has ever heard a sleigh bell? And on they go...

If we listened to this reasoning, we might lose half of our Christmas songs. After all, isn't there a good bit of snow, sleigh-riding, fantasy, imagination, and tradition, including flying reindeer and guys in red suits who come down the chimney---in many of our songs?

How about "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." or "Sleighbells ring, are you list'nin?" Then there's "Giddy up, giddy  up let's go..." or Waring's "The stump of a little old pipe he held tight in his teeth..." and what about "Over the river and through the woods," "Walking in a winter wonderland," and "On every street corner you'll hear, silver bells...?" I guess maybe we could indulge in a bit of Bing's forties nostalgia...for old time's sake!

It's clear to me, when it comes to Christmas and its customs and traditions, of warmth, glitter, and excitement, maybe we need to throw some of our "bah humbug," out the window, and just go with the spirit of the season; on the other hand, never forgetting the deeper real meaning of Christmas.

Yes, "White Christmas" caught on--big time. It was a time when folks were perhaps a bit more sentimental than they are now. It was a time when nostalgic words sing to a smooth melodic tune met a need of the people.

Go back with me in time to the "way things were."

It was a time not far removed from the Great Depression.
It was a time when a dollar was a dollar and most people had only a few of them
It was a time when entertainment was not far removed from Vaudeville days.
It was a time when movies. were simple and you could understand what was happening.
It was a time of "National Velvet" and "Lassie, Come Home."
It was a time when the kids had a rare vampire show, not 75% horror films.
It was a time when Gene Autry's best single was "Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer."

It was a time when the American boys of the Greatest Generation were going off to war.
It was a time when much of America was still rural.
It was a time when a man's handshake was as good as his word.
It was a time when "much obliged" meant deep gratitude, and "I'll help you when needed!"

It was a time when a triple dip ice cream cone was 15 cents.
It was a time when a good hamburger or bowl of chili was 20 cents.
It was a time when a post card was one cent and a first class stamp was three cents.
It was a time a pack of Wrigley's gum or a Snicker were 5 cents.
It was a time when a laundered, starched, folded dress shirt was 15 cents.

A time when 50 cents would buy a haircut, 20 cents a shoe shine.
A time when you paid for things with a Buffalo nickel, a Mercury dime, and a Walking Liberty.
A time of "Five and Ten Cent Stores," of Woolworth's and "Monkey" Wards.
A time when store clerks said "May I help you?" or "Come Back To See Us!"
A time when most stuff had that wonderful tag: "MADE IN USA!"
A time when you solved business problems in the USA, not India or Pakistan!

And it was a time before some really good things, which came after the war---outdoor grills, air conditioning, orange juice concentrate---and what about Studebakers, Hudsons, Oldsmobiles, Plymouths, and Thunderbirds?!

Yes, think back to that time. WWII cost only 288 billion dollars. Three  days in a hospital, private room, surgeon fee, major surgery, $185.00.

How far we've come. Erase all things that have happened in the 65-70 years since Bing first sang "White Christmas"---all movies, books, TV shows, technology, computers, I Pads, I Pods, Kindles, cell phones---all acquired knowledge---and maybe we can capture the mindset of the Americans of those days. So "White Christmas" somehow touched them, spoke to them, and in their simpler lives---had meaning.

I was there and absorbed it all. I'm going to sing "White Christmas" this year with renewed appreciation of those people and those times which went a long way toward making our great nation what it is. Most of them are gone...but the song...and their memories...live on.

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"White Christmas", sung by Bing Crosby and Marjorie Reynolds:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T8swRkzkO2s&feature=youtube_gdata_player
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BY MIL
11/29/12


Sent from my iPad

CHRISTMAS ON THE FRIO

CHRISTMAS ON THE FRIO        

By

Wylie Dougherty

December 1, 1956—I started a new career as a Jet Aircraft Mechanic with the NM Air National Guard, leaving Clovis for the rest of my life.  I had met a young girl, by accident or fate, who was a recent graduate from Albuquerque High.  Ruth Ann Easton was her name, the oldest of a family of five girls.  I invited her to come to the ranch for Christmas and she accepted, along with her parents.

They all suffered from a bit of culture shock as there was quite a mob, with my 8 brothers and sisters overwhelming them with numbers.  Two in-laws were there along with 5 nieces and nephews.  On Christmas Eve Mom always read the story of the birth of Jesus from the Book of Matthew, we sang some Christmas songs, hung our stockings and retired for the night.

Christmas morning we had the usual big ranch breakfast then off to the Christmas tree, stockings and presents.  Ruth and her parents were totally in awe of how the ranch people lived, ate and enjoyed each other’s presence.   We always had an orange or apple in the toe of our stocking with a small gift, nuts and hard rock candy filling the stocking.  My Brother David had a cigarette lighter in his sock, and Mom only remarked “did you think we were stupid”.  His smoking was, in his mind, a secret—not.

That day we took Ruth’s Dad for a tour of the ranch, visiting cattle and horses in all the pastures.  Touring 6,400 acres was a little difficult to understand for someone who had been a city dweller for a couple of decades, but he often spoke of how he enjoyed the reception and the escorted tour of the ranch.

I have never said that our family was normal, and Bill proved it Christmas night.  We were sitting around in the living room when Bill walked in wearing only his jockey shorts, dropped down, did 50 push-ups and left the room.  A natural event for family, but a little unusual for my wife to be—coming from a family of 5 girls.  Ruth learned that my little brothers would shock her over the years by their stunts. 

The ranch continued to feed our family for years, we would buy a beef, have it processed in Clovis and split it with the in-laws, good eating beef, grass and grain fed.  Ruth and I look forward to our 56^th Christmas together this month and our 56^th Anniversary next June.

  

Glass Block Art by Ruth Dougherty

for Mil's Place
By Wylie Dougherty
Guest Writer

"I LOVE OLD PICKUP TRUCKS!"

I LOVE  LITTLE BABY DUCKS,
OLD PICKUP TRUCKS...
....AND RAIN...." (Tom T. Hall)

I LOVE OLD PICKUP TRUCKS

by Mil

An old pickup truck...
Look at it, sitting there
Cold, empty, sightless,
Scavenged....
A pickup truck is an organ donor.
It may not have had a soul
But it certainly had a heart!
A pickup truck is one of the
Most-loved
And most-loyal
things in the world!

Don't say pickups are "inhuman,
No personality...."
Fact is---the are loaded with personality!
They, to the owner,
Are like his horse and dog!
If pickups had tails,
I believe they'd wag 'em.
If they could speak, you'd hear
"Where to, today, Boss?"

Look, an old pickup...sitting there...
To a lot of people---
Nothing but a rattle-y piece of junk.
But to the one who drove it
These are the remains of a friend,
A companion of many years;
One that got its owner
Over the rough, tough, rocky,
Slick and slide-y roads of life---
Through deep waters, sometimes---
And brought him back home safely
Every time.

Don't worry if yours gets
A few honorable dents...
Over the years, in the "heat of battle"
So to speak,
Or a few rust spots here and there,
Or the paint shows thin---
Why, that's kind of like the "patina"
That they advertise, about old leather.
As you get your wrinkles through the years,
So will your pickup.

When you look at a pickup
You're looking at one of
The most poetic things there is.
Let me explain: it falls into
the poetic class of barns, windmills,
log cabins, wood stoves, quilts,
old leather, front porches, and pocket knives...

If you'd asked Will Rogers about pickups,
He'd have said---
"I never met a pickup I didn't like!"

Pickups come in all shapes...and sizes...
Two doors, three doors, four doors...
One seat---two seats,
Wide bed, narrow bed, short bed, long bed,
Six or eight cylinder, and diesel.
Fog lights, cab lights, spotlights,
Trailer hitches... or plain bumpers.

A skeptic might say
"Well what are pickups good for anyway?"
I'll tell you, but first, friend---
Never judge one until you have rolled
on its tires for a few thousand miles!
These "pieces of junk," as some would call them,
Have paid the price---
Have justified their existence
Have earned their place in the sun.

Pickups are good for anything,
And everything...
Hauling, camping, hunting, fishing,
Tailgating at football games
Businesses, pulling trailers, woodcutting,
Farming, and a dozen other jobs!

The old farm pickup truck
Has hauled it all!
Barrels of gasoline
Heavy sacks of grain,
Bales of hay and shocks of feed,
Tool boxes and spare parts,
Flat tires and air compressors...
Fence posts and barbed wire.
And five gallon grease cans and grease guns.

It has hauled, with sideboards
sick animals to the vet.
It has carried water bags on its side posts
for thirsty farm workers
And watermelons home...for the kids
At the end of the day.

It has driven over farm land
ad infinitum--quarter sections, half sections,
full sections---wet land after rains, dry land,
plowed land, pastures with gullies---
You name it---that's where pickups have gone.
They have hooked onto pulleys,
And pulled sucker rods out of windmills.
And carried tired farmers home...
When the day's  work was done.

Over the years being a "farm truck"
Takes its toll.
Just sitting out in the hot sun...
Backing into fences,
Scraping fence posts.
A ding here and a dent there---
Breaking a windshield or window---
All these things take their toll.

If the farm pickup were a soldier
It would have numerous purple hearts.
It's had many surgeries over the years---
New motor, new springs, new tires,
New battery, new radiator, new bumper,
New muffler, new floor rug and
Patched-up seats.

One day, like everything
in this world---
A pickup just kinda wears out.
It is used up.
Tired.
As pickups and people finally get.
Seems nothing lasts forever.

When its last day comes,
It is not buried---
It is taken down to the back pasture
And parked...
Under an old weather-beaten tree.
For a little bit of shade in the summer,
And companionship
In the winter.

Its organs have all been donated...
It is a mere shell of it's once-glorious
shiny self.
It has no windows now....and no headlights...
It can't see anymore.

 It sits there, in the fresh air,
Glad to relax---its work on earth
done.
No apologies---it did its best.
And now it is at home,
Out on the open range...
To rest forever,
In the wind and under the sun---
With the little birds singing
in the tree...
where the bunny rabbits scamper
and the deer and the antelope play.

Who knows? Look at it! Maybe it did...
have a soul...after all.

little baby ducks.....

and rain..........

"I Love" by Tom T. Hall
sung by Tammy Wynette and Tom T. Hall:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWSgGhf0S7w&feature=youtube_gdata_player

*********30*********
BY MIL
12/06/12

Sent from my iPad

"ARE THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS UP YET, HONEY?"

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AN ELECTRIFYING STORY!

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One December morning about ten years ago, I was sitting at the kitchen table, finishing my cup of coffee and the morning paper, when my wife returned early from her walk in the neighborhood. She rushed into the house, breathless and pale, and very excited, and said, "Honey, Honey, a guy down the street was putting up his Christmas lights around the front of his house and I think he electrocuted himself---he is just hanging there on the wire and not moving, dead-looking, and his ladder has fallen over!"

She talked rapidly saying, "It may be a fake, but we need to be sure! You've got to come---we've got to do something...and fast!"  So, since it was several blocks down the street, we jumped into my pickup and sped off down there. We parked right across the street.

Sure enough she was right. the guy was hanging there on the Christmas lights, in his work coveralls and toboggan cap, apparently as dead as a doornail (whatever that means); I said, "It's got to be a fake, but I'm not sure!" (Being somewhat alarmed myself.) I unwrapped a stick of gum, as stake-out detectives do in movies, and we sat and watched him. That sucker didn't move.

The wife was right! We went over our options. We could run over and pull him down, and thus get electrocuted ourselves---(hey, I don't know how electricity works); we could knock on the door, or we could call 911. Maybe even , luckily, a fireman might  drive by...or a cop! As if! Our options seemed few.

You're thinking, my reader, that any dummy should be able to recognize a dummy. Not so! He really looked real...and "real dead!" Finally, after watching him...for maybe ten minutes, I said, (and permit a dramatic embellishment here), "Well, I'm not touching this with a ten foot pole! Ya' gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run! I'm folding!" "But...but..Honey, what if it is a real guy?"

In my great wisdom, and with regrets, I said: "Well, any way you cut it, he's gone!"

Don't laugh at us please. Think about it. We had no mental point of reference. It wasn't like we got in the car and drove around town each year, checking out all the real/fake hanging-dead-light decorators in town. For crying out loud---this was a first. The homeowner was breaking new humorous/macabre  ground! And we---two reasonably intelligent people---(?)...almost bit.

How many electrocuted Christmas  light decorators have you seen hanging around in your neighborhood lately?

(The picture above, of the annual "hanging decorator," was made yesterday. Note, we feel, upon looking at it, that our neighbor has lost something in his dramatic touch. It is not nearly as real-looking a scene as it was ten years ago. The ladder needs to be tilted more and he perhaps needs to be entangled with the wire more. Maybe we are just a bit more......sophisticated.)

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FROM MIL'S

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

BY MIL

12/05/12

Sent from my iPad

CHRISTMAS

CHRISTMAS

by Elizabeth Sieren, guest writer

C andy canes, carols, and colorful cards, too,

H oliday parties with tasty treats, quite a few.

R ibbon bedecked wreaths bring a traditional scheme

I nspiring a seasonal and spiritual theme.

S hopping, sleigh rides, and spruce trees so green,

T insel, toys, and symbols in lights - a crystal sheen,

M istletoe and poinsettia complete the routine.

A wesome presentations could lead us astray,

S o - Son of God, help us remember, it's your birthday.

                       
FOR MIL'S PLACE
by Liz Sieren
Retired teacher

A CHRISTMAS REMEMBERED

by Richard Drake, Guest Writer

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DON'T JUDGE A BOOK BY IT'S COVER!

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When our kids were very small,  we delayed putting up the family tree until just before Christmas day.  Once the tree up fully decorated the kids would become more excited each year.  To preserve Marcia’s sanity a delay in the process was appreciated.

One Saturday afternoon a couple days before Christmas it came time to go buy a tree.  We lived on top of Lookout Mountain outside of Denver and that year none of the trees on our property would do the job.  I was taking care of the kids that day so I decided to drive into Denver and pick out a tree.  As I remember the kids were seven, five and two years old.  I had been cutting logs that morning and did not want to clean up before the trip.  I looked like a mountain man in my very dirty work clothes and scuffed up work boots, the kids had been out playing in the snow and mud so they did not have on their Sunday finery.  Bret, our youngest had on coveralls handed down from his sisters.  The snaps in the legs and crotch no longer would stay fastened for more than a few minutes.  The legs would flair out so it looked like he was wearing a skirt.

I got them into my pickup for the drive off of the mountain.  The truck was a 1951 red Ford with rusted fenders and corroded bumpers.  The kids had named it the “Red Mariah” but I don’t recall why that name.  So off we went to get a tree in that old beat up truck with a cracked windshield and everyone with their dirty clothes full of holes.

At the tree lot I left the kids in the truck, eagerly watching the process.  Bret, the smallest with his runny nose pressed against the side window to get a better view.  After several minutes, I found what appeared be the perfect tree.  I dragged it close to the truck to give the little ones a better view and seeking their approval.  It was after all a family affair.  Now that made the kids even more excited.

 I asked what the price was for the tree and was told it was four dollars.  Since it was nearing Christmas day, prices were being discounted.  I had brought our check book intending to pay in that manner since I only had two dollars in cash on me.  I jokingly said I’ll give you two dollars cash or I will have to write you a check. The salesman took a long look at the rag muffin looking children, my clothes, and the red truck and he got this funny look on his face.  Another look at Bret’s smiling face pressed to the window and you could see the man wilt.  He quickly said there was no charge and Merry Christmas.  I quickly realized that he had made an incorrect judgment about my ability to pay.  I tried to get him to let me pay but to no avail.  

So off we went to take the tree to Mother, Marcia, with a good story to tell.

Merry Christmas

----30----

For Mil's Place

by Richard Drake

CHS Class '53

FELIZ NAVIDAD EN TAJIQUE

        Painting by Pauline Nelson, 1993

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"NO, NO, ES LEÑA, ES LEÑA!"
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"NOCHE DE PAZ, NOCHE DE AMOR, TODO DUERME EN DERREDOR"

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For many years I had a little Spanish gentleman from Tajique, south of Albuquerque in the Manzano Mountains, as my "firewood man." Juan came by the house early every fall, and then later, usually in December, close to Christmas time. His plan, on arriving in town obviously was to see his regular customers first, sell his wood pronto, buy himself a good ten cent cigar, and head for home. It finally got to where it didn't work with me, for I had a backyard full of wood I had bought from him, and still do. I couldn't keep on buying. I even bought a load for my son. Okay, yes, I did like Juan and he talked good Spanish!

I haven't seen him in a couple of years, and I do hope he is okay; he had a bad knee which was always giving him trouble and he had to have his grandson with him to stack the wood he sold. He was past 75 so maybe he has totally retired.

One time when he came I had a couple of packages of venison left over from a deer hunt. (I had eaten a lot of venison in my life, mostly ground into hamburger or chili meat.) However, women just aren't real fond of wild meat; they don't enjoy cooking it, nor do they enjoy eating it.

So, operating under the old dictum "A happy wife means a happy husband," I said that day to my wood man: "Juan, do you ever eat venison down there at Tajique?" (I probably asked the question in Spanish, as we usually talked Spanish.) "Oh yes," he said, "Anytime I can bag a deer, we make tamales, chili, and roasts out of it," So Juan went away that day with a Christmas present from me--- two packages of frozen venison, wrapped in newspapers, riding snugly in the front seat of his pickup!

He'd drive up in front of my house, with that fully loaded pickup, with sideboards, hobble up to the house, ring the bell, and I'd answer the door. I'd say: "¡Oh, buenas dias...Juan! ¡Me gusto verle! Que pasa? Tienes madera para vender?" ("Do you have wood for sale?") I haven't checked my Spanish dictionary lately, but I think "madera" is not the word for firewood. He'd say: "¡No, no, es leña, es leña!" ("It's FIREwood.")

He often would tell me of the troubles he had with his pickup and also with his knee. The truck wouldn't run---thus how could he sell wood to buy groceries?  His leg hurt and he had to keep it elevated and couldn't work. He told me about his little adobe house that stayed cozy and warm in the winter with his woodstove.

When I took an advanced Spanish course at Bear Canyon Senior Center in 1999, I remembered my little woodman and all his problems. I wrote a short story in Spanish about him. Now I can't find it. But it went something like this and was partly fictitious.

There was a Spanish man who lived in a cozy little adobe home down just outside Tajique. He cut and hauled wood, stacking it down by his barn for resale each fall. But one year when it came time to sell his wood, his pickup broke down. While underneath it, trying to replace a part, he twisted his bum knee. He couldn't drive and sell his wood. Christmas was not many weeks away, and it looked like a bleak Christmas, with no money for food or presents.

Somehow, in those weeks, remaining before Christmas, his sons secretly fixed his pickup but used their own trucks to haul wood to town and sell it. His wife knew about it and distracted him from what was going on. They sold all his wood except what he needed for his own home!

On Christmas eve, late afternoon, Juan was sitting by his woodstove, half-dozing. It was cold outside. He heard voices singing, seemingly from afar off, but getting closer. They were singing:

"Noche de Paz, noche de amor,
Todo duerme en derredor;
Entre los astros que esparcen su luz,
Bella anunciando al ninito Jesus,
Brilla la estrella de paz,
Brilla la estrella de paz."

Suddenly the door burst open and the house seemed to be packed all at once with his grown-up kids and grandkids, all singing Christmas songs! They were carrying plates and trays of tamales, enchiladas, a pot of posole, and all manner of Christmas presents, in bright holiday wrappings....and, of all things---a freshly-cut Christmas tree, right out of the forest!

There was a feast that night at Juan's house, with the opening of presents...and much singing...laughter...and happiness!

Juan exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, "¡Esta es la mejor Navidad que he tenido en mi vida! ¡Gracias a Dios!"

And keeping his little mountain home warm, along with all the love that was there---was his woodstove and plenty of...LEÑA!

Noche de Paz:  http://youtu.be/S74_ocW9NhA

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BY MIL
11/26/12




Sent from my iPad

"A STRANGER COMES; THE HEROINE TAKES A TRIP!"

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"TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION!"

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In two different writing courses I have run across an identical statement or premise: "All plots are based on two standard stories: a stranger comes to town...or, the hero (heroine) takes a trip." The people who believe these propositions can make a case for them.

Not sure in my own mind (as yet) that I am fully convinced that the above covers ALL PLOTS, nonetheless I can say that I've known of BOTH happening in the same story! And it is a true story!

A dear friend of ours was a faithful church attender. Now it so happened that as avid a "church lover" as she was, she was also a "mouse-hater" to an equal extent! In fact we might say, she was a mouse-hater of the First Magnitude. I have never known such a fierce mouse hater as she!

I could tell you a number of stories, but maybe one will suffice. There is a restaurant with an outdoor patio which is a nice relaxing place to go and sit and eat and drink iced tea. We went there often but she would not go because she heard that a mouse had been seen doing its jogging around that patio during meal times.

Well, anyway, one Sunday she was sitting in church right along the aisle, in a nice relatively new auditorium. She was sitting there in her pew singing away and the one-in-a-billion thing happened! A rare thing to happen, and still rarer that it happened to her---a mouse hater!

Yes, a mouse all at once appeared from somewhere and stopped right near her feet and at  the edge of the aisle---and instead of discreetly moving on---which would have been bad enough, he took it upon himself to stop and eyeball our friend. Who knows? Perhaps he was mesmerized by her singing!

Isn't there some saying about not eyeballing grizzlies, pit bulls, and other questionable creatures. Well, this mouse hadn't heard it, because he eyeballed our friend, his enemy, and she returned his stare---but only for a quick moment---time enough for the unbelievable to register in her mind! A MOUSE!!!!!

My friends, I must tell you that there was suddenly an unhappy worshipper in that church, a departing-immediately-never-to-return-to-that-church-worshipper! She was GONE!

Maybe the writing experts are correct about the plots. It was borne out that day---both plots at once:

"A stranger comes to town; the heroine takes a trip!"

*********30********

BY MIL

11/25/12

Sent from my iPad

SORRY CHOICE FOR THE SOIREE

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"YES, PLEASE, I'LL HAVE SECONDS!"
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This post will likely get me in trouble with the many lady readers who are among the social cognoscenti---and possibly with some editors I know.

Nonetheless, we men must speak out! I'm carrying the ball here, guys for you today! Some things must be said!

First, let me set the stage for my remarks. Many of us have been in our lives---hard-working, growing, hungry guys. Maybe you have had a hard day at the office, you get home tired, and the wife reminds you that you have a soiree to attend. You hurriedly get your shower, don your party togs and---time to go!

It is a nice occasion with lots of interesting and important people there. It is usually in a residence, perhaps, and if it is in wintertime, there is no spilling of the crowd into the backyard or patio. Thus sometimes there are wall-to-wall people; if someone died, you might not know it 'til the party was over. You've been to several of those. But I digress....

You get to the party in your fresh duds and after the proper greetings, you, with your big appetite head for the TABLE...THE SPREAD! Over numerous shoulders you espy the table with a giant platter with half slices of ham and some hard rolls next to it. There is a platter of pepper jack, provolone, and American cheeses. There is a crock pot at one end of the table with cute little meat balls in sauce, and on the other end a crock pot of little cocktail wieners in sauce.

Over there is a big platter of celery sticks, radishes, cherry tomatoes, carrot sticks, and cauliflower pieces---all surrounding a delicious creamy-looking dip! There are olives of several kinds, including my favorite pimento olives. There are pickles! For fruit lovers there is a spread of grapes, pineapple chinks, mandarin orange slices, apple slices, mangos, and cheese squares!

Right in the middle of the table, sits a big bowl (over a candle) of chile con queso---that ever-wonderful MUST for any party. Around it are bowls of blue nacho chips, regular nacho chips, and potato chips! There are bowls of mayo, mustard, and horse radish scattered around!

Okay, you've got the picture. So, I finally get to the edge of the table of food and there I see my old friend, Ed. "Hey, Ed, how ya' doing? This is a great spread, huh? Er, where are the plates?"

"There," Ed says. "Where?" I say. He points to a stack of little bitty flimsy paper saucers. "No, I mean---THE MAIN PLATES, where are they?" "That's them," Ed says, careless with his English, and continuing: "What you see is what you get---that's all the plates!"

You know the story, guys. You get your roll and ham, and there goes two-thirds of your saucer space. You fill in around the edges with whatever food you can, regretting the loss of what you can't. The queso runs under it all and you wind up with cheesy grapes, cauliflower, apple slices. et.al. Then you realize you need some chips for your spread-out queso, but alas there is no room---they fall off the top of your little saggy paper saucer. Who dreamed-up this plan anyway?

You jam a few back-up nachos into the pocket of your favorite jacket and begin to wend your way through the crowd, holding your incriminating, overflowing saucer high up, out of harm's way, but, alas, unfortunately where everyone can see it!

You finally make it to a quiet miraculously empty seat in a corner, lamenting the fact that you didn't have any room for those wonderful little meat balls down  at the other end of the table, and you forgot to get a beverage. Not to worry, if I survive the crowd, I'll go back for seconds and maybe try to make out a meal here.

When the party's over, the hostesses will be cleaning up and analyzing. "The food was a great hit with everybody, don't you think, Myrtle!" "Oh yes, and did you notice Ed's friend--he went back for seconds!"

So, ladies, from the guys: accept our kudos for good parties and great food! But please get rid of those horrendous, saggy, little paper saucers----

And get us some "MAN PLATES!"

*********30*********
BY MIL
11/22/12
Sent from my iPad

"BATHING SADDLES"---THAT WINDMILL TANK!

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READER'S COMMENT BY ALBIN COVINGTON
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When I was a student at La Casita School, back in the 1940's, I would often go to Dimmitt,Texas where I had two uncles and several cousins. They were farmers. I just loved the farm!

When I first started spending some of my summers there, I stayed with my uncle who lived in
an old house; this was not an unusual thing in the 40's. There were many old houses. They had an old windmill that one of my cousins, Bryce, and I liked to play around. We climbed the
old wooden ladder.

One very warm day, we had been riding an old horse near that old windmill. Bryce was taking his turn on the horse and rode up to the water tank at the windmill so the horse could get a drink. He was about to get off the horse when the horse decided that it was "bath time" for him. It was time to cool off a bit! Thus Bryce, the horse, saddle, and all went into that stock tank and had a bath!

I don't know if that had anything to do with it, but I have always loved windmills. I have been known to stop along the road to take a picture of an interesting mill I had  just spotted.

In the late 50's I went to work on that farm! My uncle had built a new house far from where
the old windmill was. It had a nice new well, with a pump on it. You know, the whir of that
pump didn't do for me what the pumping of the windmill did!

And I still stop once in a while to get a picture of a windmill!

********30*******
FOR MIL'S PLACE
BY DR. ALBIN COVINGTON,
Guest Writer
Sent from my iPad