WHAT READERS SAY ON: "THOUGHTS ABOUT WRITING.....AND LIFE"

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TWO SCHOOL TEACHERS COMMENT
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My first thought after reading this tonight may be different than what you are discussing here, but I will share what I am thinking.

I have been blessed to be a permanent resident of Ruidoso, N.M. for the past 13 years. I am surrounded by God's beautiful creations here in this place----the slopes and peaks of Sierra Blanca viewed from my back deck, deer in my front yard, back yard, and sometimes in my driveway when I am coming or going. There are hummingbirds that visit my feeder all day long on my back deck, and elk and wild horses that roam the nearby areas.

All around are many different types of trees that bear needles and stay green all year around.  I must mention the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets above the mountain chain and the rivers, lakes, and small streams in all directions. I could go on and on listing the beautiful sights that we are afforded in this place!

BUT, so many times I take these things for granted and I don't "SEE" them as I should on an every day basis. I "edit them out," as you are saying. I should be thanking our Creator each and every day for these marvelous creations as I look at them through "new" eyes and ponder and wonder at their beauty.

I ask forgiveness for not taking time EVERY day to feast my eyes on the beautiful sights around me, and letting them soak into my memory as if it were the first time I had ever seen them.

Thank you for allowing me to express my thoughts. This topic has been on my mind for some time.  (By Judy Hughes)

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I agree with your thoughts on writing, as details are what ignite those pictures in our minds. That is why, to me, a movie based on a book is often a let-down. It was better in my mind's eye---reading the details and then weaving a tapestry created from those well-chosen words.  I believe that is why reading is sometimes more important than life. The stories and the words are so right. Day by day living is rarely like that.

What particularly amazes me are the writers who are very spare: for example Cormac McCarthy's "THE ROAD." It is written using the most brief of descriptions and yet that is the perfect language to carry the plot.

Of course the best example is Hemingway's style and especially "THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA." How can these writers still pack such a punch? It is proof of the elegance of simplicity but even more, it is finding those jewel-like lines, phrases, and exacting descriptions.

I really enjoyed all the guest writers and your 100th post too---"HEADING BACK HOME... TO POP'S PLACE!"  (By L.J.)

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BY MIL AND GUESTS
8/30/12

Sent from my iPad

"UGH---THOSE ICKY MANDUCA QUINQUEMACULATAS!"

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"HONEY, I FOUND ANOTHER ONE!"
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Life is too short for a person never to taste a good home-grown vine-ripened tomato! There is nothing like them---anyone will tell you!

Just admit it: how many times have you looked inside your $7.95 hamburger and just tossed aside the greenish tomato slice?

You have no doubt read my two tomato posts (still on Mil's Place) from last year. The story is that I ordered five (splendid) "Earth Boxes" circa 2004, filled them with soil, and planted two tomato vines per box. Watered daily in the little reservoir at the bottom, these vines will grow to seven feet tall and provide all the tomatoes you can eat---plus plenty of them for "good will" purposes.

The amazing thing is that we are still using the same soil as the first year. We just order the kits annually; these contain a little bag of dolomite and a bag of special tomato fertilizer.

Alas, however, as you know. life has its good news and bad news. Roses have their thorns. Life on this planet is loaded with its contrasts, otherwise how would we know when things were good? Our tomato plants get "those old MANDUCA QUINQUEMACULATAS!" (Or is it: "MANDUCAS QUINQUEMACULATA?") Yes, I know---a big mouthful---as big as a bite out of a juicy red garden tomato!

Actually that long scientific term above is the final product of the "ICKY" tomato worm at its maturity...a butterfly-looking moth!

The term, "icky" was coined by my lovely and sharp-eyed wife who can see these worms  (and they are HARD to see) like no one else! "Honey, there's another one!" Then she will point down into the maze of greenery in the middle of the tomato vine (reluctantly, as if something is about to reach out and nip off her index finger) and say---"there, there, THERE HE IS!!" Then she will quickly withdraw her finger and step back as if she has spotted a jumping tomato worm, which has zeroed in on her! What can I say? Women are just not fond of them!

That is my signal to grab him--- hard to do---he clings tenaciously to the vine---and I feel him wiggling inside my Kleenex. Okay, yes, I require a Kleenex...I don't like 'em either!

Usually we have only one or two worms but this year we have had four or five, all clever at hiding.

The wife, excited and unnerved by these "worm safaris," gets philosophical: “If they weren’t so ugly there would be a sort of fearsome beauty about them.” "Why did God create tomato worms?"  "The “ICK FACTOR” on a scale of one to ten---IS TWELVE!" "Do they have a right to life?"

Not if they fool around with my tomatoes!!

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BY MIL
8/27/12
Sent from my iPad

"FOR THE BEAUTY OF THE EARTH, FOR THE GLORY OF THE SKIES...."

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"Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty, the whole earth is full of His glory."

 Isaiah 6:3

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The writer of this expressive hymn about the earth's beauty was Folliot S. Pierpoint, (1835-1917). This English-born professor wrote the hymn when he was twenty-nine years old; he was said to have been mesmerized by the beautiful surroundings of his English countryside. Though he published seven volumes of poetry, "For the Beauty of the Earth" is his most-remembered hymn.

Pierpoint was a graduate of Queens College, Cambridge University, and taught at various places much of his life until he left teaching and became a writer. Much of his writing was about nature, which he loved.

The hymn is most often used in church services with the tune "Dix," though another beautiful tune by John Rutter is very special and it’s  the one we have selected here for your listening. This hymn is used often at Thanksgiving services; it was sung in the 1994 Columbia Pictures movie, "Little Women."

Pierpoint's simple and heartfelt words are given here:

"For the beauty of the earth,

For the glory of the skies.

For the love which from our birth

Over and around us lies;

Christ our God to Thee we raise

This our hymn of grateful praise.

For the wonder of each hour

Of the day and of the night,

Hill and vale, and tree and flower,

Sun and moon, and stars of light;

Christ our God to Thee we raise

This our hymn of grateful praise.

For the joy of human love,

Brother, sister, parent, child,

Friends on earth, and friends above,

For all gentle thoughts and mild;

Christ our God to Thee we raise

This our hymn of grateful praise

For Thy church that evermore

Lifteth holy hands above,

Offering up on every shore

Her pure sacrifice of love;

Christ our God to Thee we raise

This our hymn of grateful praise.

Amen.

Two very fine choirs are presented below (see Access), both singing the Rutter tune. I encourage you to take time to listen to both---due to the pictures. Each selection has beautiful photos. Selection one has one of the most impressive children’s choirs you'll ever hear anywhere.

1. 

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

2.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PaMkj4_H8WM&feature=youtube_gdata_player

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BY MIL

8/25/12

Sent from my iPad

THOUGHTS ABOUT WRITING...AND LIFE

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WE "EDIT OUT" 90 % OF OUR SURROUNDINGS!
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A writer once said: "The reason I write is to CREATE something that never would have been otherwise...and to record things that would have been forever lost."

In a writing course I took, the teacher said a startling thing: "It is possible that most adults 'edit out' 90% of their surroundings as they go through life." This intrigued me. Does this mean that we are preoccupied? Does this bear out what we've always  heard---that we only use X percent of our mental facilities? He further made the  point: "This lost 90% is the writer's fodder!"

Maybe it is everybody's fodder. Is it: the sky, the clouds, the cool breeze, the swaying trees? Is it the birds, the flowers, the snails, the inviting grass, the drop of rain; or maybe a mother pushing a stroller, a baby's smile, a contrail high in the sky, the ice cream truck and its perennial "Turkey in the Straw?" It could be sunsets and lying on the lawn and losing oneself in the night sky!

Only each one of us can ponder and figure out if-and-what we are missing. Writing teachers suggest carrying a notebook around with you for a week or two and writing down every little thing you see, no matter how small; even note in the cafe when the waitress drops a napkin...anything you see that's a bit unusual...find out what you/we are missing.

Regular folks, as well as writers, should not miss the 90%.

John Donne's famous poem which begins: "No man is an island...," also says: "For I am involved in mankind."

This is why my guest writers are so special to me. Didn't you enjoy, on Mil's Place, Sue's warm memories of friendships dating all the way back 73 years to grade school?! Bob's "love of marbles," and the story of his "59 cent fishing lure" were priceless! The latest one is from Wylie; the story of five barns on his Clovis-area ranch, when he was a kid! Did you know that much about barns? Wylie told me that his parents "raised"---(I never heard of "reared" on a ranch) nine kids out there toward Grady, on that ranch! They needed those five barns!

Life is sometimes about all the little things... out there in the hundred percent.


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BY MIL
8/24/12








Sent from my iPad

"SIXTY CATS KEPT OUR FIVE BARNS CLEAR OF RATS!"

Guest post

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BY WYLIE DOUGHERTY
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BARNS #2
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At our ranch north of Clovis, we had several barns, each with a different function. When we moved back from Yeso to that ranch after WWII, the barns were over-run with rats, so Daddy solved the problem with a handful (eight) of cats; they in turn multiplied to about sixty cats, so no more rats. This made the barns useful again.

                                THE MILK BARN and the SADDLE HOUSE

On the north side of the corrals we had a Milk Barn where we milked our cows and suckled our feeder calves. Attached to this was our Saddle House where we kept our saddles, harnesses, and other tack. Also in there we had a DeLaval cream separator to separate the cream from the milk. The cream was a money crop, sold to Campbell Lockers in Clovis, except for the cream that Momma kept for cooking, and of course churning our butter! The skim milk was fed to the pigs, since we drank only whole milk. Milking by hand took place morning and night, before breakfast and before supper.

                                   THE CAKE HOUSE and the FEED BARN

On the other side of the corrals was the Cake House, where we stored cubed cake from El Rancho Milling. This we fed to the cows, calves, and horses. This cake supply was used especially in the winter to feed the cattle in the pastures, as well as the animals which we fed in the corrals and barns.

Near to the Milk Barn was a long Feed Barn where we stored bundles of feed and bales of hay, which was used to feed the stock when the grasses weren't adequate. One of my chores on Saturday night after "tom-catting" around in Clovis was to go out to El Rancho and pick up a load of cake---20 sacks (2000 pounds) to bring home. It had to be unloaded and stacked before I went to bed.

                                                THE GRANARY

The other barn, located a hundred yards from the Cake House was the Granary. It had six bins for grain storage, with a drive-through so trucks could go in and unload/load grains. We stored wheat or sorghum grains as needed. Some were for feed and some were seed for planting.

Each of our barns was substantially different in architecture. The  Milk Barn and Saddle House had a roof that sloped to the rear, while the cake House and Feed Barn each had a peaked roof which drained off both sides; the Granary was also peaked and shingled. All the other barns had corrugated metal roofs, which played music when it hailed!

                                       FAVORITE COZY BARN!

My favorite barn was the Saddle House, where I could sleep if I needed to, and did many times, like when we had a big rain and I couldn't get to the main house, 200 yards away. Rain and hail storms were not so noisy there, due to the shingled roof. I also slept in the Cake House all night several times; bed was sacks of El Rancho cattle cubes.

  Momma and Daddy raised nine children, counting me, out there on that ranch, so they needed those five barns!

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(Mil's Note: We appreciate Wylie's well-written account of barns (and life) on a Clovis-area ranch in the 40's and 50's. He is a member of Clovis High School, Class of '53.

His older brother, Noel, was a member of my Class of '51. We don't often remember when we first met people, but I well remember meeting Noel in Ms. Evan's Junior High Geometry class, first day of school, 1946. He had his lunch in a bucket or pail, and I learned he was a "farm kid." We were desk-mates in that geometry class. He was a nice, friendly, congenial, non-pretentious, kid.  We were friends all the way through to graduation, and then our paths parted. I remember Noel fondly.

Thank you, Wylie for writing about your experiences.

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By MIL and WYLIE  DOUGHERTY
8/23/12





Sent from my iPad

MY OWN GRANARY ON LA CASITA PLAYGROUND!!

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"BARNS" # 1
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You will think this is the tallest tale that you've ever read yet on Mil's Place! Yet it is true- every word---as well as I can remember anything that happened sixty-seven years ago! I once had a granary right out there on the La Casita School playground, just through the gate and to the right---about where we did the Maypoles every year. The story sounds strange but it happened! Actually, I was only part owner; it was mostly my Dad's. Well, okay, it was really ALL  Dad's. Better story, though, if we play like it was mine---you know: MY  school, MY playground, MY friends....MY granary!

It all went down like this. Dad had managed and operated the Magic Steam Laundry, down on W. Grand from 1938 through WWII. He had done it with not one single day off, sick or well. Nobody else could safely operate the steam boiler. He was it. Wanting a change, he bought a piece of land near Ranchvale and planned to take up wheat farming. This required equipment and seed to plant. He needed  a place to store seed, so he ordered a granary built by someone. I didn't know who.

About that time some carpenters came onto the school grounds to do some building project on the school itself. I never knew what they were doing.There was lumber lying around for that work, and then one day a big batch of lumber was  trucked in and stacked out there on the east end of the playground, near the school but across the dividing fence, close to the Maypole place. Why out there, away from anything? Maybe they needed a surface harder than concrete---the playground! (LOL)

Their purpose soon became evident. A shed of about 22X15 began to take shape. Built of pine, it had a slanted tin roof. It had a regular door and a little door up toward the roof, kind of like a window. It looked to me sort of  like what a granary might look like.

I mentioned it to Dad and he said: "That IS OUR granary! They apparently decided for some reason to have their crew build it there." I proudly told a lot of kids that it was MY GRANARY, though a little of that goes a long way with kids! (I think they were jealous!)

One day the finished granary was there, and the next it was gone...through what big fence opening I never figured out. The next time I saw my granary, it was painted BARN RED and sitting proudly at our farm. It held seed for many wheat crops over many years, and many people were fed. If it is still there, it is sixty-seven years old, and likely needs a paint job.

At any rate, if it means anything, I can say I'm probably the only little kid attending La Casita
School that ever had his very own private granary out there on that HARD playground! For a little while anyway! There are probably not many folks living in this world today that remember that incident.

(For a teen-ager, it was not what you would call a "happy" granary, for to fill it with wheat, you had to drive a big wheat truck right next to it,  then under that high door/window and in the hot summer, shovel 10,000 lbs. of wheat in big heavy scoop shovels---over your shoulder and through the window!)

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BY MIL
8/23/12

Sent from my iPad

O-O-OH! BOB SOLD HIS FISHING LURE!

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THAT FIFTY-NINE CENT LURE FROM MONTGOMERY WARD
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(Mil's Note: Here's a new tale from "Country Boy Bob," presented with pleasure.)

As a young boy I was crazy about fishing. I really don't know why---my Dad did not fish and I didn't have the opportunity to go fishing and I didn't have any equipment. I remember the first rod that I bought---it was one of those solid steel rods---stiff as a board but it did have those nice little red glass guides.

I remember poking around at Montgomery Ward, down on Main street, when I was about eleven or twelve years old, looking at their fishing lures. They had a variety of lures but there was one that caught my eye. It was a bass lure, top-water plug and it was designed to imitate a bird which had fallen into the water. After much thought, I purchased that lure. I am not sure but I think the price was fifty-nine cents! It was a big decision because my family did not have a lot of money and I earned my money mowing lawns with a push mower for 50 and 75 cents a yard.

Now here I was with a bass lure and not a chance to go fishing. Of course I placed it in a box and later a tackle box and for about 57 years I toted that lure around and never used it---not one single time. When I was about seventy years old and doing a little buying and selling online, I decided to list that lure at auction on EBay

I wrote it up and it was listed as: "never used, purchased about 1947, very unusual top-water plug, no name on it but it was rare, in that it had real bird feathers tied and glued to the brown painted all-wood body." As I remember, I put an opening bid price of $4.95 on it.

It was a seven-day auction and by the fifth or sixth day the bid had gone up to $20-$25.  I knew that fishing lures were doing pretty good on EBay but most of the high price ones were old wood Heddons or South Bends. I waited with anticipation; toward the end the bidding became a FRENZY! I was floored! That fifty-nine cent lure sold for-------$92.00!!! I was astonished. I was pleased.

I enjoyed it but there again---- I had just sold a piece of my legacy for $92.00!
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About "Country Boy" Bob, he is a  successful businessman, retired, who then dabbled just for fun in buying and selling "Junque" as a hobby. (I think he enjoyed it!) Thanks Bob, for your stories!
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BY BOB SNIPES and MIL
8/21/12
Sent from my iPad

MEMORIES OF LA CASITA SCHOOL AND FRIENDS

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BY SUE B. HALE
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(Mil's note:  I am always excited when former classmates share their memories with me and I am pleased to pass them on to my readers.  Here are some thoughts from Sue Hale. Enjoy!)

Mary Lou Powell lived in the 800 Block of Hinkle and Joe Bert Trimble lived near her. They often walked by my house at 722 Calhoun and I joined them for the short walk to La Casita.

Audrey Jean Cole, who shortened her name to "Jeanie" in high school, lived in the 800 block of Thornton on the east side of the street. Mary Lou Powell moved to Lubbock. Audrey Jean and I rode the Greyhound bus to Lubbock when Mary Lou was terminally ill at her home. We were about 13 at that time.

I well remember Arthur J. Snipes, who was my first boyfriend in Miss Tennyson's first grade.

Miss Bledsoe, my third grade teacher, became ill from (we were told) drinking non- pasteurized milk. Of course, I think we all had non- pasteurized milk in the 1930's and 40's. She had to miss a long period, six weeks or possibly three months of the school year, and we had a substitute teacher. My mother especially wished her a speedy recovery because she knew Miss Bledsoe to be an outstanding teacher; she had taught my brother Frank, a couple of years before.

Rita Gayle Delaney came to La Casita when we were in the fourth grade. In later adult conversations, she often commented on her memories from the fifth grade, of our "Winding of the Maypole" to celebrate the First of May.

Mrs. Ballow was the excellent teacher whom I had in the fifth grade, after which, she was transferred to the sixth grade as our teacher---so I had her for two years!

In the fifth grade, we had a music teacher, Miss McFarland, a couple of times a week. I think it was Miss McFarland's first year of teaching and she was beautiful young blond. Her older sister, also Miss McFarland, but with red hair, was my Spanish teacher in junior high.

The music teacher decided to put on an operetta in the auditorium--- an evening performance with parents attending.  For Cinderella she cast a beautiful Hispanic girl with a beautiful voice. As Cinderella, she wore a gorgeous long white satin gown.

I was cast as one of Cinderella's ugly sisters. My mother made my costume, a long dress with peplums on the side, from a Butterick pattern suggested by Miss McFarland. I thought it was beautiful. The big question is: why did the music teacher suggest me for a solo role? I had no voice then or now! I was so hopeless that after many rehearsals, the teacher selected someone to sing with me, making it a duet, so I was saved!

During the war years, a famous Hollywood actress, Priscilla Lane, lived on Thornton Street with her Air Force husband. Priscilla Lane starred in "Saboteur," a Hitchcock film, and "Arsenic and Old Lace" with Cary Grant. A few of us kids got up the nerve to knock on her door to ask for her autograph. Her husband answered the door and said: "wait a minute." She never came to the door.
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(MIL'S NOTE: A "thank you" to Sue, who was one of the "original members" of the Clovis High School Class of '51, having started at La Casita in the first grade in 1939.)
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BY SUE HALE and MIL
8/18/12
Sent from my iPad

HEADING BACK "HOME" TO POP'S PLACE!

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YOU CAN GO HOME AGAIN!
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THE ONE-HUNDREDTH POST: FOR MY GRANDPARENTS
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Places are important to most people! All life and all history happen somewhere...in a place.

Places have always been important to me. I can't help it. In this ever-changing life and world, one can look back and think: such event happened right there in that spot; a loved one stood right over there.

I believe I could head back to Pop's Place, a sandy Dawson County cotton farm with a now 75 year old house on it, and move in tomorrow (if I owned it), and live there surrounded by dozens of happy memories---of family gatherings, Christmases and holidays, happy conversations and laughter, turkey and cornbread dressing dinners, ham and egg breakfasts (sometimes with Pop's own-cured sausages), and buttery grits! .

The big table where we always ate was there in the dining room. Pop sat at the head of the table, in his blue bib overalls, and proudly passed the trays of meat and other foods his farm had produced. Have you ever noticed---farm folks always had several choices of meat?! The table was full of people except when my uncles were off in Italy and New Guinea fighting WWII. Yes, those were great times of joy, love, and laughter---never to be known again with those folks...they are all gone.

If I were to move back into Pop's Place tomorrow, I'd have to fix a few things. (Haven't been there since 1971 but friends have brought me photos.) That nice rock fence of 1937 days is almost gone around the  front and sides.  You can still see part of it and the gate in front.

The elm disease got most of his great shade trees and the big windbreak to the west. We'll need some new trees of some kind. The barn needs a bright new coat of red paint. The excellent "chicken house" probably needs paint also, some white.

His barn has a sort of big second-story floor up under the roof, for storing all manner of feed and supplies. You can stand up there. I'd clean out that nice cozy place for some flooded-out family to stay, if needed. (Remember John Grisham's "The Painted House.")

When I finished all that work, and my clothes were dirty, I'd go lie down on the rug on the living room floor after lunch, and take a nap, in the manner of old farmers.

Outside again, over there by the "car house" door was where we got some stools and sat and hand-cranked the big old ice cream freezer for holiday ice cream. The kids had to try it and made six or eight turns before pooping out.

The  grape arbor cedar posts will last forever, but someone didn't take care of the grapevines. Will have to replant. Then it will be a cool, green, shady, fragrant haven again---good place for some lawn chairs...to sit and meditate or read...and eat grapes!

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After replanting those grapes, Mom's  rose garden, bordering the master bedroom windows must be completely redone also.  She lived a hard life, raised four children, cooked, sewed, quilted, canned, butchered hogs, smoked meat, washed clothes, made soap, heated bath water, picked cotton, washed dishes, and lived in a number of drafty old farmhouses built of grey lumber that restaurants would die for---then in 1937 she got this always-wanted rose garden. Soon after...it was arthritis and a wheelchair.

There's a "TIme Capsule," buried by me in 1943 in the ground over there near the fence under that old dead elm tree. For posterity, an old tin can contains three of my best marbles, two brand new WWII lead pennies, and a couple of rolled up comic strips of Joe Palooka fighting the Germans in France, with his .45 Colt! I must dig for that "capsule!"

Just for atmosphere and decor, I'll get some old overalls, coveralls, and an old denim jacket, spray a bit of oil on them in spots, and hang them on the back porch and in the garage on nails---soon they will collect dust and look "farmy." If you've ever been on a farm, you've seen plenty of these old work clothes hanging around.

You can't imagine the beauty of the sand down there! It is a kind of reddish-golden-tan, depending on the light. From the front gate of Pop's, 40 yards to the Star Route 4 road, the red hard pan clay  fills up with this beautiful sand after a big wind. Need to get me a little John Deere tractor with a blade! Isn't that terrible---what we farmers have to do? Must push that sand back over into the cotton field.

May go out from time to time and spend the night in the "boys' room," on the back side of the "car house." (I slept there plenty of times as a boy!) "Car House" is what Pop called his three-car garage, which was almost a two story building with a storage loft up in the back, in front of the cars, and over the boys' room.

In the house I'll put my Philco  floor radio replica over in the corner of the big back bedroom (the den for all practical purposes). Right in that little niche in the corner, I'll put my old .22 rifle like Pop did, for two legged and four legged varmints. Will need to get a rocking chair like his with a cane bottom!

He never locked his house day or night (but times have changed!) Nor was his .22 loaded either. A few rounds of lint-covered .22 ammo could usually be scavenged from the overflowing ashtray.... filled with safety pins, straight pins, needles, buttons, paperclips, pennies, loose keys, and a roll of white thread! 

Pop had the sharpest knives in the world; but they are gone of course. I do have Dad's knives which are a close second in sharpness. These  go in the kitchen drawer.

We'll put a box of vanilla wafers in that low cabinet in the dining room, where Mom always kept them for us kids.

Saturday afternoon's coming up and I may just go down to the Lamesa courthouse square. All the farmers in the county used to  go to town, get a shave, shine, or haircut, and then gather "on the west side" in the shade. They'd sit on car fenders, lean against store fronts, and clog the sidewalk. Wending your way down that crowded sidewalk on a hot summer Saturday  afternoon, you would pause in front of the two drug stores, and feel the cool air of their four or five ceiling fans, blowing out that marvelous fountain smell onto the hot sidewalk.

But customs have changed. There may not be any farmers there in Lamesa (or the rest of Texas, or Oklahoma or anywhere in the south), who still hang out anymore  on the town square on Saturdays. The old timers have all passed on and the custom is pretty near gone, I think. An interesting custom, but I guess---outmoded!

These farmers of yesterday got up very early, milked their cows, walked miles behind mules, plowing all day; later they did he same long days with tractors. They milked again in the evening, fed the pigs their slop, and on and on with their work. Sometimes crops failed due to lack of rain, boll weevils, or hail storms. These rural people were the backbone of our young country...and produced many of the sons of "the greatest generation" that went off to defend our country in WWII.

In my final thoughts about Pop's Place, I may not own it legally, but in my heart  it will always be mine! Borrowing a favorite line from the poet Khalil Gibran: "Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered..." there.

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BY MIL
8/13/12
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  (Writer's note: "Mom" passed away in February, 1953. Pop lived in his house until a few months before he died in 1973. His place remained in the family for a long time. It was remodeled and bricked a number of years ago. I have been unable to find out who the present owner is. Pictures seem to show a run-down condition of the property. The house may be empty  right now; that could be good, for old farms need a rest just like all of us. For more, google Mil's Place: "POP." 

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Sent from my iPad

"RED ROVER, RED ROVER, I SEND MYSELF OVER!"

                                                           Art and Mil

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OLD LA CASITA SCHOOL REMEMBERED (FONDLY)
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Why did they tear down old La Casita School anyway? They could have built a  building anywhere to sell state license plates! I'll admit my first meeting with that school did not begin very auspiciously. As you have read, I started to school at age five, five days late into the term, and had five days to get a smallpox scratch, and  couldn't tie my shoe or find the rest room!

La Casita School was a good cozy building with radiator heat, always warm in winter. It had two wings with a connecting front hall with  classrooms. It had sidewalks around it, as well as a really nice low rock wall, maybe two feet tall all the way around except in front. The wall enclosed the playground and was handy for sitting. It was not even tall enough to keep a first grader "in." But it was a good wall; everyone who went to La Casita loved that wall!

There was a "Blurbly" water fountain right at the front sidewalk. It never failed to amaze the kids. It didn't shoot the water up into the air like modern-type fountains, it just kinda blurbled the water up an inch or two, in a half-hearted way. It was like the water fountain had failed long ago but was still half-trying.

Leaving the building for now, let's talk about the playground. It's difficult to be ebullient about that playground! It was probably never fertilized and was watered only by nature.It must have been about a block square. It was big. The west end was bounded by Edwards Street. I'm not sure anything was ever done to that land after the day Coronado's men trampled it in 1542. It was packed and hard. Now I say this guardedly: I may have spotted a bit of Bermuda grass along the north fence one day-- there next to W. Seventh!!

We loved recess! Standing on the north rock fence we'd shout: "Red Rover, Red Rover, I Send Myself Over," and we'd take off like a bat, trying to get to the south fence without being tagged! Otherwise, we'd become a chaser. (No one ever flunked recess at La Casita.)

But "Red Rover" was child's play compared to playing football on that hard ground. (Concrete might have been an improvement!) By the third grade we played tackle---not "touch" football! What else would you expect from Clovis boys? Ooohh, that ground would jar you when tackled. Soon I decided that I was destined to be an "interference runner" rather than a ball carrier. My respect for speedy Jerry Crook and Alvin "Pike" Jordan really went up, as they bit the dust many times. They were fast little guys.

There were several candy stores around the school.  Two that I know of were in homes, and of course there was Alexander's Grocery northwest of the school on Reid Street. The favorite was directly across Thornton in front of the school. That "store" was actually a living room with candy counters.  It was full of kids at the end of their lunch hour, hurrying to buy some candy before they had to be back to their classrooms by 1:00.

However, not all kids had money every day. Some had only a penny or two, Some just came to watch the ones who paid a dime for a "plumgranite."  These were fascinating to watch, as that luscious red/purple juice dripped off the chins of the eaters, and sometimes onto their clothes. If I were ever lucky enough to have a nickel, I'd without any doubt, buy a Black Cow---a delicious caramel sucker. The problem there was to finish it before class started in 12 minutes! Second choice was a pack of Walnettos; you could finish these little caramel-tasting squares covertly in class!

The school building had the first and second grades in the north wing, along with that hated E-VIL-smelling nurse's office (the office, not the nurse!) The third grades and fourth grades were in the cross wing, and the fifth and sixth grades were in the south wing. The half-size gym-auditorium was attached to the inside of the south wing.

There in that auditorium we had school assemblies, plays, and folk dancing. I was a folk who couldn't dance. However, I did get my big SHOW BIZ break right there and sang the "Reddy" title roll in "REDDY'S MAMMOTH SHOW," a musical-play about the circus.

There was never a cafeteria in that school, in those days, and just for the record, we kids growing up then never had one in any school. It was go home, or "paper bag it." Good or bad--that's just the way it was.

Clovis Public Schools always had the best teachers in the world. First grade teacher was Ms. Tennyson and second grade was Ms. Norris. Can't recall the others in those grades.Third grade were Ms. Bledsoe and Ms, Isaacs. Forth were Ms. Holloway and Ms, Galloway. Fifth were Mrs. Davis and Ms. Ballow. Sixth were Mrs. Gustin and Mr. Slalcup. Two who kinda scared me were Ms. Ballow and Mr. Gattis, the principal. Our janitor was a quiet stoic ruddy-faced gentleman who dressed in khakis. We called him Mr. Ward or Mr.Warn.

The third grade was memorable because of a number of things. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor December 7th of that year. We received a bottle of free milk about twice a week (but no cookies.) We had a music teacher who came to our class once or twice a week. Her name was Miss Dodie. Also that year I was  egged-on by my worldly classmates to kiss my heartthrob, Lucy Jane. That didn't turn out to be a good plan. She cried.

The fourth grade in Ms. Holloway's class was unsurpassed! she was a great teacher. We had a neat story time, show-and-tell, joke telling, and she read to us---every Friday after lunch. State Theater once gave free movies to all the kids and the whole class walked down Sixth Street one afternoon to see a Frank Sinatra movie!

In the fifth grade, with all those penmanship letter illustrations around the top of the room  (script A,B,C's), we learned to write, not print. There were the spelling bees in class and Sue was hard to beat! Mrs. Davis was a nice military wife whose husband was stationed at the air base. She was a fine teacher! That was a good year!

In the sixth grade we lost dear blond little Mary Lou Powell from our class. She had been sick and out of school a long time. Mrs. Gustin was a marvelous teacher. I did six extra book reports in that class and embroidered a little kitchen towel.  It was a waiter carrying a watermelon. Yes, the whole class learned to embroider!

On and on we could go with memories...what ever happened to some of the kids...what ever happened to "Hooky?" What about "Max and Doyle," leaders of that noon-day playground gang? What happened to the teachers? What about that haunted house a block south of the school? Or the one a block or two north, where the guy had a cellar full of weapons? And that hard playground---did they finally...plant grass? What happened to the candy stores? 

                             

And we are all wondering about that crazy, worthless BLURBLY water fountain out front of the now "Bruce King Building." Maybe it's still there. You know, I think I'll stop by next time I'm in Clovis, and maybe just...get a drink...from that old fountain, for old time's sake!

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"How we laughed with the joy that only youth can bring!
Looking back through memory's eyes
We will know life has nothing sweeter than its springtime,
Golden days, when we're young,
Golden days!"

--- M. Lanza
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(Please excuse the weird paragraphing.  Sometimes the computer just does what it wants to do!)

                             

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BY MIL
7/18/12





Sent from my iPad

"ITCHES"---BAD AND GOOD!

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OFF THE WALL!
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Nobody wants to talk about...
ITCHES!
Maybe they're embarrassing.
Why? They shouldn't be.
They bug us all, to death...
As the saying goes.

What does an itch look like?
Nobody knows for sure...except maybe
"Itch Doctors!" And there aren't many
Of those around. Who'd want to be one?
Not covered by Medicare---no money in it.
And it sounds a little like "Witch Doctors."

What does an itch look like?
Probably a teensy, BLUE OR GREEN, germy-looking thing!
Mean looking...with little arms and legs, and
"Itch-Fangs," all microscopic, of course.

They are smart Little Rascals
With a strong sense of self-preservation.
Ever know them to set up their "Operation,"
Their "Act"---their "Itch-Realm" anywhere
That a prudent human being, (even with a
Walgreen's store-boughten back-scratcher)
Could reach them? No, they arrive right under
A shoulder blade and can't be touched from top or bottom.

And they love to strike at weird times...
Like when you're lying on your back under
The pickup, changing oil---needing both hands,
A greasy wrench in one greasy hand,
Holding on to a greasy dripping filter, about to drop--.
In your face...
Then my, oh my, are ITCHES BRAVE!!!
THEY SET UP ON THE END OF YOUR NOSE!!!
Every time. (Jiffy Lube, here I come, from now on!)

Or have you guys ever made a meat loaf?
No, I mean a serious meat loaf---enough for
Several frozen pans of it, for you know, to eat
When rhe wife goes to her club---Tappa Kegga Dei,
Or  whatever?
Got your big stainless pan full of nice lean meat,
Worchestershire, eggs, mixing it with your hands,
(Fun, fun--- and with rubber gloves, of course.)
THEN---those little Gremlin Itches will STRIKE!
BIG TIME!! On your nose, ear, cheek, or wherever.
Oh-h-h, Can't stand it! Oh, heck---SCRATCH! SCRATCH!
SCRATCH! Hello, "Meat Loaf Face!"

What about baseball players, who get Criticized Constantly
For scratching? You---try to pitch a whole ball game..
And never scratch. It can't be done.

When it comes to ITCHES, what about the Animal Kingdom?
DOGS, for example. They lead a dog's life (so to speak),
Don't they?
Have you ever noticed the FUNNY, INTENT LOOK they get
On their faces, when they scratch?! At least they have a very
Efficient and fast-moving-scratching back-leg!
(Just scratch their tummies, and watch that back-leg go wild!!)

Then there's the forest, where the animals have rubbed
The bark off trees, scratching their itching backs.

Not all itches are bad! The  term is used metaphorically
To indicate "YEARNS." These yearns are likely good
Honorable Itches.
As, "I'm itching to travel."
Or, "I'm itching to learn to ski."
Or, "I'm itching to read that book or see that movie!"

The wife will love it if you get "wife-pleasing itches," such as:
"I'm itching to take you to Tahiti."
"I'm itching to clean out our old shed."
"I'm itching to buy you a new dress."
(You know.)

Yes, I guess ITCHES will always be with us, one way or another, BAD OR GOOD!
May I wish for you that all your bad ones will be few...and scratchable...
And that your happy (including wife-pleasing)  ones....will be MANY!

BY MIL
******30******
 8/5/12

Sent from my iPad

NO, NO, NO! ITS NOT..."WILBUR!"

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OFF THE WALL
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The good news is---nobody has ever added a "La" to my first name...well, not yet anyway!The BAD NEWS is: they have done every #€¥}£&X@! else to it!

How about these pronunciations: "WILFRED," "WILMER," "WILTON"---they love "Wilton." Then come more irritating ones: "MERVIN," "MERWIN," "MELTON," "MELVIN," "MILBREN," "MILBURNE," (as the Olympics got my  address labels wrong), and once a letter addressed to---"MILBURNIA"---Hey I don't look like a girl, do I?

And the"MOST-USED" WINNERS ARE: TA DUM---"WILBUR" wins, hands down, and the runner-up is "MILTON!"-

Speaking of the "girl" thing above, once during my "radio-listening" days, I wrote the KOB radio culinary expert (whom I really liked) telling him about the best hamburger meat in town---the only letter like that I ever wrote. He read  part of it on the radio, saying: "Milburn BUYS HER MEAT AT..." You get the idea!

You Bills, Toms, Eds, Bobs, Jims, Johns, et.al.---see how lucky you are!

What is the answer to this vexing problem, which over a lifetime consumes so much time, energy, and effort, correcting people you deal with---many of whom are hard of hearing  and when corrected---look puzzled and merely repeat their first error: "Oh, uh---that was"MILTON," right?"

Well, there are numerous practical solutions which don't work. You can cough and cover your mouth and mumble your name. Then when arriving at BURGER PLACE drive-up, just say: "Sack of burgers for 'Cough-Cough'." No, not very good. You can quit ordering anything by phone, local or national. You can give the wife's name. You can let it go with "WILBUR," thus conceding defeat. You can go with the early 20th century penchant (when names were scarce and imaginations must have been even scarcer), in the big families; they resorted to "initial names," like J.R., H.V., J.T., A.P., and so on.

No,I have never resorted to "M.R." Or even my middle name "Ray." But about 15 years ago, like  guys when they grow up---Johnnys change to John, Billy Bobs to Bill, Herbies to Herb, Arthurs to Art, Abercrombies to Ab--- I  decided  to use "MIL" for everyday conversation and...ordering pizza and hamburgers to go, or whatever. The problems are fewer with "Mil," though sometimes they get it "Mel," and once they couldn't find my burgers and the girl said: "Well, I'm sorry, but I can't find your burgers---the  only ones  I have here are for Bill, and he apparently ordered the same thing you did." I just said: "I'll take Bill's!"

Do you see the extent of my dilemma---having a difficult name?! Recently, while placing a phone order to a big company, I had to correct the girl three times: "It's not Wilbur, ma'am," giving her rhe correct name each time. At the end of the call, she politely said: "Your order will arrive in seven business days and thanks again, "WILBUR," for your business."

So maybe the answer is to get a good nickname. I have always wanted one anyway. How about that famous coach named "Bronco?" Wow, a great nickname, don't you think?! Or "Racehorse," "Slugger," "Highpockets," "Lefty," "Studs," "Ace," "Pork Chop," or "Ham Bone?" I"ll let you know my choice, my readers!

Maybe, having lived with this problem for 60 years plus, I can handle it for 60 more...and oh yes, there's not a thing wrong with any of the names mentioned above...it's just that they're not mine.

*******30********
BY "BRONCO!"
8/1/12