IT'S STATE FAIR TIME AGAIN!

******************************************
THE STORY: "HOW I GOT MY CHILI RECIPE!"
******************************************

The above photo I took of this little "Concertina
Man," at the 1970 New Mexico State Fair, never fails
to transport me back to the shady lanes, booths,
agricultural and livestock buildings, the photographic
exhibits, the beautiful native American Arts and Crafts,
and I mustn't forget the Midway (or the food
concessions!)

Walking through all this grandeur to the incredible
smells of sizzling onions and bell peppers on the grill,
burgers, brats, turkey legs, hot dogs frying, and
fry-bread cooking....while the visual and olfactory
senses are being pleasurably assailed---- sounds of
the midway, laughing children, and "The Concertina
Man" and his entourage make it all worthwhile!

When I first saw and heard them---he and his followers
were coming down the shady street and marched right by
me. Desperately wanting a picture of this parade I ran by
them, and turned and shot a good photo! What do you
imagine he was playing? It was: "She'll Be Comin' Round
The Mountain When She Comes!"

Used to, about this time each year, we'd start saving up
our bucks, anticipating a right smart of fun when fair
time came. Fifty years ago, money was not so plentiful
but adults could get in for a dollar and kids were fifty
cents---and free occasionally on special days!

We'd park over there by Fair Plaza and walk across the
street and enter at the north gate, handy for checking
out all the livestock, which our little kids greatly enjoyed.
It was always interesting to see how the ranchers and
animal owners had their bunks right there by their stock,
to oversee them 24/7.

I had taken up photography in 1968 and was winning some
awards in various contests. The state fair was always a
big challenge with stiff competition. I'd enter a number of
black and white 16/20's and color slides ahead of time,
and then when the fair opened, the whole family would
go to the photographic display, usually near the Methodist
Church Cafe, and see if and what I had won.

Over the years I had quite a few Firsts, Seconds, and
Thirds, plus at least one BEST OF SHOW, which was
for "Roswell Crosses," a modern tower design in a
Roswell shopping center. To this day, the awards are
visible---stamped on the back of my photographs.

We let the kids ride whatever they wanted, within reason,
visited all the things we wanted to see, and settled down
somewhere with some good old unhealthy fair food.
"Good old" may be translated-"FRIED!"

A recent documentary on TV itemized and condemned
all the "fried" foods at today's fairs. "Fried" seems to have
multiplied over the past 40 years. They showed "chocolate
covered-bacon-on-a-stick," chicken-on-a-stick dipped in
batter and rolled in corn flakes and fried," "fried mac and
cheese," and some kind of "fried ice cream," among many
other offending offerings! And of course, there's the ever
present fried turkey leg, which doesn't look too great to me,
and the traditional "fry bread," which does look good!

Much personal history is connected to the state fair in our
family. Over the years we remember seeing many friends
out there, usually decked out in western garb---boots, bolos,
and squash blossoms. Many of these folks are not around
anymore.

The "beloved editor" could write pages about her annual
visits to the fair---before opening day! In her position with APS,
she and her Arts/Music Resource Center folks had the job of
hanging the art work of Albuquerque's elementary school
children---in a special display section. This entailed much
climbing of ladders, but of course was a very important and
worthwhile display of the children's efforts, as well as a much-
visited venue.

Of all the fairs we attended, there is one that stands out in my
mind as the most special one in our family. The year was 1974.
Strangely, only half of our family went---my youngest son,
age 10, and I. My wife was in Texas for family illness, and my
oldest son was working. It was my youngest son's last year to
ride all the the kiddie rides and he didn't want to miss out.

We had for one reason or other waited until week two to go.
The weather had been very hot for the fair that year. Seemed
that everyone was tired of hot weather! Our fair day came.
Now a funny thing happened on the way to the fair late that
afternoon. You won't believe this!

It's true. An awful blue norther...a rare one...an early one---
one that would have made November proud---BLEW IN.
It began to get windier and colder. "We'd better dig out our
coats," I suggested, grabbing my light-weight suede jacket-
those were all the rage at the time. I didn't much like the looks
of the weather---skies were gray and overcast---it was getting
very blustery, and it seemed a bad day to be at a fair...but
My son's heart was set on fun, rides, exhibits, animals, and
HOT DOGS!

We got there and began doing our thing. He rode on half-filled
carousels. We walked around on sparse fair grounds, wind
whipping around us...not many people around. Even the great
trademark onion/bell peppers smells of that cafe on the sidewalk
were being whipped away in the wind. Now in the middle of
September sundown is about 7:10 p.m. or so---it began to get
dark and even the stock people were putting their little pigs,
calves, and critters to bed and buttoning up.

It was starting to mist. He said: "Dad let's find a cup of coffee
at one of these deals and get something to eat!" (Yes, he was
a notorious 10 year old coffee drinker!) We started looking for
an eating place still open...as it was about 7:30 or after. We
finally spotted a little cafe, went in, sat down on the stools,
and the guy told us we were lucky---they were just closing.

We got his last coffee as he emptied the thing, and the last
two big bowls of "chuck wagon chili" out of his chili pot!!!
That was the BEST CHILI CON CARNE I had ever eaten
in my life! You can imagine...cold evening and all...

It so happened that this little state fair cafe was run
annually by church volunteers, and I knew one of
them personally from business contacts. One day,
later on I asked him if he could get me the recipe
for that grand chili...AND HE DID...saying "Normally
when I give this out to someone, I have to kill them!"

SO...see why it was the greatest state fair of all!
I have made this chili hundreds of times...and in
fact improved it "in my own right." I gave it to my
son the day he married and he has made it
countless times.

What a great and memorable state fair that one
was! I've always wanted to go back to the fair
again during a norther, but alas---though it has
rained a few times, it has never been that cold
since.

Neither did I ever see my little "Concertina Man"
out there again. If he was forty then, he'd
be about eighty now. Maybe he sits at home
and plays in his rocking chair.

We are lucky to live in this enchanted, beautiful
state, and there are few entertainments as
great as our State Fair.

********30*******
BY MIL
8/25/13

STEPHEN FOSTER----MELODIES OF "SUMMER"

**************************************
"THAT HAVE BLOOMED IN THE SUMMER.
OF MY HEART..."
**************************************

Stephen Foster was perhaps the greatest "summertime"
poet of all. He liked to think of nature, with bright summer
mornings and dew on the grass and flowers...

A good number of his one hundred-fifty songs have
maidens' names as titles, and are often about young love,
springtime and summer, sunshine, warbling birds, roses,
fields of wildflowers, running brooks, and the maidens
tripping around---almost floating on the "soft summer air."

Through many of his writings ran a wistful, nostalgic
thread of lost love and sadness, almost as if he anticipated
leaving life early (as in fact he did), but ever still, "summer"
persisted, as a bright hope in his life.

Sit with me while we read...and enjoy....Stephen Foster's
melodies of "summer," written in the springtime of his
life...and also of the young life of the new republic.

I predict that you will evermore have Foster's beautiful
visions of summer...etched on your heart....

-------------------------------------
"I DREAM OF JEANIE WITH THE LIGHT BROWN HAIR"

"I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Born like a vapor on the summer air;
I see her tripping where the wild flowers play,
Happy as the daisies that dance on their way.

Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour;
Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er;
I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Floating like a vapor on the soft summer air."
-------------------------------------
"MOLLY, DO YOU LOVE ME?"

"Though the tender blossoms
Need the summer light---
Molly, do you love me,
Love, as I love you?"
--------------------------------------
"I WOULD NOT DIE IN SUMMER"

"I would not die in summer
When music's on the breeze,
And soft, delicious murmurs
Float ever through the trees,
And fairy birds are singing
From morn 'til close of day..."
------------------------------------
"MELINDA MAY"

"Laugh in the sunshine
Weep in the rain,
And walk where the
Lilies bloom, down in the meadow
And over the lane,
O come, my Melinda, love,
Come."
-----------------------------------
"EULALIE"

"Bluebirds, linger here awhile.
O'er this sacred, grassy pile,
Sing your sweetest songs to me."
------------------------------------
"THE HOUR FOR THEE AND ME"

"When day breaks forth on the dewy dawn.
And all seems mirth and glee;
When birds their sweetest songs awake,
Is the hour for you and me....
The hour for you and me."
--------------------------------------
"FOR THEE, LOVE, FOR THEE"

"The lark and the linnet seem singing,
For thee love, for thee love,
The bud with blossom seems springing...
The bloom in the meadows,
The rippling of dreams
Recall but thy fair form
The queen of my dreams."
---------------------------------------
"FAIRY BELLE"

"She sings to the meadows
And she carols to the streams,
Her soft notes of melody
Around me sweetly fall,
Her eye full of love is now
Beaming on my soul;
The sound of that gentle voice,
The glance of that eye
Surround me with rapture
That no other heart could sigh."
-------------------------------------
"MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME"

"The sun shines bright in my
Old Kentucky home.
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay,
The corn top's ripe and
The meadow's in the bloom
While the birds make music
All the day..."
------------------------------------
"OUR BRIGHT SUMMER DAYS ARE GONE"

"I remember the days of our youth and love
When we sat 'neath the green oak tree,
When the smiles were as bright as the skies above,
And thy voice made music unto me.

Nevermore will come those happy, happy hours,
Whiled away in life's young dawn;
Nevermore will we roam through
pleasure's sunny bowers...
For our bright, bright summer days are gone."
--------------------------------------
"THOU WILT COME NO MORE, GENTLE ANNIE"

"Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie,
Like a flow'r thy spirit did depart...
Thou art gone, alas, like the many
Who have bloomed in the summer
Of my heart.

Shall we nevermore behold thee,
Never hear thy laughing voice again?
When the springtime comes,
Gentle Annie...
And the wild flowers are scattered
o'er the plain."
-----------------------------------
"NONE SHALL WEEP A TEAR FOR ME"

"My life is like the summer rose
That opens to the morning sky;
But ere the shadows of evening close,
Is scattered on the ground to die."
------------------------------------
"POOR DROOPING MAIDEN"

"Poor drooping maiden,
Sighing on a bright summer day,
Why are thy frail hands toiling the hours away?
The flowers are out upon the lea
And balmy winds are on the sea;
Come, let the heart warm...
In the sun's kind rays!"
-------------------------------------
"THOU ART THE QUEEN OF MY SONG"

"The wind o'er the lone meadow
Waits for thee...
The birds sing thy beauty
All day long..."
------------------------------------
"STAY SUMMER BREATH"

"Summer breath, summer breath,
Woo not the rose,
There lie the dew-drops in
Blissful repose...
Nestling together...
Wouldn't waft them asunder,
Stay, summer breath."
------------------------------------
"MARY LOVES THE FLOWERS"

"Mary loves the flowers
Ah! How happy they!
E'en their darkest hours, to me
Were bright, bright summer day!"
----------------------------------------
"I DREAM OF JEANIE WITH THE LIGHT
BROWN HAIR" (Stanza two)

"Oh, I long for Jeanie and my heart burns low,
Nevermore to find her where bright waters flow;
Now the nodding wildflowers they wilted on the shore
While her gentle fingers will cull them not more;

Oh, I sigh for Jeanie, with the light brown hair,
Floating like a vapor,
On the soft summer air."
----------------------------------------

"Gentle Annie"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0ttY5dUVF0&feature=youtube_gdata_player

BY MIL
8/27/13

OUR NATIONAL "DITTY"---THE STAR MANGLED BANNER

*********************************************************
THE FAULT, DEAR BRUTUS, IS WITH THOSE WHO
PICK THE SINGERS!
*********************************************************

Can we talk? Are we really the "unlettered, unwashed, green,
red-necky" bunch of colonial upstarts our British cousins
think we are?

Are they upset because our women refuse to wear HATS while
grocery shopping, going to the zoo, or jogging? Or is it the way
we, decade after decade, allow our most patriotic (and yes, sacred)
"anthem" to be butchered over and over, to the point where You
Tube is replete with crooners and singers (?) who totally screwed
it up---one way or another; and made "The Ten Worst
National Anthem Performances?" (Remember the R.A.B. episode?)

I think with the British, it is the anthem thing; yes...we definitely
deserve to be criticized---big time!

(After a before-game rendition of our anthem at a sports
event, a listener wrote in: "What a terrible job! Maybe they should
get someone who knows the words or has an ounce of respect for the
song, and what it stands for.")

The Star Spangled Banner, sung through many early years,
along with other patriotic songs, did not become the official US
National Anthem until congress made it so in 1931. (See MIL'S PlACE:
"SHOULD WE CHANGE NATIONAL ANTHEMS?") The SSB is a sort
of "war-type" song, if compared to the great "America, The Beautiful."
This beautiful song would have been a more singable, melodious
anthem---with its descriptions of the country, and its prayerful overtones.
It is more like "God Save The Queen," and the Canadian and Australian
anthems in its singability. It lends to good choral possibilities.

In the above referred-to article, I suggested that it is too late in our
nation to change anthems, considering all the history---all the wars,
military usages of the anthem, sporting events and games,
school assemblies, Olympic ceremonies, flag raisings aboard ships, and
on.... even with its drawbacks, Francis Scott Key's historical song, written
under the light of flares and artillery at Ft. McHenry, in Baltimore Harbor,
must remain our anthem, for these reasons.

This music was being played on the USS Arizona at 7:55 a.m. at flag raising
on December 7, 1941. It was played on the USS Augusta in Placentia Bay,
August of 1941, when Churchill and Roosevelt met in serious conference.
It was played at countless flag raisings over cemeteries all across Pacific
islands, Hawaii, France, and Europe during WWII. It has been associated
with countless sacrifices by our military men who gave their lives to preserve
liberty for us. On and on we could go...

These are things that are sacred to all of us and deserve dignity, reverence,
and respect. The meaning within the song requires our best singers. In the
midst of the sports events and car races of life, we need to remember our
history.

Someone, analyzing this anthem problem, has suggested, for example in
pro football, the powers that be---get the finest stadiums, the finest lighting,
the best players, wonderful bands, skilled announcers, best coaches, good
concession food... and then...then...they go out and get the most untalented
atrocious singers they can find. They don't realize that the brief opening of
the game is not entertainment, calling for a pop singer (even a famous one),
it is a time of collective dedication, remembrance, togetherness., and
patriotism.

There several things readily obvious here to anyone who knows music...
and the kind of rendition required for an "anthem." First of all, the fault is to
be laid at the feet of the ones who select and hire singers. You don't hire
crooners or pop singers. All this crooning, slurring, sliding---it's all they know;
they can't help it. They want to try to add gravitas and meaning, but they just
don't know how---they haven't been trained. They give a shot at it...but
can't cut it. The plain old fact is: just sing the song---less is more.

A reminder: if no decent vocalists are available, find a good band. There are
plenty around and I can't remember ever hearing a band butcher the
anthem. I have heard one or two take it a bit fast for my tastes...but then I
am not a band expert.

"Mil, after listening to all these renditions of the anthem on TV, before all
events, what is your feeling about the percent of decent, well-done
talented, performances of the anthem.?" "I would say: maybe ten or fifteen
percent are well done, maybe another ten percent fair....and the rest---
terrible, and keep in mind, there are various levels of "terribility."

What's the answer? Better auditioning by knowlegeable musicians. Select
trained classical soloists, glee clubs, choirs, small trained ensembles.
Never a pop singer, ever. Sometimes good folk singers with their
naturalness of sound might do it; it's up to the auditioners. (Use the same
singer for your whole season, if necessary. This is not a popularity contest.)

To our pop singers who get by the auditioners: always remember, when
singing the anthem, at phrase endings---"bra-ay-ay- yay-ay ya-a-ave...."
or "free-ee-ee-e-yee-eyee..." adds nothing in meaning to the anthem,
totally turns off musical people, ruins the anthem, and is an insult to
everyone's intelligence, including your own!

Another answer to this problem: twelve years of music in the public
schools, for all children. It will eventually pay dividends in culture...
and the British will be proud of us...again.


*******30******
BY MIL
8/14/13

Super Bowl 2011:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hj5NPNe3jNU&feature=youtube_gdata_player





 

ALAS! MY "ROSA-SHARN" IS GONE!

Remember "Rosa-Sharn..."
That girl in "The Grapes of Wrath?"
Well, I had a bush by the same name.
Okay, it wasn't exactly "my" bush...
Technically speaking---
It was in my neighbor's backyard.
A fence covered the lower part.

I THINK it was a Rosa-Sharn---
It had long limbs
That came up out of the ground,
And got reddish-purple flowers
'Long about mid-July!

As I sat in my Lazy-Boy in the den
My Rosa-Sharn was framed by our
Sliding glass door. Right there---it
Always was---soon as I sat down.

Early in the mornings, there to.the east
The sunlight danced on its moving limbs.
All day it gracefully and effortlessly swayed
In the breezes which which are
constant here...as if it well-knew
Its mission in this world.

Not a lazy bush, when sunset came
It was still doing its job.
It was the last thing I saw before dark.

I watched it grow up, for twenty-eight years...
It grew to fifteen feet tall...or more...
It was a FRIEND.
When fall came, its leaves turned and fell.
All the drab winter, it looked cold out there,
Its denuded limbs still blowing back and forth
Even In the rain and snow.

This spring, being occupied with various things,
One day I thought: "When is my Rosa-Sharn
gonna get green?" Something wasn't right.
Something didn't jibe visually in my mind!

All of a sudden, a pang stabbed my heart!
"Honey, did Percival (the neighbor)
Cut down our Rosa-Sharn?!"

It was gone. He DID.
Our neighbor, who has a penchant for
cutting down bushes and trees---
(He has already cut down six)
Had gone and taken our beautiful
bush out of our lives. Why?

It's going to be a long winter...and spring...
and ever...without my friend.
There'll always be a vacant spot
out my den window
from my easy chair...
That can never be filled...when I look out
Dozens of times a day.

Maybe it is a metaphor for many other
Dear friends of life
Who are gone
And can never be replaced.

*******30*******
BY MIL
8/17/13






Sent from my iPad

REMEMBER THE "SANTA FE DIP?"

BY MIL
*************************************************
WARNING: DON'T TRY THIS AT HOME!
*************************************************

There we were...flying through the air! Oh how I loved
flying...feeling the cool, fresh air rushing through the
windows and caressing my face...the feelings of elation
and exhilaration as a blur of houses and trees sped
by---as I looked out the window.

I'll have to say it: "Levi was a great pilot!" (And he'd never
had a flying lesson.) I loved flying with him! He was daring...
he was bold! But WOW! His landings were terrible. Terrible.
(And he'll admit it.) They just jolted the heck out if you. How
the shocks and springs held up to those landings, I'll never
know.

I learned a basic lesson of life in those days. It was: "If you're
gonna fly...get a plane!" Old 1936 Plymouths are your basic
earth-type vehicles.Of course we did discover something---
they would take off and fly quite a ways if you drove them
over high embankments at 60 MPH. The old "Santa Fe Dip"
just west of town was a great place to fly, as indicated above,
but it would have been better...and safer...with an airplane. It
is surprising that no one was ever hurt in a crash.

Levi had nerves of steel, but he, like the rest of us, had to
have a good five cent John Ruskin cigar to steady his nerves!
And you know, it made us look MACHO!

The so-called Santa Fe Dip was a deep, wide ditch, maybe
thirty feet from one side to the other; it ran north and south
paralleling the last road on the west side of Clovis. Heading
west at right angles was another city dirt road, which sloped
upward to the ditch road, and with an immediate and steep
drop-off, it ran across the bottom of the ditch and up the other
side, which was twelve or fifteen feet lower that the east side
of the ditch and again---thirty feet across.

Thus, daredevil cars would head west, accelerating up to 60
MPH, crossing the N/S road (and hoping there would be no
traffic), sail out across the ditch, all the while falling the twelve
or so feet and landing on the E/W road, heading west, on the
other side of the ditch.

You know, I never knew the ditch had a name until this year
while hanging out with some CHS Class of '53 kids, someone
mentioned it. I had not known, either, that so many kids had
jumped it. Pondering that name, one wonders why it was not
called the "St. Vrain Dip," the "Melrose Dip," or the "Taiban
Dip!"

The latter-mentioned name might hint to someone of alcohol,
which had to be purchased at Taiban, 40 miles west of Clovis,
(I'm told), for Clovis was a dry town. (Alcohol didn't interest
us---I never one time, growing up in Clovis, ever saw a fellow
student drink a beer.)

What the ditch was there for is unclear to me. Maybe it was some
sort of flood control if it rained hard. It was certainly well-graded
and maintained---never saw any weeds! Yes, Clovis had a good
"ditch guy" who did his job!

The auto repair garages were likely kept in business repairing
springs and shock absorbers.

And I can vouch for the fact that 1936 Plymouths have to be---
among the toughest cars ever built! You don't really have to have
a strong car to jump the SF Ditch. You only need a strong car
to do it twice.

We did everything, I suppose, that Evel Knieval did, except there
were no buses in the bottom of our ditch!

*******30*******
BY MIL
8/11/13

Sent from my iPad

"WHEN YOU AND I WERE YOUNG, MAGGIE"

********************************************************
"THE OLD RUSTY MILL IS STILL, MAGGIE..."
********************************************************

Many of us old timers come from a long time ago when
people took their love songs with a dash of melody
thrown into the mix...in fact, all-melody was fine with us
and still is! We like beautiful tunes!

There are dozens and dozens, likely hundreds of
great ballads in our American music, dating all the way
back into the mists of the nineteenth century, many before
the Civil War. These beautiful tunes from that time seem
almost to capture the mood of the times and epitomize
those simple and innocent early years of the republic.

America's great gift to music, in mid-nineteenth century,
was Stephen Foster, with his incredibly haunting and
simple melodies. It is doubtful if anyone in world
history has contributed as many (over 150) melodic tunes
to the world...and with excellent, warm lyrics, as well.

Here is an example of one his finest:
If you have never heard or sung this Foster song, you are
the poorer: (yes, it is sad.)

"Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie...
Like a flow'r thy spirit did depart;
Thou art gone, alas, like the many
Who have bloomed in the summer
Of my heart.

Shall we nevermore behold thee...
Never hear thy winning voice again;
When the springtime comes, gentle Annie,
And the wild flow'rs are scattered o'er the plain."

Perhaps we have set the mood here for our featured
song. Foster was not the only one contributing to
ballad-type love songs in those olden times.

In 1864, George Washington Johnson, a Canadian from Toronto,
was a school teacher who fell in love with a younger student,
"Maggie"---Margaret Clark. They took walks together
through the beautiful countryside and had picnics. They
became engaged in 1864. Not long after, she was diagnosed
with TB. She became very ill.

They went ahead and married. During her periods of being
confined to bed, George, in an effort to cope with the sad
development in their lives, began to walk into the countryside,
visiting places they had frequented together. "The old mill"
was one of their oft-visited spots.

George wrote a poem as he visited their favorite places.

Strangely, though they were both young, and hadn't aged as
yet, George wrote his famous lyrics as if he visualized their
having spent a long lifetime together, as though writing might
make it so. It is this poetic treatment that makes his song
so great.

Maggie's health deteriorated and she died on May 12, 1865.
George Washington Johnson lived until 1917. J.C. Butterfield set
Johnson's poem to music and it became popular world-wide---in
fact one of the most popular ballads of the mid-nineteenth century.

(Note the beautiful lines: "But to me you're as fair, as you were,
Maggie, when you and I were young.")


I wandered today to the hills, Maggie
To see the scene below
The creek and the creaking old mill, Maggie
As we used to long long ago.

The green grove has gone from the hills, Maggie
Where once the daisies sprung
The creaking old mill is still, Maggie
Since you and I were young.

O, they say that I'm feeble with age, Maggie
My steps are much slower than then
My face is a well written page, Maggie
And time all alone was the pen.

They say we have outlived our time, Maggie
As dated as songs that we've sung
But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie
When you and I were young.

And now we are aged and grey, Maggie
The trials of life nearly done
Let us sing of the days that are gone, Maggie
When you and I were young.



Check out these videos on YouTube:

When You and I Were Young, Maggie:

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

Gentle Annie:

http://www.maxilyrics.com/kate-%26-anna-mcgarrigle-gentle-annie-lyrics-d36f.html













Sent from my iPad

OUR "BUG GUY" BROUGHT HARE-Y NEWS !

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

A STRANGER HAD COME THAT FREEZING JANUARY!

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

(The cognoscenti among writing teachers say that EVERY

STORY is based on one of two events: A stranger comes

to town or the hero/heroine takes a trip. Our tale, as you will
see, just as these experts say, begins with a stranger coming....)
*********************************

It was very cold, that January of 1990. Christmas, with all its
fun was over, as well as New Year's football, and the Super
Bowl was several weeks away. I may have had a touch of the
January blues---though it is my arrival month on the planet---
it is not my favorite month.

It was late afternoon, and at that time of year, already getting
dark. My music teacher wife was just home from school.
Ernie, our pest control expert (we referred to him lovingly
as our "BUG GUY") was doing the outside of our house
(only) and was in the backyard spraying. He was good. We'd
had him a long time.

As Ernie finished and came to the door for his check, it crossed
my mind that he looked a little pre-occupied, or "sheepish" or
something. I gave him his check and he stood there, almost
scuffing his toe, looking down, and hesitating. "Er Mil," he said,
"I hate to tell you this, but you've got a big white bunny rabbit
hopping around in your backyard!"

"WHAT?! I blurted out, as the implications of this hit my brain
all at once, in full force. (How could hat be? We didn't have a
rabbit!) Now I knew how the old kings felt, and my first
inclination was to kill the messenger.

I paid Ernie, and he took off right quick(ly), as if glad to be
out of the fray. I did what any self-respecting former farm
boy would do---I made a "bee-line" out there to find out if
our visitor was a tame rabbit or a jack rabbit. A jack rabbit
could just be sent back into the wild through an open gate.

You guessed it. He was a big white-plump, furry, tame,
sissy-looking bunny rabbit, in his own right. He didn't
arrive in our backyard by jumping the fence, nor did
he parachute in---someone had dropped him over the fence.
It was clearly a case of "First Degree: Dumping A Rabbit
On Mil...Premeditated." Hmmm. Did I have an enemy?

From the wife's standpoint, January is not a very good month
to have company "drop in." It was obvious he would be
spending the night. "It's too cold out here," she said. "We'll
have to catch him and bed him down in the house." So we
set out to do just that. We chased that rabbit all over the back
yard. He may have looked like a sissy but he COULD RUN!

We chased him until we were "blue in the face," as my mother
used to say. No luck. We even tried: "Here bunny, here bunny!"
That didn't work. I finally got kind of ticked off. That rabbit had
absolutely ruined my day. "Okay, pal," I thought, "If you want
to camp out in this cold, be my guest!"

My beloved wife took great pity on that critter, showing a lot
of concern as women are wont to do. She got busy fixing up
our guest (and future family member?) for the night. I helped
her and we cut a door in a sturdy apple box, she lined it with
an old shower rug with newspapers under it for insulation.

Outside this domicile she placed a little bowlful of water, and
right beside that some carrot pieces! (Okay, what would you
put? We had no "rabbit manual.") She was to be commended.
It was a cozy pad, good enough for any decent rabbit.

We went into the house, had supper, and our curiosity simply
got the best of us. We got my old Boy Scout flashlight and
tippy-toed out there and looked in the door of the box, almost
like two eager parents. What? No rabbit! Quickly searching,
we found him snuggled up with a big smooth rock under our
pine tree. What an ingrate! That's where he slept the whole
time he was here.

I may have been slightly critical of our guest in the preceding
paragraphs, so I want to kind of give him a break here. I studied
him--- he was really a sweet rabbit, with absolutely no guile. He
wouldn't have hurt a flea. If there was ever on earth a creature
with no evil intentions, it was that rabbit. He didn't even eat bugs
or anything.

The world would be better off if tigers, lions, panthers, jaguars,
wolves, bears, bobcats, and animals like that had the same
attitude as our nice rabbit. And he had apparently come to stay
for the duration.

After a few days, not knowing what to do about him, and the cold
and all, we began to worry about him. He apparently did not like
carrots, and didn't even touch them. Other human food was not
popular either. Also, we were busy people, and did not want to
search out and take a course in "Rabbit Husbandry." The whole
event was reminiscent of the famous "Baby Chick Fiasco" of some
thirty years earlier.

Hmmm. What to do? Suddenly my wife had an idea. She was a
music teacher who had worked in many schools. During those
years, she had seen teachers who had all kinds of animals in
their classrooms! These were used as educational projects for
the wide-eyed kids to become familiar with "our world." She
enumerated to me: hamsters, lizards, frogs, snakes, birds,
goldfish, and even one iguana. One fifth grade teacher even
brought live mice and the kids fed the class snake and watched
him swallow the mice.

These same teachers, mentioned above, would have drawings
in their classrooms to see what kid got to take home X animal
to water, feed, and care for during the Christmas holidays! My
wife's idea was to have a drawing for our backyard rabbit, so
that he would have a good home and be adored and pampered
by a little kid!

So she set the whole thing up with one of her favorite classroom
teachers---a fifth grade with about twenty-five kids. When asked
how many would like a nice big white, furry, cuddly, hopping
bunny rabbit "for your very own," all twenty-five hands went up.

So one morning the drawing was held; names of all kids who
brought approval notes from home were placed in the box.
Little nearsighted Eddie, with the real thick glasses won the
rabbit. There was much excitement in that schoolroom that day!

My wife came home that cold afternoon and I met her at the door!
"How'd it go, how'd it go?" "Well, Eddie won him, but they can't come
get him. We are going to have to deliver him tonight."

So we reversed the apple box to close up the door and left it
open to the air and somehow, being highly motivated, we cornered
that rabbit. About 5:30 p.m. we headed out to Eddie's house, down
by San Mateo and the Freeway. The box didn't weigh that much and
my wife went to the door with our un-named rabbit. I felt a small
twinge, kind of like we'd "had him on approval and rejected him."
But he'd be better off. After a bit of small talk, my wife returned and
we left.

To top everything off, my dad was in the hospital with heart surgery at
the time and I had suggested that we go to Los Cuates to kind of relax
and forget our worries a little bit. So we drove down San Mateo to
our favorite Mexican restaurant, a small cafe in the wall.

It was a good choice; windows were brightly lit and fogged over with
condensation from the cold. It was full of people. There was an air of
festivity there which can be achieved only on a frosty January night in a
small warm friendly little cafe, where people are drawing cheer and
good will from each other.

We sat and talked and had some laughs and relaxed over cups of steaming
hot coffee. The enchiladas were great as usual. We were glad it was all over.
We had cleared another hurdle on the great journey of life we were making
together.

It probably doesn't seem like any big deal to the reader....but it wasn't your
backyard.

I couldn't help but worry a little about our rabbit...and wish him well.

*********30********
BY MIL
8/07/13








Sent from my iPad

THE ROSE

******************************************************************
BEAUTIFUL, RED, "THE BEST ONE IN THE GARDEN"
******************************************************************

'Tis the last rose of summer,
For me anyway...
A gift brought by a friend
Out of kindness.
How nice!
Well, I've loved that rose.

I'd never had one before---
That I can remember, at least
Not resting in a little vahsse
On my writing desk.

The gentle light from the window
Shines in on my rose as it sits
An arm's length from my eyes,
And breathes its marvelous
Fragrance, beauty, and wisdom
Into my mind every day...
Yes...wisdom
And helps me think and write.

Roses are that way.

I sit here and study the rose...
Admire it...and listen to it.
Yes, I listen!
It says important things,
Tho' not out loud.

It says...
"I am a beautiful metaphor for all Creation."

"Within my petals lies more wisdom
Than any mortal being can fathom..."

"The whole world is a marvelous miracle!"

"Where would you be...had you never
come to earth?"

"Pay attention to me, all the flowers,
and all things bright and beautiful."

"Love and honor the Creator every day."

Do we listen to the wind?
Study the fluffy floating clouds, drifting by?
Are we ever mesmerized by the shimmering leaves?
Do we see the little eddy's of sand, in a sandy place---
Swirling lightly along in a gentle breeze....
Tumbleweeds, rolling along--- free at last---
Or the autumn leaves, skipping merrily down the street
In a cold October wind?

Do we see and listen to---

Baby chicks...
Baby ducks....
A brand-new baby's little toes....
Things tell us things...

All these things have messages for us....
JUST LIKE THE ROSE.

'Tis the last rose of this summer
But maybe there will be
More summers, more roses,
And more stories.

*******30******
BY MIL
8/06/13



Sent from my iPad

HOW I GAVE UP "CHERRY KOOLADE"

*****************************************
BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU DRINK!
******************************************

It was a man and woman in conversation. And I
was listening to them....as if from afar off....It
sounded to me like the guy was kind of struggling
for words, almost like he was on drugs or something.
I actually felt sorry for him. It was like he didn't know
what his next words should be....

I was feeling kind of weird myself. Suddenly I realized
that THE GUY in the conversation that I was trying to
follow...was ME!

You see, I was at a favorite client's house doing some
changes on a document for her. She and her husband,
long-time city residents, lived in the north valley on five
or six acres and had several rentals and a couple of
nice fruit orchards and a big garden.

It was "after work" and I had driven out there, sort of
"on my way home" in a round-a-bout way. I liked them
and always felt at home out there and they deserved
my best efforts.Her husband was out on the property
somewhere, finishing a chore before it got dark.

Dolores, his wife, and I finished up our paper work and
she said: "How would you like a nice sweet glass of
cherry koolade? I make it by filling half gallon jugs half-
full of cherries out of the orchard, the rest of the jug with
liquid, and let them 'cure' in the closet 'til I need them."
"Here, come along and let me show you!" With that, she
led me to the sitting room, opened the closet door, and
there on two shelves were about a dozen beautiful red
cherry jugs filled with reddish liquid, curing up there in
the shelves. "Cherry Koolade."

We went back to her den and she poured me a glassful
out of her current "working jug. "We sipped our drinks
("not half bad," I thought) and she told me all about her
grandkids, her garden, her rental problems (bad tenants),
and about that '62 Chevrolet sitting back there, stored,
in their spare garage. I wanted to buy it.

The koolade was good, kind of spicy, like she'd added
some cinnamon or something, and it seemed to have a
strange effect. I was feeling very mellow and comfortable.
"That's a good recipe, Dolores," I said. And she filled up
my glass the second time.

Sometime right after I was half-through that second glass,
I began to listen to her and that man talking afar off!
Suddenly in my foggy state a thought occurred to me:
"Er, Dolores, what kind of 'liquid' do you use in your recipe.
Is it water?"

She said: "Oh, no! It's VODKA! Vodka doesn't have much
taste and makes for a great mixing liquid with the cherries!
I just call it 'Cherry Koolade' because it sounds so cute."
"Oh," I said. "I grew up a devoted tee-totaller and I don't know
nothin' about no booze!"

I suddenly thought: "I've got to get out of here...WHILE I
CAN...or I'll be spending the night!" (It was January and
I badly needed some fresh, cold air.) Besides, it was my
son's birthday and I was assigned to pick up some pizzas
for a little supper celebration. I made my excuses, told
Dolores all this (I think), and backed my pickup out of her
long gravel driveway and took off for home.

Now, I was a responsible citizen, and the traffic was
lightening---it was after six---and I started up Osuna where
it was uninhabited. I wasn't wobbling all over the road--no--
neither did I feel 100% alert...maybe 95 %. Accordingly, I
pulled over into the ditch, got out and made six or seven
laps around my pickup, as if I were at old Wildcat Stadium,
running as hard as I could and carrying the baton as anchor
-man. (Actually I didn't do well in ninth grade track---my
best 100 yards was a flat 13 seconds.)

Getting back into my pickup, I opened those two weird little
side windows and turned them backward, throwing that cold
January air right into my face.

Driving home, I began to think about the whole experience. I
knew in my heart that having one drink of cherry vodka could
be overlooked as a "mistake," but what about my having
seconds---was that a sin?! LOL.

By the time I got home with the pizzas, I was seeing things---
singularly--- again. I still wonder. even today, why I ordered
"triple mushrooms." But it all turned out okay. My son loved
the pizza and everything was mellow. Uh, oh, there's that
"mellow" again!

I made a resolution that night to watch my clients more diligently.
I had a wonderful little old lady who was a client and I went by
her house a number of times to make changes on her auto
policies. She had to have her Scotch whiskey every day at four.
I always had a Dr. Pepper. She once explained to me (she liked
to talk about her Scotch): "Hon, I found a way to save money---
I pour Passport or some cheaper Scotch into a fancy CHIVAS
REGAL bottle; that way I save money, and after one drink, it
doesn't make my friends any difference what brand it is, hahaha!"
She even went to her hall closet, opened it, and showed me some
Scotch bottles to prove it.

I thought about her and decided to taste my Dr. Peppers a little
more carefully when visiting her from then on. I had noted that
POURING SCOTCH seemed to bring her as much joy as
DRINKING IT!

(Even today, I have wondered what it was about me that made
ladies want to throw open their booze closets for me to inspect!
I guess I was suave!)

To wrap up my tale, I must tell you that to this day I have never
had another glass of "Cherry Koolade." (But you know, it was
pretty darn good!)

*******30******
BY MIL
7/30/13

Sent from my iPad

I LOVE LITTLE BABY CHICKS!

******************************************************
HE HAD HIS NIGHTS AND DAYS MIXED UP!
******************************************************

Once upon a time, along about that good year of 1960,
we lived in a nice, quiet, little, West Texas town---that is,
my beautiful young wife and my handsome, young, very
blond-headed, little son of two-and-a-half years, and I.

I was music director at a church there and commuted to
a Seminary in Ft.Worth in the summers. I had a really
fine children's choir, ages 9-12; in our vernacular, they
were called a "junior choir." I had some reputation around
for being "good" with children's voices.

So now that we have the setting, I will proceed with my
tale. For some reason, there were two "main streets" in
that town. It was a kind of a shopping center for a wide
area. It was like---two streets "created equal."That was
nice...more places to shop!

One Saturday, the day before Easter, I was downtown
and pulled into an old-fashioned "nose-in" parking place.
I proceeded to get a haircut and decided to walk around
a bit! Remember the "Five and Ten Cent" stores from those
days? I passed one in my desultory rambling walk---uh
oh, wait a minute. I rewound myself and backed up, and lo
and behold, there was an absolute WINDOW-FULL
of the cutest little yellow baby chicks---that you ever saw!
Oh my! (Wasn't it Joyce Kilmer who said:
"Only God can make a baby chick!?") Okay, so it was a tree.

They were busy little creatures, running all around and
falling over each other.You could hear the "peep-peeping"
or the "cheep-cheeping" all the way through the window.
(Which it was, I'm not sure---consonants are hard to discern
in brand new baby chicks.)

You guessed it. The next thing I knew, I was headed home
with a little specially-designed, vented box, containing one
American-born yellow baby chick, sex undetermined,
weighing perhaps five ounces! Plus a sheet of instructions, which
we will refer to hereafter as "the manual." Boy oh boy! Would
my little son be excited!

So I went home with this little yellow gift from above. My memory
is vague on what the Beloved Wife thought about this new addition
to the family.Maybe it's just as well! (My position was, if she could
bring a new member home, so could I!)

Accordingly, I fixed up a little corral-thing in the kitchen, complete
with jar lids filled with milk, cream-of-wheat, and water---all sitting
on a very thick "potty-proof" newspaper.

My calculations about the wonderful-ness of my purchase began
to go awry very early on. For you see, my two-and-a-half year old
lost interest in our new baby chick/family member right quick. But
worse than that, our little chick "had his days and nights mixed up,"
as my dad used to say about me! He was "peep-peeping" at all
hours---my wife said it was "cheep-cheeping!" I even entertained
the thought of rocking him/her in our rocker, and doing a bit of
"bye yo bye yo baby bye yo..." but never resorted to it.

After four or five days (and nights) we realized that something
had to be done. We were "red-eyed" and our church job required
that we be down at the church almost every night. What to do...
We were realizing that this chick could live with us to old age---
his and ours!

One of my junior choir members, Nancy, age nine, lived right
across the street from us. That morning I opened the drape and
looked out...and turned around to walk away... wait, there was
little Nancy over there getting in some roller-skating early, before
school.

Hmmm-mm. A plan was forming in my mind. I slipped out the
door and crossed the street and said to dear little Nancy (one
of my favorite kids): "ER, Nancy, how would you like to have
the sweetest, cutest, softest, cuddliest, peeping-est, little yellow
baby chick you can imagine for YOUR VERY OWN?"
I said something like that, and it must've been good, for she,
without hesitation, said "YES!!!!" I said, "Better ask your mother!"

So the transfer was made. Nancy proceeded to receive from me:
one American yellow baby chick (containing many peeps), in a
vented box; and several jar lids, a box of cream-of-wheat, and a
manual. Whew! It was over. A weight had been lifted. Sleep
would come again to our house!

This was the last time I ever did anything foolish like that until
1976, when I saw that little spotted Beagle puppy in the pet store
window there at Menaul and Eubank. Did I mention that I had a
weakness for little spotted puppies? I took him home! Ah, but
that's another story!

Soon after giving our chick to Nancy, we were offered a church
music position in Albuquerque and have lived in this best-place-
in-the-world for 52 years, two months and two days. I don't know
what happened to Nancy and HER chick.

I often think of my wonderful little kids in the various children's
choirs where I served. What is more marvelous in this world than
little kids 9-12? They are so full of life, so loving, so loyal---so
ready to do anything that is fun? They wore me out playing
"SIMON SAYS!" Yes, they are every bit as great as…little yellow
baby chicks!

So one day, awhile back, I remembered little Nancy. My error
is that I always recall kids the way they were. She was nine.
I thought----wouldn't it be neat just to see Nancy on the street
somewhere….then it suddenly hit me: I'd need to look for a
cute 63 year old lady, perhaps leading a 54 year old chick on a
leash…and who knows…a grandkid, age 9?

Ah, memories. Isn't life worth it all?

(Dear God, wherever Nancy is---please bless her sweet heart….
and all my other little kids. Amen)

----30-----
by Mil
8-3-13