'EYE HATH NOT SEEN"

 "EYE HATH NOT SEEN"

"But as it is written, eye hath not seen, ear
hath not heard, neither have entered into
the heart of man, the things which God hath
prepared for them that love him."
  ----- 1 Corinthians 2.9
******************
O WHAT COULD BE WAITING THERE...
CAN WE IMAGINE---BETTER THAN----

Purple mountain majesties
Soaring white clouds, blue summer sky
Cold, clear, gurgling mountain streams
A jumping rainbow trout
Shimmering golden aspens on a fall day

Red oaks in October
Dogs jumping for frisbees
The neighborhood-filling smell of a grill
The soothing sound of a classical guitar

A mother duck, followed by five ducklings

Little beagle and golden retriever puppies
The lonesome sound of a harmonica
A pond with cattails
Baby chicks and old pickup trucks
Robins red-breast and Blue Jays
Ten thousand other beautiful birds

Summer and boys fishing in the old creek
A church picnic at the park
Roses, daisies, geraniums, and poinsettias
Fried chicken and deviled eggs
Quilts and bacon

Rain, wind and snow...cold winter nights
Hot cup of tomato soup by the fireside
Bacon and pancakes...breakfast, Aunt Sally's
Thanksgiving turkey and dressing at Grandma's
A cold drink from a spring

Rocking on the front porch at twilight
Gardens full of vegetables
Farm cellars, with canned jellies and veggies
Sitting and musing by an old windmill
A mature wheat field of golden grain

A male choir, singing four-part music
An a cappella choir
A bologna san with tomato slices
Green chilis
Tidy front bedrooms in old farmhouses
Traumerei

Hearing someone yodel---
Stephen Foster's melodies
Robert Shaw Chorale
Sissel singing "O Holy Night"
The companionship of a spouse

Holding a child's hand
Hearing "Eternal Father, Strong to Save"
The FLAG
Loyal friends
Hamburgers
Norman Rockwell's paintings
************** 

Yes, what else could be waiting there....
    unseen, unheard, and unimagined?

"How beautiful heaven must be!...
    sweet home of the happy and free,
These truths in God's word He has given,
    How beautiful heaven must be."
(Old Gospel song)
***************
"And God shall wipe away all tears from
    their eyes...and there shall be no more
death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither
    shall there be any more pain,
for the former things are passed away."
  ......Revelation 21.4
******************
MIL'S PLACE
BY MIL
May 17, 2015

MEMORIAL DAY….A TIME TO RECALL

by Robert Stebbins, guest writer

SCATTERED FAR AND WIDE
*******************************
Another Memorial Day is right around the corner.

It will be the three-day type invented by the
government. That way, instead of focusing on
the day itself and its true meaning, people
tend to focus on squeezing as much leisure
and unrelated activity as they can into the
time frame, ignoring  and sometimes forgetting
the actual reason for Memorial Day.

As we left Clovis High School on graduation
day in 1951, some of us remained in the Clovis
area, but others scattered far and wide.

Some of us today, no doubt reflect on past
Memorial Days in Clovis, with its drive to the
cemetery. There were always gardening tools
in the trunk of the car---a rake and a trowel---
a bouquet or two of flowers, and a jug of water,
essential for tending and dressing up the
graves of loved ones.

This was a special day, set aside to pay our
respects to, and honor those departed.

So, on May 25, as you awaken to another
beautiful day that God has given you, take a
moment to recall....your family, your classmates
and friends of old, and those Americans such
as the US soldiers in our history, who paid the
ultimate price...whether known or unknown to
you.

 Robert Stebbins at USMC Museum

*******************
FOR MIL'S PLACE
By ROBERT STEBBINS, CHS '51
MAY 25, 2015

"SQWAH-RELLS"

My son
    has a golden retriever
light-tan colored,
    makes a pretty rug
in winter...

His name is odd,
    you might say...
"Slider."

He is a country dog,
     not a city dog.
Wildlife abounds where 
     he lives.

It's okay with him--the 
    wildlife---
that cavorts all around
    his domicile.

That is, except for one
    class of critters...

"Squirrels!"

(pronounced "SQWAH-RELLS"
      in canine lingo.)

No one knows if he likes 'em,
    or hates 'em
But he likes to chase them,
    that is certain.

He's never caught one.

He can be sound asleep,
     his chin resting on
his front paws...
    and if his master says
loudly: "SQWAH-RELL..."
   he is awake at once 
and headed for the door,
   ears standing up!

I too had an experience with
    small animals
yesterday, while writing at
    my table by the "bird
window," which has a grain
    feeder five feet away...
outside...

I glanced out the window
    to check for birds...
as I was wont to do...
    but had a strange and
bizarre surprise! I couldn't
    figure it out---
for a moment!

The strange vision was our
    hanging-grain-cylinder
feeder...with a TAIL!

A big long furry tail like a
    Dan'l Boone cap has!

Then I saw a little face with
     a tiny black nose,
intelligent eyes, and a cute little
    mouth chewing grain 
faster'n I had ever  seen anything
    chewed!

It was. clearly not a bird.

Then I realized what it was.
    I knew then why my granddog
gets excited!

A "SQWAH-RELL" had found 
    our grain!

**************
MIL'S PLACE
BY MIL
May 14, 2015
**************
Dedicated to "Slider."

2015 MEMORIAL DAY....CLOVIS HIGH SCHOOL, CLASS OF 1951

"EVERY ONE OF THEM  WAS DEAR TO MY
        HEART." ...Jimmy Blair
******************
"OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT"

      (OLD SCOTCH AIR)
      BY THOMAS MOORE

Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light
Of other days around me;
The smiles, the tears,
Of boyhood's years,
The words of love then spoken;
The eyes that shone,
Now dimm'd and gone,
The cheerful hearts now broken!
Thus in the chilly night,
Ere slumber's chain hath bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.

When I remember all
The friends, so link'd together,
I've seen round me fall,
Like leaves in wintry weather,
I feel like one
Who treads alone
Some banquet hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled,
Whose garlands dead,
And all but he departed!
Thus, in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain hath bound me,
Sad memory brings the light
Of other days around me.
****************
REMEMBERING CLASSMATES  AND
   TEACHERS----- 

Dora M. Russell
Virgil Elms
Engle Southard
Donald Mardis
Noel Dougherty  

GOOGLE exactly:
"MIL'S PLACE---DORA M. RUSSELL, BELOVED SPANISH TEACHER" 

"MIL'S PLACE---MR. ELMS"

"MIL'S PLACE---STABBED WITH A PENCIL IN THE  KERFUFFLE" 

"MIL'S PLACE---THE GREAT CLOVIS HIGH SCHOOL CAPER" 

"MIL'S PLACE---THINGS MY DADDY TAUGHT ME"
*******************
"I returned and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor to the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill, but time and chance happeneth to them all."  Ecclesiastes 9:11
********************
IN MEMORIAM....

Jimmy Abernethy
Jimmy Blair
Don Campbell
Zeno Crosswhite
Bruce Davis
Geraldine Edwards
Billy Harwell
Billy Hasty
Thomasina Ingram Murrell
Charlotte Kelly
Marlene Lancaster
Donald Mardis
Robert Roberts
Jerry Roberts
R.G. Snipes
Pat Thompson
James Timmons
Jimmy Whatley
Bobby Wilhite
JoAnn Williams
Sherman Williams
Noel Dougherty
Vera Lou Priddy
Engle Southard
Marcia Stebbins
Dorothy Trigg
Dixie Sanderson
Teddy Blair
Jerry Crook
Wanda King Snipes
John Thorn Marshall
Rita Gayle Delaney
Charles Mason
Gary Crawdord
Norma Shankle
La Nelda Reed
Lawana Roberts 

*****************
Mary Lou Powell, La Casita, 1945
******************
Other CHS friends...
Hugh Max Firestone, CHS '50
Sandy Pawol, CHS '50
Curtis Wells, CHS '50

 

******************
MIL'S PLACE
BY MIL
MEMORIAL DAY
May 25, 2015

THE BEAUTIES OF THE SONORAN DESERT

PONDERING THE FLOWERING CACTI...
*****************************************
By E. Levi Brake

A few evenings ago I was sitting on my back
porch overlooking the patio, sipping a glass of
wine after dinner and contemplating the foibles of
mankind, as the saying goes, and looking at the
wide arroyo beyond.

I happened to notice the many saguaro cacti in the
arroyo and up the hillside beyond.  There were over
fifty when I gave up counting. The saguaros are in
bloom this time of year.

One plant can have 15 to 20 small white night-
blooming blossoms clustered together and perched
right at the top. After the blossoms wither, each bud
will produce a small sweet red fruit which the Indians
once harvested for food, and perhaps still do.

Since the saguaro can grow to be well over 50 feet
tall, they had to be pretty innovative to tie long poles
together to gather the fruit. The saguaro is the most
interesting plant I have ever known.

All the desert cacti are interesting and all have beautiful
flowers in the spring. There is a particularly ugly cactus
called the "hedgehog" cactus. It is so-called because its
spiny bristles resemble a hedgehog.

It is short, perhaps 12-14 inches tall at best and consists
of several branches growing up from one base. This ugly
little thing has a most beautiful flower. I am not an expert
on colors but I would describe it as being a deep red, mixed
with violet and with purple shades.

What a treat each year when these blossoms appear.
Unfortunately, javelina enjoy eating the flowers so many
times, that they disappear soon after flowering. That
happened to one which is just over my patio in the
arroyo...this year.
*******************
FOR MIL'S
By E. Levi Brake, CHS '51
Guest Writer
May 8, 2015
Ajo, Arizona

EVENING TIME AT LAKE WEIR

COACH'S BOYS RETURN
**************************

"REUNION"

It's nearin' sundown, and is misty
    and smoky along the damp
         shores of old Lake Weir...
where much has happened...
     over the decades...

The old smoky barbecue grill is putting
      off incredible
          aromas---country  ribs,
               barbecued chickens, and...
                    what is that?!

Rocky Mountain elk steaks! Wow!

LWHS guys are a-settin' all along
   the shore, jawin' and laughin'
       big time...and someone
is playing a heart-grippin' song
    on a harmonica!

Why it's Real Bubba, a-playin'
    "Way down upon the
        Swanee River, far,
             far away...there's where
               my heart is yearning
                          ever..."

Seen thro' the mist and smoke, one
    who knew them when they
        were young...might still
           imagine them today...
              as lookin' the
                    same.

But they were a right smart skinnier
     then, and their hair was darker,
        and there may have also been
            a few "flattop" haircuts
                 back in those times....

Then they were ready to tackle the world
    head-on...with as much zeal
        as hitting Coach Ned's
            blocking dummy....
               in practice....

He taught 'em well, Coach did--- about
     football---and about succeeding...
         Yes, one of the great things
               about life---those companions
                   we meet on the journey...

Here they were, gettin' together once more...
    remembering old times, and so what
       if literary license entered in a bit...and

that twenty yard pass became a fifty yarder...
   That kickoff return was a hundred-five yards...
        That tournament basketball winner was
                 from half court, rather than the
                      free throw line...

That long shot in the high Colorado mountains
    that brought down that big elk, was a
        five hundred yard shot, Bubba...
That cut-throat trout of Wally's was more 'n ten
        pounds...
And Big Dog, tell us again how much that snook
        weighed...along the Florida coast...
               there...

Ah, it doesn't matter...when warm-life-friendships
      are rekindled, minor detail deviations
            are understood (and loved!)

O, a little breeze is coming in off Lake Weir...
    The smoke and the mist will soon be
          clear...and we will see them
as they are today, a half-century later...

My, my, impressive men...and they are seen to
     now

be clustering around a distinguished-looking
     man they seem to be very fond of...

There is much laughing and fun going on!

Is that THE COACH!?

GATOR JOE'S

LWHS FOOTBALL

LAKE WEIR HIGH SCHOOL

LAKE WEIR

Photos courtesy G.L.D.

******************
FOR NED AND THE BOYS...
BY MIL
"REUNION"
MAY 2, 2015

LITTLE DUCK...."LOST AND LORN"

 LITTLE DUCK...."LOST AND LORN"

It seemed
                we were
                               fated to have
strange sounds
                        sounds of nature
you might say
                      often heard in our
house

Like once't
                 a cricket cricked
                                           a lot but
we never found 'im
                              and then
a little bird
                chirped off and on
                                             for two
days until he like, died
                                 or something
Turned out, the little bird
                                      was our
smoke alarm battery,
                                goin' kaput.

Then it happened
                           a big-time worry
A little duck "lost and lorn"
                           (maybe from the
neighbor's pond)
                          was lost in our house
somewhere
                  we'd go searching and
he'd quit quacking
              this went on, half a dozen times
or more

In fact, it went on      and on.   then one day
      Ah, one day
                            the wife
said----
           I've lost my telephone.  call it for me
it'll ring, and I'll grab it      I called it for her

A QUACK QUACK QUACK was heard
          from under the couch
                               we found her phone
and our little "lost and lorn" duck

"Oh oh, I forgot--- I set my new phone's
               'ring'
      on Quack Quack Quack!" she said.

"And I've missed six calls!"
********************
BY MIL
May 11, 2015

QUAIL HUNTING MEMORIES….IN THE ATTIC

MY UNCLE WAS SIX-FOUR AND THE
    GREATEST QUAIL HUNTER
        I EVER KNEW...
*********************

It was May 1, 2015 and the awful allergy-
causing fruitless mulberry pollen had finally
fallen from a high of 2968 to 111. 

I went upstairs to spring-clean my attic a bit...
and open the window for some fresh air.

Bobby Joe is coming over for a visit soon
and I wanted things to be ...nice! I checked
my NEHI grapes, BARQ's big orange drinks,
and my stock of Beanie Weenies. Bob likes 
those.

As I sat on the edge of my GI surplus 3/4 size
bed, I sipped on my last Delaware Punch,
imported from old Mexico @ $2.00 per.

My eyes, as usual, checked-out my "awesome
attic," (alliteration intended)---literally seeing 
my life pass by---as noted in dozens of old
pieces of equipment (fishing, hunting, photos,
books, etc.) This often happened when I went 
upstairs  to read, write, think, or doze.

(BE often says: "You need to downsize---get
rid of some of your stuff up there!" What? And
give away pieces and chapters of my life? No
way!)

Today, sitting  and drinking my expensive 
Delaware Punch, and looking  around the 
cozy upstairs room, with the slanted roof,
my eyes settled on an old soiled, wrinkled, 
faded-tan, now-too-small---hunting coat---
hanging over in the corner on a sixteen 
penny nail. (The suave name today for such
a jacket...is "barn coat.")

I lovingly took it down off the nail. Alas, it 
was assuming the "hanging nail shape" with
its stiffness. It felt a little heavy---imagine
how my heart skipped a beat to haul out
of the right pocket two high-brass green
Remington 12's...still in good shape...
7 1/2's.

Wow! They made good ammo! I wonder
what hunt those shells were left over from.

Though this coat was acquired late in life,
at age 27---(I had been chasing quail all
over Texas for years by then)---it took me
back in a hurry to my exciting beginnings
as a young teen-age hunter with my dad 
and Uncle Howard.

I liked to remember Uncle Howard, a West
Texas cotton farmer his whole life. At a full
6 feet, four inches, or more--- tall---he was
one of the most imposing and toughest of men.

Born in 1912, all he ever knew was hard
work. He was a "depression kid" and went
off to fight WWII at a remote place called
New Guinea. I thought he resembled the
actor, Robert Ryan.

After the war, and by the time I was fifteen,
Dad had given me his old 16 gauge Stevens
double barrel shotgun and got himself one
of those new ITHACA pump shotguns.

(At fifteen I was a wispy 150 pounds and
6' 3" tall and that Stevens 16 kicked like a
mule. After a good day of hunting, my right
shoulder was blue for a week. It's true.)

The old timers say that Uncle Howard and 
I made quite a pair, he at 6' 4" and I at 6' 3"
when we were doing the "tall guys' run,"
leaning forward and sort of loping along,
after those fast blue quail. Dad was shorter
and a bit more deliberate in his gait.

Now it must be said that Uncle H. was not a 
city-dude-hunter by any stretch. No sir.
No Abercrombie and Fitch or L.L. Bean
hunting ensemble for him---no marvelous
waterproof Red Wing boots. He was a 
farm boy. He made do.

When he hunted, he wore his plowing 
Levi's, work shirt; it was usually cold and
he wore his  striped-coveralls over
those---and his old Sears and Roebuck
low-top work shoes.

His costume didn't matter to a fifteen
year old--anticipating a day's splendid
quail hunting...when…Uncle H. opened
the trunk of his car, brought out his
scarred pump shotgun (they say: "Real
Texans prefer pumps!"), worked the action
(with that majestic heart-thrilling,
click-clack sound) to check for empty--- 
then he would open a box of twelve gauge 
shells, grab a handful for each coverall 
pocket, and off we'd go--- my blood 
pressure up, with excitement.

"Pop," my grandad, usually went along in
the back seat, as an observer. He was a bit
older and had walked enough miles plowing 
behind mules. He'd rather sit...than hunt.

We covered a lot of territory in those years
of the forties, when much of Dawson and
Gaines Counties were covered by wildlife-
friendly mesquite pastures, with giant mesquite
bushes, cacti, "bear grass," and all manner of
small trees and vegetation.

Lunch was many times enjoyed at a rural store
crossroads, with a post office, and a school 
building...there were a good many little 
communities like that in those days.

We'd go into these interesting stores and buy
cheese, crackers, onion, potato chips, pork 'n
beans, and baloney...with a big orange drink,
maybe. Yum yum...and ah, such fun!

In those times, with all the natural cover, there
were plenty of quail everywhere. They loved
to shelter (safe from hawks and predators)
under big cacti, huge mesquites...around old
deserted farm barns and buildings, and near 
windmills, for water.

When a hunt was over by usually mid-afternoon,
we'd head over to Uncle H.'s garage….a place used
more for storage or work it seemed, than
parking cars.

The men would light up good cigars, talk a bit, 
and have those birds cleaned and ready for a
fried quail supper, with mashed potatoes, biscuits,
and gravy...and maybe some fried okra out of
the freezer...as only those farm women could 
cook!

Over the years I hunted all over Texas and
New Mexico...I remember hunting bob whites
with dogs around Childress, Texas...

Wading through nests of rattlesnakes northwest
of Melrose to find quail (and amazingly on a 
sunny November 1 day!)

Chasing blues up the mesas around Maljamar
and Loco Hills...they were fast! 

In the early years there were quail everywhere
south of Portales...and on down around Elida
and Dora...on the ranches...

But I reckon, as is true with many things in life,
hunting never got any better (I went many 
times---later in life) ... than hunting with Uncle
Howard and Dad down there in West Texas---

TEXANS:  Good people... good place...hard-working 
folks who were proud to be Americans...they had 
their own "politically correct"  rules: "Don't Mess
Around With Me" ---"Mind Your Own Damn 
Business!"
-----------------
"Time and chance" happened, as it says in
Ecclesiastes, and the tides carried me back
to N.M. where we have been for fifty-four
years. 

The last time Uncle H. and I quail-hunted was in
1960, New Year's Day. Headed down to
Lamesa from north Texas, for a hunt the next 
day, we hit a heavy fog north of Lubbock and 
could drive only about twenty mph. We finally
made it okay.

Dad came down and we had a good hunt.
What better can be said? I got a shot of
them cleaning the birds.

Yawn...just remembering those strenuous 
hunts makes me sleepy. My attic is cozy.

Would you mind if I left you and dozed
off a bit?

Uncle Howard and Dad

*******************
MIL'S PLACE
BY MIL
May 3, 2015

MY WRITING PLACE

MY WRITING PLACE

It didn't start out to be my writing place----
    It wasn't part of the plan...
our dining table, that is.

For years I had wanted an OAK ROLL-TOP
    DESK---one of those built to
last a thousand years...

Yes! An oak roll-top desk...with lots of little
    drawers and cubby-holes to
stash stuff in....

Like old general stores in small towns had...
    and grizzled veteran lawyers
and accountants all used in their
    back room private offices...

One like Uriah Heep had in that 19th century
     Charles Dickens book!

 But it was too late in life for a thousand-year
    desk.

It would've been here aging, mellowing,
   getting scarred, and gaining "patina"
long after I needed it.

So it happened that one morning I was
    sitting at my end of the dining
table, sipping coffee, and jotting
    story ideas on my Staples pad---

here by the big double-window, where
   the sun shines in, and the birds
play and the bushes sway---in the wind,
    just outside!

I liked the feeling...the light...it's
   on the east side of the
house...

I too have a real, regular office, with no view...
      but over time, I adopted this---
my "coffee place," for writing---wearing out
    several protective cloths, until

this marvelous "life-time" oil cloth
    came along...embossed with
delicious, delectable, cheerful,
     juicy-looking fruit photos!

How nice this spot is...now there's
    a hanging grain-feeder for
the finches, wrens, nuthatches, and
    always-present sparrows---
just five feet to my left...visible thru
    the window!

A BIG roll-top desk would've been nice
    but some four hundred
poems and stories have come from
    this spot, and ten boxes-full more
are around me---aging like fine wine.

I remind myself, writers in history have
    written in many strange and
unusual places---in the woods, as
    Mary O.---the fine poet, in a little old
leather notebook...with a stubby pencil...

And remember Thomas Wolfe, tall 6'6"
     author of "You Can't Go Home Again?"
In the thirties he wrote while standing---
     his notebooks atop a little
early fridge---his desk!

My place is fine for me...and I've learned---

The SUN is a good warm, inspiring
    companion...for any task!
********************
BY MIL
MIL'S PLACE
MAY 1, 2015