SHAZAM!

THAT VELVETY VOICE!

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

There I was 

     at a City of Albuquerque

              awards banquet

and wishing I was instead, off

     somewhere on a quiet 

lake fishing and sipping a Diet Pepsi!

Donna and her partners had won

     a big prestigious city-wide award

for excellence in teaching of the arts...

And guess who was there to emcee

     the presentations...

Yes! M. R. walked up to the microphone

     to name the winners from a dozen 

  categories and hand out the awards...

Oh, I had heard her 

     fantastically-marvelous-melodious 

          voice a thousand

 mornings on Classical Music FM 97.3---

       a low, sultry, never-to-be-forgotten....

beautiful sound!

So really...this was even better than  

     fishing!

On this night, she walked to the mike

     and began speaking...ah...she 

talked with an almost-Texas drawl...

     sorta like me...

As I listened, befuddled and crushed in 

   spirit, and wondering what had

happened, I heard her say:

"Maybe it'd be fitting if on this night,

    on this august occasion---that I speak

in my Radio FM voice!"

And as if she had said "SHAZAM," she 

    went into  this astoundingly low

soothing,  sexy, to-die-for-voice, filling

     the whole room with overtones...

   and amazement.

A few hundred male jaws dropped open...

I thought the microphone would melt...

     and I know my heart did.

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

By Mil

21 APRIL 17

EVERYTHING IS SOMEWHERE

They say

      "nothing

is ever lost---

    it is always

somewhere..."

"and long as it's 

       still

in the house, we'll

    find it," the old 

saw goes...

Now sit down for 

     this one---

I had a favorite 

          CROSS pen

    for years, 

       wrote black gel

ink...nice

Oh, and did I say:

   It was Burgundy

"matte-finish"

       and beautiful,

and had a ...balance

    about it

You could see 

     and read

the dark black writing

           easy

It was

    one of those rare

        possessions that

was a joy forever, 

     and it looked nice

    in my pocket with

 my maroon necktie,

You know---matching stuff...

Three weeks ago...one 

     night I was in 

my Lazy-Boy with my

            feet up

     and watching a re-run

               from the sixties

     of The Virginian

while BE 

      was at choir practice

A lady called for her

     on our landline

and it came at a bad time---

         Doug McClure

     was fixing to plug

this sleezy perp 

     with his .45 Colt...

This lady said: "I need to 

             leave

     my phone number,"

"BANG BANG BANG" 

       he got the perp,

as I scribbled the number...

      and hung up 

   quick-like

Now the next day

     the spiral notebook

   with my burgundy 

        pen stuck in it---

was nowhere to be 

    found...

We searched 

     everywhere, even

   the big pockets 

of my writing jacket,

       and the wastebasket

   Gone, Gone, Gone....

I had saved up 

     a few bucks...and even

called Fahrney's, 

     back east, to replace 

 this favorite pen...

But ah, Cross doesn't make

     that model and color,

   anymore

Just proves my "new saw"

    that 

 "Everything Is Nowhere."

Gone.

Last night

     as I was unwrapping a 

small hard Tootsie Roll

              left-over

       from Halloween,

    it slipped and bounced

right under 

             my Lazy-Boy!

BE helpfully grabbed our 

    handy Picker-Upper

(from Amazon) 

       and grappled-out

the lint-covered Tootsie...

Then (SURPRISE)

          came the lost spiral

   notebook with the phone

          number with the 

      lady's name...

And hallelujah...

        my BURGUNDY CROSS!

(How had we missed it?)

Just goes to show:

      "Everything Is Somewhere."

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

BY MIL

24 APRIL 17

"LAGRIMA DE ORO"....R.I.P.

It was dark midnight, and even after,

     and the old timer (me)

         was trying to sleep

He was hearing something as if

    from afar off...or was it 

just a dream?

It seemed like somewhere off in

    the universe, shovels were 

clanking against hard soil like

    a grave was being dug

to bury something

And I was sure that in my dream

    I had heard women's voices---

talking, not laughing but intent

    on doing a job

Were they perps and evil or just

     some run-of-the-mill-conspirators

          up to no good

We'd heard all of our lives about how

   awful conspirators are

This was all going on in my own backyard

    it sounded-like and suddenly I sat

        up in my bed...BOLT UPRIGHT!

Whatever perps there were, they were

    suspiciously trying to be clandestine

diggers

I thew on my favorite robe over my black

     Fruit-of-the-Looms, grabbed my

          Irish SHILLELAGH and tippy-toed

 to the den door and carefully parted the 

     drapes...

Oh yes! Not twenty feet away, acrost the 

    cement block fence two 

sober-faced, beautiful women were 

    carefully and seriously digging 

in their own back lawn!

My, my, I knew it was our own dear

     neighbors...but up to no-good?

I eased out onto the ice-cold patio

    cement and said: "Don't shoot,

it's only me," with what little 

    humor I could muster.

And I looked over the fence and they

    had a little flashlight and seemed 

         to be digging a small grave

    of some kind with those shovels--

        there is the frozen grass

It was in fact our neighbor and her

    daughter...and the story

came out...Ann, the daughter, coming

    home after a late shift at work

          spied this little dead cat

     lying smack-in-the-middle of

         Lagrima de Oro, two streets

    south of us

And being a girl who adored little animals

     she tho't to give this little cat

          a decent burial...thus all the

digging and scraping sounds I had heard

Somewhat humorously to break the

    tension I had said: "What the heck 

        are you girls doing...half the 

neighborhood is up---do you see all

   the lights...and you can't just

       bury dead things in your 

backyard, they might stink, eventually."

They said: "Well, this pore little cat was

    just out for a stroll down the 

        middle of Lagrima de Oro,

   minding his own business when he

     got run over by prolly a speeding

drunk."

"We have given him an appropriate name---

      'LAGRIMA DE ORO,'which means

    'TEAR OF GOLD' in Spanish."

"Tomorrow we will mark the little grave

      with an epitaph of sorts:

   'Here lies Lagrima de Oro,

        .....never meant no harm...

            ...used up his ninth life.' "

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

As I headed back to bed, with frozen feet,

    I thought to myself, 

I need more-peaceable nights at my age...

    First, it was that screaming skunk...

and now....Lagrima de Oro.

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

BY MIL

22 APRIL 17

(Verify the veracity of this piece with

    Roger, Bradenton, Fl.)

AN OLD COWHAND GIVES ADVICE

The "old cowhand" speaks:

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

Th' other day, after I had sold some eggs, I was settin'

in Moe's Bar,  in Pine Flats, the onliest village

and bar down in the Magdalenas, SW of Socorro, NM.

I was having a well-earned cerveza, and rest from

runnin' my little 160 acre homestead---a big job---

even with my few cattle, goats, sheep, pigs, and 

chickens.... trying to eke out a living...just like all 

critters, human and otherwise....yes...a living...

Particularly was it hard, since Pearl, my dear life's 

companion passed on last year.

I was thinking back on my past...and enjoying my 

beer.

Someone awhile back said to me: "You look beat!

I bet you have had a hard life." I gave them my

stock retort: "Can't complain."

Truth is, my friend, the life of a cowboy is not for

sissies. It is not for most people. First of all, you

must be a first rate horseman, and know what the

horse is thinking---even before he thinks it!

If you are not "at home in the saddle," and maybe

not born a bit bow-legged, then cowboying is NOT 

for you. You can't be hoity-toity or picky---hermano,

you gotta ROUGH IT---ALL THE WAY!"

You need to be a good roper, a good pistol and rifle

shot, be ready to endure hardships, be a vet to cattle,

butcher animals of all kinds, and even doctor yourself 

at times.

I've slept under the stars---saddle as a pillow, covered

with a saddle blanket, with rattlers coiled next to me

for warmth.

I've slept in warm hay in cozy barns on winter nights,

with coyotes howling outside .

The best place to sleep is a in a bunkhouse with a lit

wood stove, under quilts with your .45 Colt handy

to pop big pesky rats, rather than tolerate 'em!

I've lived in line shacks during winters for months,

with nothing to eat but venison and pintos. But

the peace and silence and beauty of it all...made

it worthwhile.

I have shot deer for food at incredible distances

over open .32 Winchester sights.  I had to---if I

wanted to eat.

Then there are  the years of serous cattle-punching

for the ranchers, when I was young---roping,

branding, dipping, de-horning, making steers....

more cattle than I could ever count.

Every person has to do something unless they're

on food stamps. Being a productive person is 

essential to good self-esteem.

Even now at my age, I still hire out to big ranches

for cattle drives...or maybe some roping and branding

type events.  Mostly I hang out at my little place and

sit in my rocking chair on the front porch,,, and just

rock...sure gets lonesome without Pearl...and she was

a good cook...

I love my nice little log cabin, deep in the Magdalenas.

It has a nice gun rack I built---with a scarred-up 870

pump (which I use for the dozens of quail coveys

around), my bolt- action Marlin .22, and several rifles.

I'd be target practicing all the time, but nowadays 

ammo is expensive, scarce, and a long ways to town,

in my old '72 Chevy truck, to buy more...

Yes, sometimes someone says: "You're looking old

and wrinkled and tard..." and I reply---"Well

actually wimmin' have chased me my whole life and

it has been worse lately...I have developed character 

lines and ripened into a rather attractive fellow! Don't 

you think?"

People say (evidently I look wise to them), "do you,

with all your vast experience in life, have any ADVICE

for the younger folks?"

"In life, play the hand you're dealt, In cards you'll get 

good hands...and bad .. so also in life."

"Success depends on a whole lot of hard work,

some skill, lots of gumption...and a whole lotta

luck."

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

BY MIL

(on being inspired by FILLSON'S photo)

11/29/16

GOODBYE DEAR MONTGOMERY WARD

MY LAST WARD'S PURCHASE...

      A "WARSH RAG!" 1996

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

When Montgomery Ward closed its last

store in 2001---to some old timers born

in the twenties and thirties it was almost

about as bad as if we had lost Coca Cola

or Chevrolet.

They say the catalog-order thing has been

revived but I have not seen a catalog....and 

it's just not the same. There are vacant spots

on many small town main streets where 

there was once a Ward's store.

From early childhood little boys heard the 

endearing words from their dads mentioning

"Monkey Wards," with fondness.

In my hometown of Clovis there was a Ward's

store on the east side of Main near the busy

corner of Main and Grand. It had two doors

and the south one contained "Man-type-stuff"

like tires and batteries and camping gear and

fishing tackle with Pleuger bass plugs @ 65

cents each.

Little boys, after a Saturday double-feature at 

the Lyceum Theater and a coke at Woolworth's

would head for those fishing lures at Ward's

and ogle them longingly.

Then it was off to Abilene, Tx. to college for me

in '51 and having very little of life's goods, I had

no radio. My uncle came down to visit me and

gave me $25 cash as a graduation-from-high-

school present.

There was a Montgomery Ward right down in

the middle of Abilene and I spent the whole $25

for an Airline Radio and it looked fine in my 

college dorm room.  I still have it.. a tube radio.

Then a number of years later I wound up living

and working (and married) in Artesia, N.M. and

with a new little home needing a lawn and

yard work galore...but with no hoses, sprinklers,

hoes, shovels. takes...and certainly no lawn

mower, I went shopping.

I though of my old childhood store---Monkey

Ward, but couldn't find one anywhere down-

town...the company did have a mail order

counter at the back of some store (I was told),

and there I set up a little account and ordered

my own very first yard equipment.

Our biggie experience with years of trading at 

Montgomery Ward came about like this. As 

we were contemplating the move to 

Albuquerque, our host in showing us around 

town approached the brand new WINROCK 

SHOPPING MALL from the east side of town---

The first big store we saw as we turned west

off Pennsylvania and looked across a vast

parking lot was the big block-wide magnificent

MONTGOMERY WARD STORE.  It opened to

the inside of the mall and had several outdoor

entrances.

Over forty years we traded there, once buying

a camping trailer which our little family used 

for fishing trips. We ran an account there for

years until we quit having any accounts.

Good old Winrock Shopping Center closed

at some point after that..."for remodeling,"

and much of it still remains closed. Another

company occupied Ward's old building for

years but recently relocated.

I often picked up some needed "Powerkraft"

hand tool, such as a small Phillips screw

driver or such from the store's tool section

when I needed a specific tool.

One day as I passed thru the store on an 

errand I spotted some cool hand towels 

and wash cloths. I was taken by their unique-

ness. I bought several of each.

One wash cloth survives from my final Ward's

purchase and it is,pictured above.

When a person gets older they have 

accumulated about all the stuff they need

to survive...but we do miss Momygomery

Ward...we miss seeing the stores---we

still have the memories of earlier days...

  

After all, M.W. was a big part of America....in

    our minds.

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

BY MIL

12 APRIL 17

"THE SMALLEST WORM"

O my defeated friend

     Have you 

in life

      ever been

insulted ignored

       laughed at or

made fun of...

Slighted 

           forgotten

been a sneeree or

      were shrugged off

Or have you been

      taken lightly

overlooked 

      gone mostly unnoticed

Or accused of not

      being PC?

Tho't to be of

     no value 

and/or

     of no consequence 

and felt your ego

     crushed?

Ah, don't fret it...

     don't sweat it

any longer

There IS a remedy

    it's never 

too late

    to "RARE-UP!"

"THE SMALLEST WORM WILL TURN

       BEING TRODDEN UPON."

   .....William Shakespeare

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

BY MIL

11 MAR 2017

OUR NEIGHBOR....ELMER

We thought we'd feed

   the little hungry birds

during this cold winter

   and we set up

a fine bird feeder

   just outside 

my "writing window"

And they came, many kinds

    of birds and were

all over the grain, big time

Wrens, sparrows, chickadees

    "orange-headed" house finches

and even a big dove, now 

    and then

And an impostor....a masquerader...

    which was not a bird at all

but he faked it...acted like one...

Now he had a tail like a mouse...

   and little ears like a mouse...

and an appetite like a mouse...

    and a shifty look like a mouse...

and he scampered like one....

Why it was Elmer, our 

    neighbor's mouse

We recognized him on sight

So BE took down our grain

   saying: "Mice are the last straw!"

"I'm not feeding no mice, no matter

if they are...

kinda cute."

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

MIL

2 March 2017

HE SAID TO ME..."I DON'T BELIEVE IN MIRACLES"

                       Photo by W.L.M

My friend said...

"I don't believe in miracles."

I believed I had a losing. 

     discussion with this man,

a' comin' up...

I said:

You are a miracle...I am...

The sun is a miracle

      clouds and rain...

Having friends along the 

      Journey is a miracle...

Have you thought of---

      Singing birds, little

puppy dogs and jumping

      frogs...

Trees and leaves, of all kinds?

How about wonderful wives

      and little babies 

with their little fingers and toes,

      and first two lower 

front teeth...and first giggle...

Remember our mothers

     who nursed us thru

measles, mumps, sore throats...

     and always cooked for us?

And dads, who taught us all

      manner of things 

and took us fishing and stuff...

Have you thought about---

     the miracle of Freedom,

and how lucky we've been

      in the good old USA ...

The mountains and the hills,

     the rocks and the rills...

The fish, that jump and the 

      hawks that soar...

And running and jumping 

     and competing in sports

and your body is made

     to heal itself...

How can I even name a thousand

      beautiful flowers---the roses,

the daisies, the daffodils...dast I

     mention sunflowers and 

crocuses...

"My friend," I said, "you just need

      to go look at THE SOIL

and see what miracles, come

       from it."

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

BY MIL

3 April 17