Pure fallen snow as a canvas for the artists in my yard

It’s seldom we can look upon a pristine world.  Our grandparents spoke or wrote of an ‘untouched’ field or pasture, but with people,  and cars, where ever we look, that untouched world has become naught but an almost Biblical memory for us.

But, wonder of wonders, in the last two weeks, I’ve wakened to two such days, and have been held a most happy captive to my windows looking out over lawn, hill and fields (now Mick Riley Golf Course) to glory in the untouched view, and wondering who or what would make the first step to break that ‘just finished’ view.  To find out ‘who comes to visit me’  when I’m not looking.

There never was or will be an untouched moment at the  front side of my home, for there are always moving cars, and at the first sign of a snow ‘storm’, the plows begin making their rounds.  And it is good.

My first ‘untouched’ view began one afternoon about ten days ago, and by morning I saw there had already been a visitor. I saw the hoof prints of two deer.  I knew they came to my son Bill’s back yard to find his tomatoes and the tender new tree shoots, for he installed a motion camera and discovered who was raiding the garden.

But this time, with the snow leaving marks of their hooves, I see that they cross the lots and also come to my back door. It surprised me for the only food left there is Cat Food, but who knows what a hungry deer will eat?

Then quickly I saw Raccoon prints, and dang it, they’re welcome, too, just so they keep out of my chimney which  they found and went up and down one year.  There were cat’s pathways, going right to left and crosswise,  but all ended up right at my back door, where food is left at night.

As the days went on, I saw that the smaller animals had found and were using the deer’s pathway, which got larger and deeper, while the others were left unused. Who says animals don’t have, and use, their brains?

Then one day, straight across my lawn, there was a dark line.  So straight it looked either like a shadow of some upper electric wire, or that something had fallen there. But no, it was neither, and then my son, Bill came to see, and found it had been made by quail.  Small, small  ‘claw’ prints right on top of each other, making a pathway as straight as if an architect, had drawn that line, with not a waver in it.

I could only see the Results of a lot of activity in my back yard, and made me want to sit up all night, with all lights off, and watch for the Cause.  The hustle and bustle that goes on ‘right under my nose’, when I’m not looking, and I wish I could tell them how welcome they really are.

And now, today, the 11th, I wakened again to a pristine world and as the day passes, not a single track has been made there.  The road side is as usual, busy, busy, busy, yet so close, so very close, lies my untouched lawn and the Golf Course beyond with not one blemish  on either, to mar the perfection.

Unconsciously I found  myself glancing out the windows over and over, hoping to see who and what would be the first to break the untouched panorama.  It won’t be me, for I wait for Ron Bateman who has kept my pathways clean of snow for many years past to come and do his ‘duty’.

Yesterday, between storms, the sun was warm, the temperature rose, and the snow, that had covered all, was gone before dusk, and with its retreat, hundreds, and I’m not exaggerating, of Starlings came.  In swarms.  First I saw then on the Golf Course, pecking, pecking, pecking.  Then suddenly swooping up in a black cloud, whirling in high circles before again landing to eat, eat, eat.

Then, this time, they came down on the hillside nearer  my home and with a blink of an eye, my entire back lawn was a moving mass of black.  It looked almost like dark, moving water, but it was Starlings, caught up in an orgy of eating, and when I stepped closer to the window, I alarmed them (and myself) as they rose at once, flew off, but I had time to see that they were right up to the outside walls of my basement.  Could there be a bit of warmth  there?

And I wondered, what were they finding to eat? Surely there were no bugs, but I read somewhere, that birds eat the roots that are close to the surface of the lawn.  And with that, I  recalled one year when I had fed Mallards on my back lawn, and found that my lawn was dying.  They were not eating my lawn, but ‘digging’ up the soil and finding, and eating, the soft tender roots which are full of nutrients they need.

It must be the same with the Starlings. Not only my yard, but the Putting Greens of the golf course were black with their constant pecking, and eating. But they were avarice, and I thought that ‘tomorrow’ I’d go out and see  if they left marks of any sort of their orgy.

But today, my world is again  under inches of snow, and I hope they ate well, for it will be a week or two before the snow will be gone and the new tender roots there for them again to gorge upon.

It’s been a wonderful two weeks for anyone who has the time, and open fields to see such wonders.  I do,  and thank The Source often for my bounty.

The Holidays stay with me.  And perhaps in a deeper and different way than when they were occurring, so stay with me, it’s safe.

     What’s happening, is that so many of the year-end TV programs were centered on people who died, moved on to the Next Room, but left a legacy for us, and I found myself doing the same, personally, only I went farther back than just 2012.  So will yours.

     The first to come to mind is LaRee Pehrson, who wrote news from the Magna area for the Green Sheet newspapers, and how I came to know her.  We became friends and I don’t mean just acquaintances, but friends.  In some ways we were as different as daylight and dark, but deep down we were Soul Sisters, learning, traveling, laughing and teaching with each other and I miss her.

     Then there was John Nuslien and some of you might have known John as the Bass player in local nightclub bands.  Good stuff, and while we were on different paths, our goals were the same and many a cafe table was occupied for long hours as we talked, as well as late night hours over the Land Line. They were good times, as always when Friends meet and share. 

     I think of my siblings, Amber, Spencer and Fern, and how Bernice and I, the only ones left of that family, talk, laugh and reminisce over those long ago days that belong to a different life-time.

     And Brad, yes, Brad, my husband.  I know we had our rough times, but then, who doesn’t?  However, the results have been great and as I saw ‘family’ coming and going these past two weeks, I grinned to myself, knowing  how amazed he would be to see how many  name him an ancestor.  He has been gone since 1969, and to them, is nothing but a long-gone name on a genealogical chart, but I’m here, and without Brad, they would not be who they are. Yes, I smile over such things, and Brad, it was good to know you.

     People who are gone?  Who affected my life?   Way high on the list would be ‘Gram’.  No, not my grandmother, but actually my mother-in-law, and as my real mother and I, with our different opinions,  sadly never could bond,  Gram took-me-in and,  called me her daughter.  I was at her death-bed, and we loved each other.

     So, remembering those who changed my life, I must include Pearl Buck the author of so many books that became known world-wide.  No, we never met, but she wrote from a deep mind, and her characters told me much of how to make a good life out of what you chose to live.  Her book “Her Son’s Wife”, opened my eyes to what a woman should know and do, (the man, she stressed, will be of little help) to make it a good marriage.  I can’t be the only one who let her words be a Teacher.

     And then I remember Bob Prince.  He was Shop Foreman at the Green Sheet and I knew we were friends when, at a rather ‘touchy’ office-staff  meeting, our eyes met and I knew we were seeing and hearing the occasion with the same minds.  From then on, we were Friends, and I miss him and his wry humor.

     I think of the lovely Bette Cornwell, who along with her husband Jim, were my Bosses down at 155 East.  I learned a lot from her and,  entirely unplanned, and quite unexpectedly,  we slowly  became friends, and I am happy  that her last sad years with Dementia are over and  I hope she did not know what was happening.

     My sister-in-law Margaret.  I had ‘known’ her all my life, but were only nodding neighbors, for after all, we were of different Teachings.  But later on we both became part of the Bradford family and as I had left the predominant Teaching of our locale, she opened my frozen, latent, hibernating mind to know that God loved me no matter what path I trod in trying to reach Him. Thanks, Margaret.

     And then there’s John Miller.  He died when we were both no more than seven year olds, but he sat near me in the school room and was the first to leave an empty space in my life by way of death, and that event was the beginning, at least consciously, of my  pondering and inner search of  the What? Why? How? and all else of Life. 

     My brother-in-law ‘Jake’, spent a seemingly lonely life, unmarried, no children, but when a sane mind was needed (like the day my six or seven year old son Bill, with his pal Steve were throwing water filled balloons at passing cars, almost caused a wreck, and brought the police.) Jake was there,  calmly, carefully apologizing, promising proper punishment and a good talking-to for the kids, and leaving the driver and police satisfied. Jake was a good one to have around in emergencies.

     And so I send my thanks and love to them all,  where ever they are, ‘knowing’ that in some way, in some place, we will meet and know that the long, strong threads of friendship never die but reach on, and on and on.  TYG.

Ethel has taken time off, and so This column, with some changes, is a repeat. She’ll be back next week.

New Years Day is when most of us look back o’er the years, to recall where we were, what we were doing, and who we were with on past New Years. There are the days of marriages, divorces, births, moves to another city, job, home, school, or deaths. We all have them, and this time of year is when we think of them.

But digging deeper, are those private anniversaries of former days and places that everyone of us has, but they are days and events which we note silently and by ourselves only, and let them pass unmarked by feasting or friends.

Yes, you and I both note many an outwardly unmarked day, but inwardly we recall what took place on that day in some former year, and re-live the memory, because, sweet or bitter, it is ours and had its share in making our lives what they now are.

There is ‘something’ within us that loves to double-back upon our lives and stand again on the place we once stood. To meet ourselves face-to-face, so to speak. There are certain places, which, when I pass by, I stare at with odd thoughts. Almost as if I’m inwardly asking, “Who was that Ethel who once stood or lived there?”

Years ago, and I remember the date well, a man and I met briefly and sadly on a certain Salt Lake corner and both knew it was a parting from an ‘impossible’ situation, and that, should we ever meet again, it would never be the same. Or that we even would be the ‘same’ people. All by myself I note that day . . and wonder if he does, too.

There’s an old home on Poplar Street in Murray, the Cahoon home, that I look at, curiously trying to reconstruct a past that I never knew. Gram, then a young 17 year old Rachel Crozier, was visiting there with relatives, where a man, seventeen years her senior, and named Arch Bradford had been invited to sing and play his guitar for the group.

And that turn-of-the-century meeting, was the catalyst as to why I am now Ethel Bradford, live on property that has always belonged to no one but native Indians and Bradfords, and why my sons, grandkids, and two greats, all bear that name that came over on the Mayflower.

Yes, any spot of ground each of us has stood upon is special to us. No matter how many office buildings and condos, are built at 700 East and 4500 South, I will always see a tow-headed girl-child playing on the northwest corner in the open fields, turning somersaults and cart-wheels, climbing trees, and at the same time, watching traffic heedlessly speeding right through what once was Mama’s living room that she kept so clean, calm and lovely.

No one, no matter how close or loved, can look upon ‘our’ spots and ‘our’ dates with the same tenderness we do. Or could we do the same for them, for there’s not a one of us who does not have those nostalgic moments that make life stand still while a tear, smile, regret or tragedy drifts through our hearts and minds.

See, today I ramble, but this is the day, unbeknownst to anyone else, and unshared by wife/husband/lover/friend/parent or child that I re-live. They are personal, secret, blessed or bitter, but they are happenings that have molded our lives into what we now are.

But I shake myself from such rememberings, loved or not, for today is today, and I plan to make 2013 a year full of days I can celebrate and rejoice over forever. We all can do it, too, you know, if we just dust off the past, keep it in its place and take time to realize each day as we meet it at dawn, is unblemished, and with our God-given power we can keep it that way, too.

The next 364 days are ours to make exactly as we wish. So far they are absolutely untouched, so let’s meet each day and keep them well. I wish you, not just a Happy New Year, but that God, with You, will keep it that way. It’s in our power, you know.

Is today the last day of the earth?  Don’t think so…

1. Don’t sweat the petty things and don’t pet the sweaty things.

2. I went to a bookstore and asked , “Where’s the Self-Help section?” and was answered, “If I told you, it would defeat the purpose.”

3. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

4. If a snail doesn’t have a shell, is he homeless or naked?

5. If a parsley farmer is sued, can they garnish his wages?

6. The reason Santa is so jolly is because he knows where all the ‘bad’ girls live.

7. Where do Forest Rangers go to ‘get away from it all?’

8. Would a fly without wings be called a walk?

9. If someone with multiple-personalities threatens to kill  himself, is it considered a hostage situation?

10. If man evolved from Monkeys, why do we still have Monkeys?

11.Do Infants enjoy infancy as much as adults enjoy adultery?

12. Why are hemorrhoids called “hemorrhoids’ instead of ‘Asteroids’?

13. Can an atheist get insurance against Acts of God??

14. If you try to fail, and succeed, which have you done?

15. If a deaf person swears, does his mother wash his hands with soap?

16. Why do they put Braille on Drive-through ATM’s?

17. Why do we ship by truck and send cargo by ship?

18. Who do  you call when you see an endangered animal eating an endangered plant?

19. Why do they lock gas station bathrooms?  Are they afraid some on might clean them?

20. Isn’t it unnerving  that doctors call what they do “Practice”?

21. Is it possible to be totally partial?

22. How much deeper would oceans be, if Sponges didn’t grow in them?

23. Why doesn’t glue stick to the inside of the bottle?

24. Do Roman doctors refer to IV’s as 4’s?

25. Why do we put Suits in a Garment Bag, and put Garments in a Suitcase?

26. If  ‘Con’ is the opposite of ‘Pro’, then, (be prepared to laugh) what is the opposite of Progress?

27. Why is it called a Hamburger when it’s made out of Beef?

28. Why is ‘Quite a few’, the same as ‘Quite a lot’?

28. Why do Feet smell and Noses run?

29. Why do you Recite at a Play but you Play at a recital?

30. Why are Boxing Rings square?

31. Why are they called Apartments, when they’re all stuck together?

32. Why doesn’t Tarzan have a Beard?

33. What happens if you get Scared to Death, two times?

34. What is the speed of Dark?

35. Why don’t sheep shrink when it rains?

36. If an Orange is orange, why isn’t a lime called Green, and a lemon, a Yellow?

37.Why do you need a Driver’s License to buy liquor when you can’t Drink and Drive?

And, if you happened to see and survive

December 21, 2012, let’s all settle down to 2013

and make of it the most wonderful year, ever.    

That’s my plan. Wanna join me?????

Remember The Child who dwells within us all

         I seldom heard the once familiar greeting of “Merry Christmas”, this season, but just the same, our mail boxes were  filled and newspapers stuffed, with pounds of brightly colored flyers telling us to buy, buy, buy. And the very same came by our email, and TV, and I wondered when and how the joy and excitement of Christmas became so forgotten and buried. 
           When was the last time you called out, “Merry Christmas”?  Yeah, me, too, it  just isn’t done any longer.  The Season is  no longer ‘merry’ and I’m not talking about those who are economically deprived, for that’s an entirely different ball of wax. I mean  the ones who have jobs, family and homes and yet consider the entire month nothing but one great Big Sale, with Christmas even seldom mentioned.  Just buy, buy, buy.
          Disillusioned I’ve lived through all kinds of Christmases,  I bet you have too, and it took me a long time to realize that I am my own problem.  The entire Season, as we work it out in our homes, is like a Play, a Drama, and the script, with minor changes, remains the same generation after generation. It only seems to change, for the catch, I find, is that while the Play is the same, we, every few years, are given a different role to perform  in that Play.
          We liked the ‘child’ role best of all, and every story, TV show, book, magazine etc. does its best to bring again the rapture, joy, surprise that we felt when a child, and it just can’t be done. 
          Today’s kids are just as enchanted as we once were, and there’s no way that we, in an adult role, can possibly feel the same magic we did when we had the child’s part. We find that the adult roles aren’t as much fun or exciting as that first role.  That they’re stressful, a lot of work, and  admit it or not, wish for the sheer magic we felt as when we had the child’s part.
           My wise philosopher friend B.P. says that Christmas is like one’s life. They both are  long stories, with our roles ever-changing, and an adult, with grandchildren would be foolish to envy and try to still play the role of the child.  Or vise versa. Nevertheless, the magic and wonder we once felt remains in some secret corner of our heart.  The heart of that child we once were.
           However, if we are just half-way aware, and watchful, we begin to learn. Slowly and even reluctantly we learn so much we didn’t know was there, much less seek to know.  The lessons come unasked for, and, along the way, as the Story progresses we find that the ever-changing roles, if filled lovingly, brings us rewards we could never have dreamed would be ours.
           As children we were enchanted, and greedy receivers every step of the way. Listening, writing notes to Santa, ready to believe every move, every word, every scene, and no child should miss any part of that glorious First Act of the Play, for it was good, and what we needed at that time.
            But we aren’t children forever, and slowly, and sometimes with difficulty, we learn that there is a giving side to life.  Silently, and oft times reluctantly, we accept the new roles, and our children never guess that many a time we put aside our wants, even needs, so that we can give them what they ask ‘Santa’ to bring them. We were there once, and, remembering our joy, we encourage them  to experience the magic we once did. 
            And as my wise friend says, as time flows by, they too will learn with surprise, as we did,  that a much greater joy and feeling of contentment  comes to us, as we create and dedicate the entire month in remembrance of  “The Child”. 
            Ultimately we  find that it is the same Show, Play or Drama, call it what you might, and finally awaken to know that every word spoken or deed filled, are all for The Child. But for The Child who was born on this Day, in a lowly Manger, yet became  the Foundation of the entire Christian world. 
           We knew The Day was for the ‘child’ within each of us, but it can take our entire lifetime to awaken and  know it  always was and ever will be for The Child who had but One Everlasting, unchanging  Role to show us.  Love each other and your days will be blessed. 
          May we all have such a Day, and quietly, but prayerfully live again the day for The Child who dwells within us all.

A Recipe not to be tossed aside lightly.

        I know, I know, I know.  Just mention the word Rolls and then find the word Yeast in the directions and we’re all ready to turn the page and leave the details to someone else.

        Don’t do that.  This is one where the Prep time can be counted in minutes and the cooking time, well, 15 to 20 minutes, but that takes no work from you, and besides that, ‘Your family will rise up and call you Blessed.’

        I know.  I published this recipe years and years ago, and I still have people tell me they use it and have passed it along to their daughters and daughters-in-law.   Me, too.

Grandma Bradford’s
Feather Rolls

2 and 1/2 cups milk     1 Tsp. salt
5 cups flour            2 Tbsp sugar
1 (one) package yeast   1/2 cup shortening

        Melt shortening, it can be done in the micro, but I said ‘melt’ it, not sizzling.  Just melted, that’s all.  Put the yeast in warm (not hot) milk, and set to one side.

        Mix ALL the ingredients well and put aside on your counter top for 1-and-1/2 to 2 hours.  Beat it down with a spoon,  and right then and there, put 1 (one) Tbsp in each muffin tin, using paper liners if you wish.

        Let the filled muffin tins stand on your counter for 20 minutes and then bake 15 to 20 minutes in an oven set at 425 degrees.

        Be prepared for bows and compliments, but don’t send your thanks to me.   I thanked Gram, and she told me the same thing I’m telling you.  To not thank her, but to someone else who came before her.  Egad.

        See, I just don’t know the root source of these goodies, but the recipe is so old it called for Yeast Cakes, not the dry yeast we use today, and there were no such things as  the ‘paper’ muffin-tin liners, that we so routinely use today.  But none if that matters, it all just works and that’s what’s important.  The shortening was probably Crisco, but it says melt, not sizzle.

        And as long as I’m in this domestic mood, and it’s the season for good eating, here is a simple, but marvelous recipe for Southern Pecan Pie.

        There are those who hate to give out tried and true recipes, but that’s not me.  Here goes:

        Take one cup of white corn syrup, one cup of dark brown sugar, one-third cup of just-melted butter, one heaping cup of shelled pecans, three whole, beaten (not whipped) eggs, a dash of vanilla and a pinch of salt.

        Mix all together, add the nuts, put in the pie shell and bake at 375 to 400 degrees until done.  There, and as far as I can figure out, Gram got this, of all places, from Ann Landers’ column which ran ‘forever’ in newspapers.

        Good luck.  Good eating. And be prepared to simply shrug your shoulders and say,  “Oh, it’s nothing.  Just put a few things together and anyone could do it.”  Yeah, but YOU did it.  Love ya.   Ethel

Flip on your printer and put both these recipes in your files.  You won’t be sorry.

We can have any two, but not all three

        A man who does remodeling jobs came to look over an idea of mine and he measured, made notes, a phone call or two, and then nodded, yes, he could and would love to do it for me. 
        Naturally, I then asked for the cost and the time needed, and he said that it all depends upon what kind of job I want.  Well, I thought that was taken for granted, of course I wanted good material, used well, finished reasonably soon, and as inexpensive as possible.

Now, ‘inexpensive’ means the same as ‘cheap’.
And while I don’t like the  word, ‘Cheap’,  we know what it means, and
 I’m going to use it over and over.

        He went on, “Every customer, and no matter how big or small the job,  wants those same three things. Everyone wants their job to be  GOOD,  FAST and also as CHEAP (see how that word fits in?) as possible, but  you can’t have all three.
        Seemed simple to me, and looked puzzled, so he went on,  “You can have any two of them, but not all three.

     “If you choose GOOD and FAST, it will not be CHEAP.
     “If you want it GOOD and CHEAP, it will not be FAST, and,
     “If you want it FAST and CHEAP, it won’t be as GOOD as it could be.”

        I was baffled, but after he explained I grudgingly had to agree with him, but had never considered them in his manner.  Just the same, since then, I’ve often used them in my mind.  They get to you.
        This is how it goes.  The man you hire seldom does all the work himself, but hires other men, such as Plumbers, Electricians, and such, to do the work where they are experts.  And if you want the best workmen to do your job, and do it Cheaply, you have to catch them when their type of work is out of season, or they happen to have no other assignments. 
        At any time they’re idle, they often will work at a lower pay rate. But the catch is, you have to ‘grab’ them when they ‘happen’ to be free, and so there is no promise of time, and right there goes the FAST part of it all.
        “That’s how it goes, Ethel.  I can get GOOD material anytime, but GOOD  workman do not come cheap, and so your job won’t be FAST.
        “And,” he says, “I can give you FAST and GOOD, too for I  can always get Good materials, and Good (experts) can be called from other jobs, but I will have to pay them what they are earning, or more, on those other job, to get them to come.  And so there goes CHEAP.” 
     .  And, relentlessly, he went on, “You want it Cheap and Fast, again I can do it rather easily, but I will probably have to get cheap (unskilled)  workman, and so I can’t promise the  job will be as well done, or (GOOD) as if done by the best craftsmen,  and might have to take medium grade material to meet your cost requirements.”
         Anyone with jobs to be done must choose, and finally I laughed, and tried to find some flaw, but, like it or not, there is no flaw.  The Good, but Cheap won’t be Fast, and might take six months to a year (depending on the size of the job)  to get done.  The Good and Fast, you can get, but the job won’t be Cheap,  and the Fast and Cheap won’t be as Good. 
         I do want first class material, and want it installed by people who know their craft and not just learning, and dang it,  I also want it done within a week or two, but  the best workmen have jobs scheduled ahead, and I think of my poor pocketbook.  Oh me.
         The more I think about it, the funnier it gets.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a small household job, or a soaring sky scraper, huge dam, ocean liner,  airplanes, it matters not, for when you get down to the core of it all, it’s the same. The three choices are there. 
         Public buildings are usually GOOD,  and the other two, FAST and CHEAP, get lost along the way. After all, it’s your taxes that pay the bill and the only way we can complain is how we vote, and by then we’ve usually forgotten the Fast and Cheap and only hope for the Good. Anyway, we pay the price and hope for the best.

Ten Simple Clues

            In all the years that I’ve written a newspaper column “Out My Window” and now this blog of “From Out My Window”, I’ve repeated but two columns.  One of Lilacs on Memorial day, and now this because two people have told me that my ‘questions’ were eye-openers for them, and that just maybe they might do the same for another.
            And there’s one more person I meet occasionally, a delightful person, but who, I’d be willing to bet, will become, or already is, an alcoholic.  I wanted to talk to him, but didn’t, for there would have been anger, and I’d have been told, truthfully, that it was none of my business.  But at one stage of my life I was active in AA, and while not alcoholic myself, I learned an awfully lot.
            One was this list of the following questions and I’ve used them in many ways over the years because they were true then and are just as true today.
            If you answer ‘Yes’ to even one of them, the chances are you have a problem, and if you answer “Yes” to three or more, you are an alcoholic.  It may take years before you admit it, but the course of the disease is relentlessly down-hill and continues to worsen until admitted and faced.
            Don’t tell your answers to anyone, but for your own sake, answer truthfully to yourself, and oh how I wish, hope, that even one person will read, and act.
            1. Do you ever take a drink in the morning?
            2. When people mention drinking do you walk away in anger, thinking they were speaking about you, and wish they would mind their own business?
            3. Have you ever felt that your life would be better and easier if you stopped drinking?
            4. Have you ever said to yourself, “I can stop drinking anytime I want”, and then poured yourself another drink?
            5. When having guests or going to a party, do you ever pour yourself a secret drink, before hand, just to ‘get in the mood’?
            6. Have you ever decided to stop drinking for a week or two, and then found yourself drinking again within one or two days?
            7. Does your drinking ever cause trouble at home?  At school? On the job?
            8. Do you ever have black-outs? Partial memory loss?
            9. Have you ever gotten drunk when it was the last thing in the world you wanted to do?
            10. Have you ever switched from one kind of liquor to another in hopes the change would keep you from getting drunk?
             Simple, aren’t they?  But that simplicity is deceiving, and all the disbelief in the world won’t change the truth of them.  Or your answers.
             Take Question 8.  A blackout doesn’t mean ‘passing out’.   Blacking out means that you were on your feet, talking, laughing, dancing, but the next day you can’t remember one thing of what happened.  You ‘blacked out’ and it’s a mean thing, for no one there would have seen one thing odd in your behavior.
            Now, it doesn’t help if a spouse or parent recognizes these traits and tries to help by telling you.  The one who has the disease will fight back, maintaining ‘there is no problem’,  (See No. 4) and, anyway, ‘living with you would drive anyone to drink’.
            And if No. 7 is brought up, it will always be someone else’s fault.  Always, always, always, and never, never, never, theirs.
            But thank heavens today we all know about alcoholism from TV, internet, radio or magazines.  You will find AA meetings in your own neighborhood, across town, or if you wish to be truly anonymous, there are groups which absolutely insist upon it.  Anyone’s Last Name is forbidden from use and Nick-Names only allowed.
            It’s not an easy journey, but the sooner the alcoholic recognizes the disease, and only then, can it be controlled.   And, as I once learned, it is not a case of just the alcoholic needing help, but everyone whose life has been closely touched also needs help.  Which is why meetings for the non-alcoholic partner, teens, adults and even for adult children of alcoholics are well attended.
            It’s a mean, progressive disease, and if someone recognizes the disease and stops drinking, but, years later decides one small drink would do no harm after all this time, they’ll find it  one  horrible mistake, for the disease progresses whether you drink or not, and that ‘first drink’ doesn’t react as it did years before, but in a far more terrible way, and stopping far harder to do.  It’s nothing to play games with.  At all.
            As I said, I’ve had requests for these words to be repeated, and I hope that the one I meet so briefly, will get the help that is now so easy to find.  Miracles do happen, you know, and my trust in such is why I repeat my words, at the beginning of what is usually a time of heavier than usual drinking, and that they might help at least one such person.  Cross your fingers.  Mine are.

But aren’t Catalysts great?

          I swore I would not get caught up in the Thanks we see and hear all over the place at this time of the year, and yet, here I go.
          And I started my gratitude back in childhood when I lived, with my family, of course, on a small farm.  Five acres would seem big for the average family home-place today, but then it was what I say, a small farm.
          I remember the peace and quiet of it all, and didn’t even recognize that stillness until I was older and sought to find it again, and could not. Wherever we live, today, there is little silence.  Sound, is everywhere.  Cars, radios, Cell phones, TV, and people.  Dogs barking was a common sound back then, but now one must listen for it , and the sound is so welcome.
          I am thankful for such a childhood.  I ‘lived’ in a tree I could climb today (well, mentally) with a book and pocket full of raisins, and if not there, and it was summer, I was out in the tall, corn field with the same companions.
          Alone, but never lonely, and I think that reaching out for that same kind of life is why, today, I am a ‘hermit’ and a member of “Raven’s Bread,” an international organization of ‘hermits’, with some living in busy cities, some apartments, others scattered around the world, and Ethel here in Murray with her wonderful neighbors.  We don’t need a desert to live the eremetic life, but seek it where ever we live, and I am thankful.
          I’m thankful I was able to earn my daily bread by writing, which is a done in solitude, and retired, can now continue and use this blog to reach out.  Sometimes pleasing, sometimes making others wonder, and sometimes angering one or two.  I have no anger, for I have learned to love all, even the upset ones.  That’s Ethel.
          I’m thankful for my two sons, John and Bill,  and all they’ve brought into my life.  Each one has brought love and joy and I thank The Source for them.  Grandchildren and glory be, now two greats.  Thankful????  What do you think?
          I’m thankful for my home.  A cottage, but it’s on land that has been home to no one but native Indians with their teepees and Bradfords, and my home sits on what was a barnyard, and the north wall to the barn’s lower level still sits in my back yard. 
          Thankful that the home is mine and, the way life works, I’ve been alone since 1969 (what a long time ago, when I print it out) and have never had a mortgage to pay.  It’s just mine and I’m thankful for it.
          I’m thankful for the people who allowed me to develop what I have, and paid me for it.  Jim and Bette Cornwell, though Bette, bless her, is no longer with us.  Good people.  Don Robinson who helped me whet my writing skills.  Bob Prince, (also now one of the missing) who taught me mechanics of the paper printing world, and Stan Youngblut, my first long-ago boss who introduced me, as a comptometer operator, so kindly into the business world when I was but a teen.  Opened my eyes to the world, and I’ve never shut them since.
          So thankful to my son Bill and his wife Nina, who live next door and make my solo life so much easier, especially as the two of them are experts with computers.  And so thankful for computers, for what would I do without email to span the globe with?  I quell to think what my life would be without email, and I say thank you over and over for it and to Bill for getting me my first one when I thought all I needed or wanted was a new typewriter.  Books, blog, meeting people? How naive I was and I say thank you.
          There are people in my life I could not have dreamed of when I sat in my tree or cornfield.  Maria now in our valley, and Corry, in Holland, where they both were born.  Tom of Chicago;  Laurel of Sun City, AZ; and Wayne of Mesa, AZ;  Barrie of Cedar City;  Sandy of St. George;  Sylvia of Seattle,  and on and on.  All because of the wonders of email.
           And my final (but it is never final) thank you is to The Source for giving me a good body, to use, use, use, and when in need of repair, it heals and is ready to use again. 
           Thanksgiving?  This holiday has been the catalyst to remind me of all I have.  Love you all.   Ethel

But now, the details just get published sooner

          During the last dozen years or so, every bit of news tells us of some person with some high title has been found guilty of sexual misconduct. Generals, Presidents, coaches of great colleges, world-wide newspaper owners, etc. They resign after bringing ‘disgrace’ to their families and whatever organization they have controlled.
          We wonder if we have looser morals than by-gone times, or the media has found that there is big money to be made in gossip, and they want it.
           Now, this could be a long, long list, but I’m going to be picky and start with George Washington, our Country’s Father.  He never had a child, ’tis said, probably sterile, but, if his sperm had been ‘good’, it’s also said that, as a young man, surveying the wilderness and often with native Indians, that there would be many an American Indian with his DNA, just as there are  African Americans with Jefferson’s. 
           Thomas just happened to not be sterile.  He also lived at a time, when loving Sally Hemings, a woman who, as his black slave was frowned upon, but most ordinary.  She went to Europe with him, had his children, and at his death their children were freed and Sally lived with his lawful daughter, not as a servant or slave, but as a free woman.
           There are many ‘big’ ones.  Lyndon Johnson was right active and half in anger said, “I had more women by accident that Kennedy had by appointment.”  Jealous, see.
           Okay, get down to the ones that today’s scandal sheets would love. 
           Buchanan never married and openly lived with a male former U.S. Vice-President for decades.  Of course, we all know that J. Edgar Hoover, the first overseer of the FBI was gay, and his employees, per his orders, dug into the sex lives of powerful people, (as JFK’s) and blackmailed them to keep their silence about him with threats of telling the public of what he knew of them.  Yeah, a real nice guy.
        Poor cuss Bill Clinton publicly lied about his problems and almost got impeached, not for the sexual stuff, but for the lies.   Wilson, the WW I ‘preacher’ president, had too many year’s ‘friendships’ with two separate women.
        Okay, Cleveland fathered a daughter while Prexy, and she later made a good living with a book about her life as his daughter. Eisenhower, according to his WW II chauffer and mistress in England and Europe was practically impotent, but loved her and he wrote to his boss General George Marshall, that he planned a divorce.  But General and Prexy Truman, his bosses, gave him hell, not for loving the young woman, but for wanting a divorce and told him to forget all about a divorce, and get busy with his Job of taking back Europe from Hitler, or else! And he did.
          The two Bush Prexies enjoyed illegal sex all around the world and from three (more?) nationalities.  The son learned from the Father who had a Chinese mistress from way back when he was stationed in China, and the son, openly had a Black woman, many others, and finally his wife smiled and sat with him, only for the cameras.
          Reagan’s Hollywood days were the same as those of young men-about-that-town today.  Nancy, his wife and Frank Sinatra were a ‘thing’ and he, along with Jack Benny and George Burns, spent many a pre-presidential time with the ‘weed’, marijuana.  All just good clean preparation for a weekend of sex.
          And there’s a good joke about Calvin and Grace Coolidge and a chicken farm, which is too long, and I am a nice lady, but was laughed (roared) at, and told (not written) by every reporter there.  Yeah, pious as ‘silent’ Cal looked, the two knew the variables of sex well.
          Andrew Jackson got bad publicity for marrying a woman before her divorce was final, and the rumor (?) persists that Harding’s wife put the poison in the fish dish that killed him, after finding out about his 15 year old daughter who was not her daughter.  The speedy burial was performed within a day, as they traveled in the northwest U.S. on their way back from Alaska.
          Get out the books and laugh with me, for I’m tempted to go on and on.  But as I said, I’m a nice lady and just grin when, with today’s instant news, it’s all told in Bold Face, 10 pt. print.  Nothing’s any different than centuries ago, it’s just that today, we know the details almost as it happens.
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Oh, you say this is Thanksgiving?  I know, I know, but the media makes such a shambles of it, that I celebrate it my way, and write of something else.  Makes not a whit of difference and my words are more fun.