"They" said, you must have a hobby when you retire, or you'll go nuts! That may be true for some folks, but not for me. I loooove retirement. I figure if you can't be comfortable with just your thoughts, that you have to be busy busy busy to distract yourself from whatever, then your brain and my brain are wired differently. I say that with all due respect. I can't believe there isn't at least one other person out there that is wired just like me. My "twin" of sorts.
How I would love to meet up with my twin. Retirement would be twice as fun. I can't imagine what it would be like to be totally in sync with another human being. You would never have to worry about saying something wrong. We'd have our own little codes, be it just a certain look or expression, and we'd know exactly what was going on in the other's head. We could carry on whole conversations in public and no one would have a clue. Me and my twin would lay out in the yard at night and watch the night sky and listen to the night sounds. We would try to identify constellations and stars and planets. We would watch for meteor showers, comets, eclipses, northern lights; all things celestial. Then we could discuss space and what might be out there in all those other galaxies. Then we would discuss quantum physics (λ,ξ,π,ψ) you know, all that stuff. At night, the coyotes howl. I've heard what sounded like a whole pack of coyotes howling, and I wondered what was making them howl. My twin would be just as curious as I. My twin and I would not be gourmet cooks, or meticulous housekeepers. Eating straight out of the can would do just as well for us, as dining on fine china. We would play on the computer, or watch TV, or read books. Each day it becomes clearer that our days are numbered, and we would want to learn everything there is to learn before we have to go. We would go dancing, go to symphonic concerts, laugh at stupid things. We would wonder why we didn't take advantage of our youth and learn to speak other languages, learn to play an instrument really well. We would try over and over again to comprehend that space has no boundary, no beginning, no end.
Like looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I will keep looking for my twin. I hope she is looking for me.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
As The Bladder Fills Club
I was just wondering if the "As The Bladder Fills" coffee klatchers in Smith Center, Kansas, are still klatching? Or have they all died by now? They are just a bunch of old gas propelled geezers that have their regular get-together downtown every morning.
If you need any advice, on any subject under the sun, I direct you to the "As The Bladder Fills Club". All told, they must have about four or five centuries of knowledge. If they don't know about it, it never happened.
Posted by otieann at 1:41 AM 0 comments
If you need any advice, on any subject under the sun, I direct you to the "As The Bladder Fills Club". All told, they must have about four or five centuries of knowledge. If they don't know about it, it never happened.
Posted by otieann at 1:41 AM 0 comments
Once Upon A Time
I was born December 19, 1946, on a farm new Burr Oak, Kansas. Burr Oak was just a little bitty town a few miles from the Nebraska border, right smack dab in the center of the state. It could be said I was just as much Nebraskan as I was Kansan because we went to Hastings, Nebraska often. We also attended the Noble/Huntsicker family reunion at Red Cloud many, many times. I didn't know the people, and we Fogos were way out on the family tree, so I did not know anyone too well. But I always had fun and always enjoyed feeling a part of a clan. We also belonged to a Peterson clan over around Marysville, Kansas, and a Fogo clan in Jewell County, Kansas. But time has passed, and the nuclei of these clans have passed on and I don't know if any of them get together anymore or not. We also belonged to a clan that held a reunion in Iowa once. My dad and I went to that one back in the 1970's. I'm not sure what clan that was. Maybe it was the Lamb clan. I have grown apart from my clans, and I miss them.
I have so many wonderful random and fading memories of Burr Oak and the White Rock Creek vicinity. Occasionally a name will pop into my head from out of nowhere and I will remember some little bit of Burr Oak. Today it was Lane Collins. I think this was an old gentlemen that lived across the street north of our Nazarene Church. I never saw him come out of his house and older kids made up these scary stories about him. They scared us younger kids out of our wits. But we couldn't leave it alone, all that spookiness. We'd challenge each other to run across the street and go into Mr. Collins's yard. It was terrifying to me. Some kids made it over, but I don't know if I ever got the nerve to step foot on his place. I don't recall ever seeing him. I thought sure he would eat us alive if he ever caught us. And in my mind he looked like an ogre.
Then the name Chat Pierson popped into my head. Chat was short for Charity Pierson. She lived where the Orville Hafner's later lived. Chat's husband's name was Melvin. He died in 1952 and I don't remember him. The reason I remember Chat is when I was pre-school, she made for me a beautiful white rabbit fur coat, with a matching muff, and a hat. I don't know if it was a gift or if my mom bought it. But it was made out of fur from rabbits the Pierson's raised. One Sunday, after the church service was over, I remember crawling under the pews in the main sanctuary from the back to the front with my pretty white coat on. I reckon it got a little dirty.
Growing up a Nazarene was a unique experience. When I was little there was an older lady by the name of Myra Schneider who lived across the street south from my Grandpa and Grandma Burton. I don't remember her husband but I think his name was Henry. Myra was a true saint. She faithfully attended church and she really would get super blessed. When I was little, it scared me when she'd get blessed. She'd pop up out of her pew and start strolling up and down the aisle yelling, and waving her arms and talking to the Lord I guess. All I knew, I could feel her blessings coming on and would think "Oh no!" I'm positive she once had a song book when she got one of her blessings. Her arms began to wave and the songbook went sailing through the air. That's all I remember. Our services were noisy. The preacher probably thought he wasn't doing his job unless people were shouting out "amen!!". As years went by and the old folks died off, the services got pretty quiet. One of the last of the whoop and holler stories was on Rev. Isham. He got really excited and was doing the Sam Kinison thing and suddenly, his false teeth went flying across the stage. Well, that pretty much killed the movement of the Holy Spirit, so the service was soon dismissed. The preacher took it all in fun. I don't see how God could keep a straight face either.
I will continue to add to this as unusual things come to the surface of my brain. I was told once that every seven years your memory cleans house and gets rid of a lot of irrelevant stuff. I just turned 63 and that is divisible by 7. I guess that means my memory is sorting and dumping. I know I have forgotten things I thought I never would forget. Someone will say something about the past, and I will have forgotten all about it. Your Burr Oak memories are appreciated here.
I have so many wonderful random and fading memories of Burr Oak and the White Rock Creek vicinity. Occasionally a name will pop into my head from out of nowhere and I will remember some little bit of Burr Oak. Today it was Lane Collins. I think this was an old gentlemen that lived across the street north of our Nazarene Church. I never saw him come out of his house and older kids made up these scary stories about him. They scared us younger kids out of our wits. But we couldn't leave it alone, all that spookiness. We'd challenge each other to run across the street and go into Mr. Collins's yard. It was terrifying to me. Some kids made it over, but I don't know if I ever got the nerve to step foot on his place. I don't recall ever seeing him. I thought sure he would eat us alive if he ever caught us. And in my mind he looked like an ogre.
Then the name Chat Pierson popped into my head. Chat was short for Charity Pierson. She lived where the Orville Hafner's later lived. Chat's husband's name was Melvin. He died in 1952 and I don't remember him. The reason I remember Chat is when I was pre-school, she made for me a beautiful white rabbit fur coat, with a matching muff, and a hat. I don't know if it was a gift or if my mom bought it. But it was made out of fur from rabbits the Pierson's raised. One Sunday, after the church service was over, I remember crawling under the pews in the main sanctuary from the back to the front with my pretty white coat on. I reckon it got a little dirty.
Growing up a Nazarene was a unique experience. When I was little there was an older lady by the name of Myra Schneider who lived across the street south from my Grandpa and Grandma Burton. I don't remember her husband but I think his name was Henry. Myra was a true saint. She faithfully attended church and she really would get super blessed. When I was little, it scared me when she'd get blessed. She'd pop up out of her pew and start strolling up and down the aisle yelling, and waving her arms and talking to the Lord I guess. All I knew, I could feel her blessings coming on and would think "Oh no!" I'm positive she once had a song book when she got one of her blessings. Her arms began to wave and the songbook went sailing through the air. That's all I remember. Our services were noisy. The preacher probably thought he wasn't doing his job unless people were shouting out "amen!!". As years went by and the old folks died off, the services got pretty quiet. One of the last of the whoop and holler stories was on Rev. Isham. He got really excited and was doing the Sam Kinison thing and suddenly, his false teeth went flying across the stage. Well, that pretty much killed the movement of the Holy Spirit, so the service was soon dismissed. The preacher took it all in fun. I don't see how God could keep a straight face either.
I will continue to add to this as unusual things come to the surface of my brain. I was told once that every seven years your memory cleans house and gets rid of a lot of irrelevant stuff. I just turned 63 and that is divisible by 7. I guess that means my memory is sorting and dumping. I know I have forgotten things I thought I never would forget. Someone will say something about the past, and I will have forgotten all about it. Your Burr Oak memories are appreciated here.
Monday, January 18, 2010
You sounded crabby last time I saw you!
That's what doc said to me last time I saw him? "I did?" I replied. "I'm sorry" said I. "Well, maybe not crabby (pause) yes, you were crabby" he said.
Maybe I was a little out of sorts that day, but doc was not the cause of it. Obviously he took it personally. I had communicated something to him that was not intended.
There are so many ways to communicate and those on the receiving end are sensitive to anything that is seemingly negative. Other forms of communication intermingled with our words are, facial expression and body language, intonation and attitude, all of which can give incorrect signals to the other person.
If you are having a conflagration with someone, then I guess it doesn't matter what signals you give them. In normal conversation one must be cognizant of all aspects of communication, not just the words. It's possible a potential employer will notice your keen ability to self express.
Maybe I was a little out of sorts that day, but doc was not the cause of it. Obviously he took it personally. I had communicated something to him that was not intended.
There are so many ways to communicate and those on the receiving end are sensitive to anything that is seemingly negative. Other forms of communication intermingled with our words are, facial expression and body language, intonation and attitude, all of which can give incorrect signals to the other person.
If you are having a conflagration with someone, then I guess it doesn't matter what signals you give them. In normal conversation one must be cognizant of all aspects of communication, not just the words. It's possible a potential employer will notice your keen ability to self express.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
