Memoir Monday, March 28, 1960, 1961, & 1962!

Just for fun, the same date three years in a row. The more things change the more they stay the same? Well not totally since in 1960 I was out of school.  

Mar 28, 1960

A busy day for me. Dad and Mom went to Flagstaff to pay a friendly visit to the loan company and I was left to hold the fort. I ironed, did dishes, and made a batch of perfectly frightful cookies. Anyway I had fun and Charlie Mike was a perfect angel. I had to keep control of Janey, Mike Post, Kippy and Marie while doing the chores and later I played ball with them. I guess we’ll have to work again tomorrow. Tonight I am restless. I keep getting restless. The book I am reading describes my feelings rather well. I want to love and be loved. I can see why lots of teenage girls get married. I want somebody; not just somebody but someone special that is RE and BO and “Luke” and many other former fancies all rolled into one. I’ll never find a man like that. Au revoir, Gaye

I'm not sure what those perfectly frightful cookies were! I made cookies a lot about this time and often pretty much made up my own recipes. Usually they came out good enough but maybe this time they did not.  The kids were all neighborhood ones and mostly Charlie Mike's age or even younger. Janey was Janey Jackson, a little Downs Syndrome girl up the street. Kippy and Marie were Santillans, lived in our block and Mike Post was one of Charlie Mike's classmates and kind of friend.  Not sure where he lived actually--around there. It was fun to try to do the chores and keep this bunch out of mischief or getting hurt. RE and BO were a couple of my recent crushes and "Luke" was Luke McCain on The Rifleman, one of my favorite shows. 

Mar 28, 1961

Well, it finally really rained. I was afraid it had forgotten how, by golly. I was able to ride Stella out to the pasture this morning, but it began to rain soon after I got home and kept raining off and on all day. I got my two letters from Wayne today--they were goodies. I spent most of the afternoon writing. It takes me awhile to answer Wayne’s letters.  Gotta be very careful, you know. I went uptown in the rain this afternoon to mail some letters and go to the library. I saw Linda Carpenter and Martha Scearce and talked to them some. By the time we started on the chores it was raining pretty good and it kept up steady all evening. I sewed quite a bit, finishing Charlie Mike’s shirt and stitching up a gray skirt for  myself.  Know something? Wayne is a dead ringer for Jim Garner and I’ve got photos to prove it. Wow. I read over all his letters tonight. It is kinda interesting to see how our ‘friendship’ developed. Just one thing, he reminds me of Blondie--don’t know whether I like that or not. Love ya, Gaye

So it rained. I managed to ride to the pasture before it began. Stella was a nice little mule that we sold within the year as I recall. Wayne was at that point a favored pen pal. He was cute. Did he look like James Garner? Maybe a little bit. At least on paper and the phone--never met face to face--he as quite a flirt. That's probably what reminded me of Blondie, yet another nickname for my nemesis that almost got me into serious trouble the year before. They did not look at all alike  for sure. It must have been a Saturday since I do not mention school and I was back for my junior year at this point.

Mar 28, 1962

I hated to get up this morning because I hadn’t slept well but some things must be done. I took off for school, still rather hungry. The morning passed quickly and uneventfully. Reen for once had a big lunch and I had only a cheese sandwich--boy, I got hungry but I couldn’t eat. We had an assembly this afternoon in which a tape recording of a speech about “brainwashing” was played. It made a lot of sense. I got letters from Wayne and Jose today. I can’t answer them just yet though. I did the home chores and when Dad got back from Prescott we drove out to the pasture and did those chores. I drove all the way home. Viva las ruedas. Dad helped me a little but I drove anyway. In a few weeks I’ll learn how to do it better. I spent the evening working on my paper. I must or I’ll never get it done. Curses on term papers…but they are necessary…I guess. It is now nearly 10:00 pm. My face aches like it’s got 10,000 fiends in it. My weary eyes are heavy and I guess I must go. Lawyer Boyle has been desperately ill--how inconvenient of him--but maybe he can do something before long. Excuse my dreadful writing tonight. I’m in a state.

And now in the last semester, a bit more serious than I had been the previous years I think. I was just starting to learn to drive. This time I was with Dad though actually Mom drove with me a lot more than he did and she was usually patient as I ground gears and jerked. Yes, it was a stick shift in a Ford F150 pickup. I didn't drive an automatic for quite awhile as we did not have one. Term paper time, probably the first one of two I did for English. And I actually enjoyed research and  writing. That stood me in good stead when I eventually went off to college..Why I could not eat and my face ached, I really do not recall. Possible an abscessed tooth--that happened to me a few times--or maybe fever blisters, which I seemed to get a lot. Or it could have been an accident like getting hit with the toggle of a barbwire gate...ouchy! Mr Boyle was an attorney Dad had retained to work on some legal issues--I ignored that mess all I could and developed a huge dislike for the whole idea. 

What a bunch of boring crap!! Well, life tends to be like that. Pictures? Not many to even consider right here. Okay, all five of us, in the fall of 1959--Alex was about 6 months old. Do not think it was any major occasion but Grandma was there to visit from Kentucky I think. Then us three kids on the truck--that would be the one I was learning to drive, probably about summer1962. And Wayne Wylder, pen pal with slight resemblance to James Garner? (very slight LOL.)

Memoir Monday, March 21, 1962

 I decided to stick with the 58-62 block thru the end of May. After that I will jump ahead into  the 1962-66 period. That was the real cowboy girl time or as I name it in my semi formal memoir book effort, My Four Year Sentence. I kind of sold myself into indentured servitude and much of that time was not pretty. I learned a lot and basically the person I still am was fired and fixed by the effects of those days. During the teens I think few of us are 'finished'; it takes moving into the adult world in one way or another to learn who we are meant to be.

March 21, 1962

Another day--they go on and on one after another, one like another. I got up and went to school. I spent my study hall reading about Shelley, Keats and Byron. They were a weird bunch of characters. The other classes were ok. I didn’t do very well with my oils today. Oh well, no me importa. No mail for me. Still no letter from Jose. No me importa. I can say it but do I mean it? Will someone someday publish my poems and letters and write papers about me? An odd thought that. But no, I don’t think so. But then who can say. Yo no se. There is much that I don’t know. I am lonely tonight and sad for some reason. Maybe I am just tired. I know I am tired of school, and all the silly people. 

The dim light at the end of the long, often dark tunnel of school was becoming visible. It still seemed a distant dream  and perhaps unattainable but day by day, like identical beads on a long cord, I went through it.

For my first senior term paper in English, I chose to write about three poets that rather caught my fancy. I found it energizing to do comparisons and contrasts and used that ploy often in essays and other academic writing. LOL, 'weird' was almost too mild for those three guys! They were definitely 'bohemian' in their life styles, politics and personas. Byron perhaps the most flamboyant but all three way out of step with their peers. That aspect appealed to me also.

Jose was at that time my favorite pen pal and he seemed to go on many trips and disappear for several weeks. I'd get perturbed not hearing from him and sometimes peeved but would always forgive him when another of his very long, incense scented and multi-colored letters showed up. I still wonder if the persona that appeared in those letters was real or a total fiction. One never knows, even as the profiles and messages from today's on-line dating sites may or may not be true. That being said, one can 'know' a person for  a long time only to suddenly see them in a different way and learn things that are very disturbing. Any relationship is a risk.

When I was nineteen and still a student I did have dreams or maybe delusions of becoming 'famous' and even perhaps rich. Like many dreams those faded with time and the reality of life. Today I am marginally infamous perhaps and maybe a few hundred people have read my poetry, fiction and or blog posts  but I never even got close to the 'rich'. Truthfully I have lived on the edge of poverty all my days and at times well into that state. 

For some reason I said nothing about the weather that day nor about my ubiquitous 'chores' and the animals. Mostly both were such a big part of my day to day life. And other than Jose I did not mention any 'handsome heroes' or even 'former fancies'. Still, my 'romance addiction' was a constant part of my thoughts and inspiration for many wishes and dreams.  It took many decades to finally "get clean" and let that all go. My current addiction may be nostalgia to some degree and a few fairly passionate interests that have followed me for most of the days and years between then and now with a few added..

Just a couple of random photos from about that time so the bare words are not too dull. The first was that winter and one of several taken at the same time. Next I am with my friend Evelyn  Morales (then Graves) and we were shortly going to go riding. She had borrowed a pair of my levis (we called all blue jeans levis in that era) since she did not wear them. This was probably a year or two earlier. We were sitting on the saw horse which saw a lot of use making long wood into stove length to heat the house. And last, working down at the land we had acquired below Bridgeport on the west bank of the Verde. We had surveyed it and laid out the corners and were starting to mark the boundaries with posts, preparatory to fencing--which was never actually finished. (Don't ask, long sad tale)

Memoir Monday, March 14, 1959

Another visit way back, all the way to 1959. Hard to believe it has been that long! Sixty plus years-yikes!

March 14, 1959

Aye de mi! Que dia. I got off to a nice start anyway. I fixed breakfast for  Mom as a surprise. About 9:30 I saddled Tina and took off for Cottonwood. I looked all around the pasture and no mules so I got the mail and hurried home. Dad had just gotten back and Bert, Nellie, Tony and three other horses were down at the corrals. Dad notified Mickle who told Betty Andrews and her husband to come over and get their two. Betty’s little “Cookie” looks like Tina used to.  Dodie Mickle rode old Prince. I led Nellie on Tina, Betty’s man rode Tony and led a little sorrel and old Bert went his merry way.  We got them all back in and I loped Tina home. I think Betty is really nice. Dodie’s all right.   Betty’s husband is kind of nice too. Not much later we heard a small plane. Yes, it was Cameron. He is coming down tomorrow afternoon. Of course Dad had to tell us all about his adventures. He’d seen the rodeo parade and lots of stuff on TV. He said Kelo dropped his gun and fell off his horse and that "26 Men" is decidedly amateurish. On the whole, however, the westerns are improving. They have better writers. “Wyatt Earp”, “Rifleman”, “Sheriff of Cochise” etc are good. From what he said about the doctors, we’re getting quite a reputation. It is nice to be famous even if you are poor. We’ll get there yet, by gumbo. Boy this was some day. In my words “Some days it doesn’t pay to get up and other days it doesn’t pay to stay in bed.” This was one of the latter. I guess tomorrow will be a busy day  too. Real busy. If that saying “there’s no rest for the wicked” is true I must be plumb bad. Well I guess that’s enough for today. Don’t try to tell me I don’t have any adventures. I’m going to be “technical advisor” for the westerns when I grow up. Adios, Gaye

At this point we were edging into the mule business having sold five to Ralph Cameron who had the ride concession at the Rainbow Bridge and a guest ranch of sorts there. (The geographical, not the mythical one!) Since we had stock scattered around we had to collect them for the soon-to-happen sale and departure. (Al)Bert and Nellie were two of those that were going. Tony was my former little Navajo pony who had been traded to Charley Bryant for a mule and I think sold by him. I am not sure who owned the horse at this time.We did take him back later and sold him to the Verde Valley School's stable manager.

Dodie Mickle was a classmate at Mingus  and we had pastured some animals at her family's place on the outskirts of Cottonwood. I don't recall riding with her any other time nor other contact with the Andrews but that does not mean neither happened. Anyway we got the critters back that day.

I think Dad had just gotten home from the VA Hospital at Whipple outside of Prescott. Since Kelo Henderson was one of my current idols he had to make some snide and snarky remarks. I seriously doubt Kelo either dropped his gun or fell of his horse in a parade or on a regular TV show. Dad was never above resorting to fiction when he wanted to establish a point or lay shade on someone. By this stage I had given up much of my old hero-worship and respect for him that I had as a child and a grade school student when he taught at Camp Wood and Willard. Eventually that totally died and we were very much at odds for many years.

Anyway Mr Cameron showed up in his plane (I think he had a pilot's license) and I knew the next day would be round-up time to get all five mules and put them in the Santa Fe stockyard corral just south of Clarkdale where they'd be picked up. That actually happened two days later.

"Tech advisor" for the westerns, eh? Well, a good dream anyway and one that I could probably have done when it came to the equines and a lot of the historical facts because those were both passions of mine. When I was interested in something I tended to really dig in and learn all I could.about it. I read constantly and not only novels.That stood me in good stead through high school and college and even since then.

Photos: Chuck Connors of The Rifleman and Kelo Henderson of 26 Men.  Albert--the big ugly mule who never settled down well. Tony or Tonalea the little Navajo pony I had for awhile. The first is Charley Bryant leading Albert and me on Tony crossing the Verde River just down from the bridge at Clarkdale. Next I was leading Albert with a pack saddle in Mescal Canyon, just south of Jerome.  Then Kelo and Chuck, fan pix I had collected.

Memoir Monday, March 7, 1960

This was in the spring of the year I was out of school, "the Mule Year" as I call it. This nine or ten  months were my first real stint in the cowboy girl life. There was a lot of work involved--about 24/7/365.  I did love the animals and did not mind the work as long as things went along with no huge upheavals--but there were too many of them. I had a hard-to-please boss!

Mar 7, 1960

Aren’t we always busy though? This morning we went over to Coon’s and got the rest of our hay. We got sixty one bales. On the way back we stopped to see Queen’s filly. Her name is Countess Maritza and I will call her Ritzi for short. She really is a beautiful little thing, so dainty. Dad thinks she is an Arabian. She does have an Arabian head. Queen was very quiet and even let us pat her. We were exhausted by the time we’d unloaded all the hay and done the chores. We managed to pull ourselves together enough to go out to the pasture and give Bluie a workout with the throwing harness. I guess we’ll ride him tomorrow. I’m almost finished The River Road by Frances Parkinson Keyes. It’s a very good book and not one you can read in a couple of hours. A week from tomorrow was the day I met Buster. I wish I’d see him again. Adios, Gaye 

The Coon family had a ranch or farm up the river from Clarkdale. We bought hay from them at times and also pastured some animals there. At this time, we had several mules in various stages of getting trained out there and Queen or Queenie was kind of the bell mare for them. She had come with one of the several batches of mules Dad had bought from a dealer in Kansas named Willis Grumbein. We did not know for awhile that she was carrying a foal when she came to us but the pregnancy became obvious over time. She delivered a few days before this and her baby was a lovely surprise. No, I do not think the foal was Arabian. Queenie was clearly a grade (non-purebred and unregistered) Quarter Horse and I expect she had been bred to a Quarter Horse. Ritzi had a delicate head but developed typical Quarter Horse muscle as she matured.

Blue or Bluie was one of the mules we were working on. The throwing harness was a rig to immobilize the animal without really hurting them and let them get used to be touched and handled. He was not a bad mule and trained well. Sadly, he dislocated a hip somehow and we never could get it totally fixed so he would be sound. He was one that eventually went back to Grumbein's. I expect he was probably put down after a time but never knew. 

Buster was the foreman for a guy who had bought several mules from us the preceding year and he became one of my "handsome heroes" and a serious crush for some time. I always hoped to meet him again but that never happened.

Although I worked outside most of most days,I did not lose my reading habit and went up to the library almost every week to get a few books to amuse myself. I loved historical novels and 'westerns' best and of course much preferred books that had a love story woven into the plot.

This was just a pretty typical day at that time. It must have gone fairly smoothly with no major kerfuffles or catastrophes since my tone was pretty calm and stable.

A few photos-not too exciting! My effort at a portrait of "Buster". Mom was feeding Ritzi some grain--about a year old at that time.Little mule Ruby at the side.  A view down looking at the corral area at the pasture behind Tuzigoot and south of Tavasci's place. The cowboy girl herself; I made the shirt and was quite pleased with it. I started with a small man's shirt pattern and altered it to a more feminine fit and then experimented with yokes, sleeves and other style features.I made dozens of shirts over the years!

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Monday Memoir, Feb 28, 1961

 Still stuck in high school. This was not really a fun year. Oh well. 

Feb 28, 1961

Today was a pretty day but for some reason a rather trying day for me. School wasn’t bad. My classes passed quickly and I spent most of my spare time with Maureen. That Donna Osborne makes me so damn mad. One of these days I’ll knock her teeth down her throat! That damn cat.  I didn’t get any letters today. As usual I rode Tina out to the pasture. Everything was okay. While I was coming home I saw a car wreck. It was awful. These Mexicans didn’t make the curve above the lake. The Walkers got there first, so after I saw there was nothing I could do, I went home. It was awful and it made me sick. So sick I did not enjoy my spaghetti dinner much. I did my chem. problems. Probably did a poor job, too. I was so tired. I don’t feel good. I’ve got to go to bed. I’ve stayed up too late already. Today just wasn’t a good day. See, I can’t even write straight. I’m scared, I guess. Bye, Gaye

At this point I had just begun to become friends with Maureen Jewell who was new to the school that semester. She was into cowboys and horses too and we hit it off and became close friends for quite awhile.  Sadly I lost track of her in the late 60s and have never found her again--maybe on FB but a message got no response. 

I am not sure how I got crosswise with Donna Osborne but she was (I thought) riding my ass with no reason in PE and I was about ready to do a mule treatment on her. Get the 2x4 before talking nice. I finally got to where I would just laugh at her snark as if it were hilarious and that kind of spoiled the fun, I guess. No fights ever took place. I really did not believe in fighting. Bashing a mouthy,crude guy over the head with my biggest book does not count!

I dimly recall that wreck I saw and it was pretty ugly if memory serves. I'm not sure if  anyone was killed or not but it was bad. Perhaps a bit gory so that red spaghetti sauce did not look appetizing. That gravel road around the lake had some tight curves and the loose gravel could be very tricky. If you started to lose control, that's all she wrote--you were going to flip or roll. Later I drove that road fairly often but kept my speed down and never had any problems. 

My dear Tina was now five years old and well fixed in  her place as my favorite. There were few things she would not do and do well and I had long outgrown being a little intimidated because she was very energetic and also pretty tall. 

Just another ordinary day in the life of the cowboy girl/high school junior who often felt she existed in two separate worlds. Was it a privilege or a curse? I often wondered; maybe a weird combination of both.There is still a lot of both aspects in me today and especially in my writing. I did grow up in "interesting" circumstances and maybe that prepared me for the very complicated world we live in today.

A few photos. Maureen a year later, May 1962. The only photo I have of her. Then Tina, probably a year or two later but out at the pasture corrals where I had ridden her this day. Finally a panorama paste-up from three snapshots of Peck's Lake and the road around it. Where the accident happened would be far in the background .

Monday Memoir, Feb 21, 1961

Junior year at Mingus. Basically just more of the same. I didn't really 'hate'  school but often was bored and tired of it!

Feb 21, 1961

What a gloomy day this was. I got up and dressed though Mom said I could stay home in bed if I wished. I should have taken her up on that. School went rather quickly today, thank goodness. I wrote my application letter to ASU during study hall and read “Heart of the Desert.” It was a little corny and old fashioned but a nice book anyway. In art I splashed around with tempera paint and splashed some on my skirt. Thankfully it is washable. Boy was I ever glad when the final bell rang. I got a letter from Wayne. I’d almost given up on him but he decided he didn’t want to lose me I guess. After reading HofTD I didn’t feel very close to him and so it was rather hard for me to write to him, but I did. We had to do the chores via the pickup because of the weather. I felt rather ill and thought I might be getting Chicken Pox because I had a funny lump on my wrist but I later discarded the idea. I also began a letter to Jose. Mom finished typing my ASU application and we started talking. We talked until 11:30 and by then were very cold and tired. So much for today.

Not quite spring and the kind of weather that is still common in this transitional season where nice and dismal days mix and match. It sounds like this one was rainy. From the overall tone, I think maybe Dad was not there--possibly in the VA hospital over at Fort Whipple by Prescott. How we did the morning chores at the pasture I do not know. It seems odd that I could have stayed in bed. The animals had to be fed and tended twice every day, regardless.

I know at this time NAU was still ASC (Arizona State College) and ASU should have been Tempe. I do not recall that I ever applied to go there; well maybe as I know some of us did take a field trip down with Mrs Fitzgerald along in this general time period. So I am a bit vague here. I always intended to go to Flagstaff or the new college that opened in Prescott a bit later though.

The Heart of the Desert was basically a "romance" (the genre had not yet been named and identified so it was just "a novel") The author was Honore Willsie Morrow who was one of my more favored authors though out of date even then. I re-read several of her books as e-books not long ago and was a bit surprised how issues of the late 1800s like she wrote about are echoed or parallel some of our modern ones. History repeats itself perhaps 

I was still writing to Wayne, the rodeo cowboy from Washington whose place on my scale of 'special' pen pals shifted up and down fairly often. Right here on a 1-10, he was perhaps about a 6. Another pen pal, Jose, was much more relevant to the theme and style of that book, at least the person I believed him to be. That gives some context to my mention of writing letters to them both.

Did Charlie  Mike have chicken pox about this time? It seems like he may have. He actually had them twice--first as a grammar school student and then as an adult in 1973 when he was moving to Colorado with my husband, kids and me having moved in with us in Bisbee for awhile that summer. That time he was one sick puppy, too. I never had them that I know of but have had shingles which indicates I must have--so it may have been a very mild case.  I was sick a lot thru school though, always having a cold or rhinovirus, tonsillitis or strep throat.  

For Mom and me to talk that way hints that Dad was not home.  It wasn't too usual. At this point we were not close in a lot of ways--probably due to the emotional incest thing, I feel Dad played us against each other too much  so we tended to be competitive or almost adversaries to some degree. I also had mostly stopped confiding in her because things I said in confidence, or so I thought and intended, often came back to bite me in lectures and comments which proved she had told it all to Dad. Looking back I find that all sad because I therefore had almost nobody I could trust and openly discuss my problems with. I became very controlled and insular in most ways.

No, I would not go back and relive those later teenage years for all the gold in Africa and the jade in China! I am sure I brought a lot of it on myself but I was rarely happy and carefree. The next year during my final semester, life was mostly better but still not ideal. I suspect although most of my illnesses were not truly psychosomatic, my usual state of mind weakened my immune system so every bug that came along dug in on me. 

Pictures? I can't think of a one although too much plain text is dull! Bear with me this time, okay? Maybe I will just stick in a sunset! This is one from my friend Julie Carter that has an iconic feel. Contrary to most it also feels a bit melancholy to me.

Monday Memoir, Feb 14, 1062

 Well--my last spring in school. As I may have said before, those few months were some of the easiest and most enjoyable of my teen years. No, I did not go to the prom or banquet or a lot of other things I might have wanted to do, but  the chores may have eased just a bit--Mom helped me a little more than she had and some other issues were distracting Dad so he was not on my case all the time about what was or wasn't done and how things were done. And Charlie Mike was getting older and more responsible and willing to help me. I think very quietly Mom did try to make this time as good for me as possible and I deeply appreciate that..

Feb 14, 1962, Wed

Yes, I got Valentines. Not many but enough shall we say?  School was okay. ‘Reen was absent. I wonder why I’m not the only one who gets to quit writing themes but I missed one more than anyone else. We had an assembly celebrating Arizona’s 50^th year of statehood. In art I matted one each of ‘Reen’s and my pictures to send in to an art show. I got in the mail Jose’s second letter, a lovely old fashioned Valentine and then six lovely red roses by a florist! The latter I concealed in my ‘house’ (the shed in the shop yard) so I would not have to answer any embarrassing questions. They are now just a Valentine from an “anonymous admirer”!! They are lovely though. I rode Annie and led Prez for about half an hour. She really is lame in her right forefoot. We drove out o the pasture and doctored Ritzi’s leg. She is getting much better. I’m awfully glad because I as awfully worried about her. This evening I have not done much--eat peanut butter cookies, read and re-read Jose’s letter, eat an orange etc. Today has been pretty good for me. I’m afraid my luck will break pretty soon though. I can’t expect every day to be good. At least I haven’t had a headache for the past two days. It is 9:15 now  so I guess I will get ready to take a midweek bath. I’m going to be cleaner from now on. It is a girl’s duty to keep herself neat and tidy.  Time to say adios.

Mostly Valentine's Day had not been a big deal to me for ages. There were quite a few times I got no Valentines at all and wasn't seriously grieved by that. Right at that time,  I was in the  most intense or connected phase with Jose, the Pen Pal in Utah. To get real florist flowers was quite amazing! That did not happen again for a very long time!

To clarify, we rented two houses  in lower Clarkdale side by side. We lived in one and the other was storage, a kind of office, Dad's wood workshop, a photo darkroom in the kitchen and so on. We called it the "shop house. " It had one of the typical metal sheds in the back yard, which had a wooden half-wall dividing it and wooden floor and probably originally used for coal? . We used the one behind the residence house for a tack room. Anyway the one I mention was just junk storage and Charlie Mike and I kind of appropriated it for our purposes. It was a safe place for my flowers which I knew would cause a huge kerfuffle if they were seen!!  They kept well in the coolness there too. I wish I had a photo--it was a unique  thing in my life!

Of  course I still rode at least some almost daily and the critters had to be fed, cleaned up after and often one or more doctored.  I've mentioned Ritzi before. She was pretty but had a wild streak to some degree and was prone to injuries and sore feet. I'm not sure what had happened this time but recall she had a nasty wire cut on one leg. It probably got infected but was too cold at this time for screw worms. A certain kind of fly lays eggs in wounds and the larva then eat the damaged flesh; that is okay but don't leave them there too long! There is a medicine to wash them out.

That semester I was not the least worried about grades. I had no hard subjects and could almost count on 1s in my main classes--except Mr Doubek in Chorus. I guess he did not like me because I only got a 1 the final six weeks after it had been announced I was going to be Valedictorian! I have no clue what he held against me, really. I did not normally have too much homework unless I was working in a term paper or special project so I goofed off some evenings.

I have to giggle about the "girl's duty." Those old houses had an added on shower on the back porch which had no heat and got little use in cold weather. We bathed the old farm way in a laundry tub or the kitchen sink. That seems very weird and primitive now! I have really appreciated 'normal' bathrooms the rest of my life. I am so spoiled now I use an electric heater in mine so I never have to step out of the shower into any chill at all! Anyway keeping clean was a bit more of a challenge under those conditions.

I was so used to 'bad' days or at least unhappy, depressing or very dull ones so I always feared that a run of nice ones was not going to last and dreaded return to the "normal'' get-through-this-however-I- can type.  Maybe I was too hard to please? I once wrote a poem about "determined to be dolorous," and in some ways I think I was. 

Again not much in the photo area and probably repetitious. So, me that spring, in one of my favorite outfits. I had my hair real long and liked it. Next Jose with some of his fencing students.  He was an instructor at BYU on several active/skill  type things. Then mule Annie up in Mescal Canyon; she was good and reliable and a very ordinary looking mule--brownish black with no markings. And last Prez, another mule. He was more tan-brown and a big stout and steady ride. I used them both a lot and was very fond of them both.