Kay Buena's Blog

This story is an intro into a section of writings about my youth. “Youth” is a relative issue. I used to think that ‘every one over 30 was suspected (to whom? of what? who knows?) or that there were those who were truly suspicious, or I was convinced of that when I was quite young.But that was way back then when the older could not be trusted, even though now that would include me. Though, even now  with this cliched tip-toe amongst it’s egg shells of a concept; It’s a sad thought that our elders cannot be trusted, though even now after this reexamined cliche, it is quite true. There are those out there even among my own family members who are quite capable of deliberately blaming their own failures on others, or someone weaker than they are — just because they can. This is something I never realized, until recently – when that happened to me.

I remember Herbert Sauer, God rest his soul, who used to say, “you are not a senior citizen until you are ninety years old.” I’m not quite there yet, but I can sure see that roar of time rushing as I relate to the sound of the ticking clock, being sore in nearly every place in my body when I awaken each morning.

”Being Young” is an approach to life, not merely a certain state which is in comparison to old age. Keeping your mind open, without extreme preconceived notions seems to be the key to a long happy life…this may be a contrast to that sort of selfish, dangerous or malicious way of living, where some who see ‘differently’, and their mind reads out ’handicapped’ or “mentally challenged”; but there comes a point when a baby boomer realizes after a certain while he or she deserves an opinion through sheer life experience, if not education. And then there is the point when we are one of many in the same basket who celebrate the fact that we can be considered eccentric not insane. We are the functioning members of American society and we do not enjoy our so called fun being chastised for our mere existence, or so the bullys puff up their feathers for their own so called fun of being cruel. Is it better to be one who lives his or her lives in constant fear? What might “be smart” in some ways, is not always the best way to live. To be protected completely, or deliberately in pain is simply a state of ignorance, even stupidity if medical technology has advanced enough to relieve most of the pain and fear but then chooses to live in anger and repressed frustration and hatred. What a waste of time. That leaves the geezer a life that is miserable, filled with eternal guilt, and repressed or constant expressed or repressed anger to say nothing of immobility. Who needs that? Even if a person is innocent of vile intent, if you are percieved as different you tend to act as you are defined by others.This is something you must fight with all your hopes and dreams with which you are left, as you will be pigion holed in a label you do not deserve. Sometimes a true investigation of one’s own ethics and integrity is in order. It is said the unexamined life is not worth living. But cannot we get lost in our own self examination, ending up taking pictures and seeing to other peoples’ comfort and ideas, or spending our time convincing ourselves we have no power to be happy, instead of living our own lives as best we can.

But we must be able to enjoy our lives as well as simply live them. Laughter can still rate a close second in pain relief. Just be sure you are laughing with someone and not at someone. There is a difference. To keep the brain inspired is as important as keeping the body moving. Finding something to do with our time that is goal oriented can be so very rewarding. Like writing a Blog, or keeping a journal (the kind that are “low teck”, which require pencils and tablets are always good). Keeping our memories private and personal are important to ourselves as well as to future generations, just as oral History is as important as anything read in a book…sometimes more. Some people prefere to play serious games (not evil mind games) but Chess and Bridge and Poker can be extremely entertaining and fill up the time, just as writing on this computer can suck up the time. Play a really good game on your computer. The important thing is to enjoy your self what ever your age, and to experience laughter, victory and achievement, which is now possible even if I was in a wheel chair, that I thankfully I am not. I am incouraged that people still read my writings and that I have some new songs I have written (oh by the way all of the MP3′s were composed and the lyric’s written by Caroline Abbitt Sauer not an unknown Artist), my husband played bass, harmonica and sometimes mandolin and back up vocals, but the production was designed by me too. We’re missing our Golden years, it’s not too late to get them back; we don’t need to” buy the stairway to heaven”, it’s already been done. Take it with some humour, I’m not the only old lady with this problem. It is this quality time Not spent together that fades away a loving relationship. That and those suspicious duplicitous idiots who think they’ve got it made with their own singularly religious choices, and who promote the reality that sticks and stones don’t break your hearts. Learn to laugh. You used to know how.

Ever, Caroline Abbitt Sauer aka Kay Buena

P.S. Listen, then try to have empathy, some times that makes a world of difference for a lasting and loving relationship.

(This is a simple reality check: does your printer or monitor see this type face as grey on white? If you don’t percieve grey, you need to start thinking. yes it’s there this time. No Black and white.)

Next post: Foxie & Betty Jane join Riker to defeat the marauding Texas fire ants outside my house.

I’m doing my Christmas Shopping early this year. I’m getting everyone I know a pair of sox with shoes printed on them. This is to sell over the Internet on a big scale basis; wait; Oh no…news flash. It’s been done.  really?

Then, I don’t have to do that yet. What a relief. I want to tell you all a story about when I was a child, that does not involve any infernal or internal plot twists or horrible, idiotic threats of going public on these stupid stories or ideas of mine. Cause, there comes a time when you have got to give that up: And just start to verbally describe the situation; now is a good time to start.

I was on a road trip with my family, in our 1952 Ford Station wagon, that had not yet turned to dust, from the Salt Spray, or anything: Let’s say I was 10. That’s a good age. I was scheduled to go into ‘town’ with my mother and my infamous and flamboyant Aunt Caroline, and view some big town exclusive, comparatively so, shopping situations, and perhaps attend the “Dime store”, which was always my favorite place. It was my destiny and became the reason to exist, because in those days there were many an event, in which my existence was not a given. And although that does sound like a childish exaggeration, this particular year was a busy one for my family,a year in which I contracted a near death case of what turned out to be infectious Hepatitis,after having been diagnosed as having the flu. And we were stationed at a very dangerous base, where the early testing of military ICBM’s (many often had to be destroyed as they headed back our way failing to reach near orbital distance.) This sort of a childhood makes for a room full of sarcastic people, determined but frustrated by the slow process needed for a successful launch.  These people were often at home with  the slow, steady, & beautifully-planned trial and error that is the basis of the scientific developmental process, but this was not really ever understood by a child, and yet watching things progress and change is probably what prepared me for some of the hard hits I took as an adult and beyond. But back to our road trip.

So we three females of our family then, (sans my grandmother who was doing something worth while like reading a book, or making a floral display for the living room table. She really was a smart lady. Also, she knew when to bow out and let those who needed the exercise take to the streets) . My Aunt drove her new Cadillac, with her white gloves on and a small hat with a veil to keep the sun from her face, I guess it had a purpose (however, in Florida we were much more casually dressed and in general took on a more low profile of a fashion image, but even so, at that time, I thought fashion wise both fancy upper-class ladies were putting on the “dog” ( as we would have said here in the south) and the whole car load seemed a tad of a study in old fashioned snobbery—but that is just me and what do I know about formal shopping trips anyway?) However, I had white kid gloves that my father got from one of the islands down range, which I had brought with me, just in case.  They were brand new and clean and wrapped in tissue paper to wear, a light blue summer dress with a Sailor collar, as nothing was funnier to the Air Force Kid’s than to dress up like Sailors. No offense meant, yawl, it was just the way it was. It was a “female women of the opposite sex type of situation”, as my Dad in his prime used to call such activities, and we were visiting Texas from Florida where we lived, So we female women hit the road for our adventure, while my brother and cousin, were playing chess or some such pointless activity (ha.), and my Dad and my Uncle were working on some building project they cooked up and would not let me be involved in any way, shape, or form.

So,we ladies three went as though headed for Europe, we three models of  relatively the same person, in alternate time zones, one small, one medium and one medium Texan.

That would be my Aunt. She was my God Mother and I Loved her dearly and still do, even though she has matriculated into the next world. My mother struggled with perfection all of her life and it always was a horrible problem to the rest of the family. I never for one minute thought it was or would be a problem for me, a problem that I would have to face later in my life, however having found myself lacking in many a personal skill as the years went by, I realise I should have paid close attention to her quest with great concentration, and learned to understand her way of thinking much more that I did. I might have avoided allot of pain and learned to gain the trust and respect of the rest of my family, instead of just “doing what I thought was my job”, of going to school, studying such an ‘out there’ subject” as art forms, and instead paid more intention to the unique experience of getting to be one of the few children of a father involved in an incredible effort like man’s introduction to space travel. Many friends and acquaintances were children of other important developers of this intricate and complex world that was that group of families always changing, and always having to take things in with a low profile and incredible cool., But, I do not get that 2nd chance.  No one did.  And that’s a direct hit from the arm chair umpire, here in the middle of the night, a completely different person now, as though that never happened, and I have reached the time when my body seems too fragile to me tonight, at that surly point when you know you have to strain just to keep up with breathing and you simply want to get this done with, and out of one’s mind, so it becomes something I can continue to live with.Take me back to that back seat.

I rode alone in the back seat, and my mother was in the passenger side, I noticed how Spanish and exotic and beautiful she looked that day and how very elegant she was then. And my Aunt drove on,she too was so gorgeous with such a confidant attitude through the streets of this strange, hot, town in Texas, back then.  It seemed very visually interesting if not too well structured  of a small town,  Austin, TX., the summer of 1957 and the drone of the road sang with the whistling of my slightly opened back window so as to breathe in the fresh air, both sisters smoked like factories in the north.  We were on the road for a while curving with the small country roads, when, out of my own self conscious meditation or Golden silence came what was a heretofore unheard of voice from the front seat, exclaiming  the word “Shit!” loud as a Bus horn, or a small explosion. I looked to see what accidental problem we met, but nothing seemed wrong to me. My aunt, had simply made a wrong turn or something like that, as she and her sister (also my mother) conversed at 75 words a minute in a 40 words a minute zone. And I had been so pampered and sheltered from such words back in that time as to be highly amused and totally entertained by the concept of such a lady looking so fancy and acting so sophisticated uttering a gutter word with such little regard. It was not that big of a deal, but you could tell these two were in the mist of some sort of sibling rivalry for Alpha status, or some such.      However, till this day I think of how I smiled back at my God mother, Aunt Caroline back then as I met her eyes in the rear view  mirror from the back seat of that car, and how in that secretly shared moment when she checked my expression, we instantly recognized how important we would be to each other in the future. Which is how I always felt about my inclusion in family drill situations, and she always checked that I wasn’t being ignored or mistreated, which she did until the day she died…

My hands hurt. Can you believe that? I am very clearly not ten years old anymore. I really need to trust my husband to fix this tribute to my dear God Mother, may she rest in Peace; and here in Texas, it is peach season. It’s a good chance that I will do that too one of these days. Just not too soon.

As Always, Kay Buena aka Caroline Abbitt Sauer,