Author: The shade tree writer

Just a small town gal that’s lived a few years.

This old house

My home was built before Oklahoma statehood. So she’s way over 100 years old. She’s had some renovations so from the outside she doesn’t show her age. However, the old rounded root cellar sitting beside her does give her away. I heard the man that built this for himself owned a lumber yard in town at the time. I can only imagine he built his own home using the best lumber, she’s definitely got good bones. When you come inside the 10 ft ceilings are a telltale sign of an older home.

My mom and dad first bought this house when I was in second grade. It was rough looking back then but my mother just fell in love with it. Of course they didn’t do much about insulation back then so winters were pretty chilly in here. The kitchen was very small and it had only one bathroom. It had an upstairs that my brother took over. There was an old water cistern that sat on the back porch with a concrete lid covering it. For some reason it always creeped me out. My daddy was a hard working man and was always working on and around the house so it wasn’t long before she was shaping up. It wasn’t until my senior year that my mom finally got to renovate the tiny kitchen. She extend it out five feet which covered the old cistern, I was glad for that! It was such a nice new kitchen, new cabinets, new 70’s style avocado colored appliances.

A couple of years later though my parents decided they wanted the country life and bought a home outside of town. So they put her up for sale. It was on the market for a while. During that time I was making wedding plans. I wanted to get married in my old home. Since it was empty we sat it all up and had the wedding and reception there.

Sadly it eventually sold. It was strange driving by seeing new people living there. It just didn’t seem right. Kinda like having a ex you still cared deeply for starting a new life with someone else. There is just something about this old house that always seemed to beckon us back to it.

The new owners parted ways and the house went into foreclosure. One evening my mom and dad came to my house and totally surprised me with a key to the house. They generously had put a down payment on it and now she was ours. I was so thrilled to have her back. At this time my own daughter was in second grade when we moved in. It was so fun raising my kids in the same home I was raised in. I’ve done my own renovations and after all these many years of fighting/ waiting on one bathroom, I finally got to add on another bathroom and laundry room. I just can’t imagine living or being happier anywhere else. Yes there may be newer, fancier, more modern places out there but this is home.

Sometimes I’ll go upstairs and sit and look out the window at the town. As I am I wonder if someone else was sitting here looking out the window over a hundred years ago at the then dirt roads, watching houses going up all around. Hearing the train just a short distance away bringing people, supplies and mail to this developing little town. I also wonder if she’ll stand for another hundred years and if someday someone else will be up here sitting at the window, looking out at the town wondering about me.

A cops kid

I was fortunate enough to be born to a father that loved law enforcement. He was a police officer for a short stint before he was accepted into the Oklahoma Highway Patrol. He was assigned to our town of Sayre Oklahoma when I was one year old. From then on he patrolled Beckham county for 26 more years.

The law enforcement life made for an interesting childhood. He wasn’t a 9-5 dad he worked all different shifts and quite often called out in the middle of the night to work accidents. When my brother and I were quite young he took us out to the country and let each of us shoot his service revolver. Once we saw the damage it could do we knew not to ever touch it! So every time he came home he would place his Sam Browne with gun in holster across his chest of drawers. He knew it was safe from his children because he had made certain we weren’t going to touch it.

I was proud of the times my dad would come to school and assist with drug awareness programs. He was a tall very striking man in his uniform and my high school friends would always remark how good looking my daddy was. Others were a little scared of my dad. Can’t say as I blamed them, I was a little too.

He had this patrol car one time that had some sort of short in a wire. When the temperature would drop to a certain degree it would set off his siren. It’s funny now but wasn’t so much to him back then when he had to run out into the freezing cold in the middle of the night to shut it off. The neighbors weren’t so thrilled either.

Halloween’s were always problematic around our house. Young no good punks with a vendetta for prior tickets would invariably come sneaking around for some kind of revenge. The egging of the vehicles wasn’t as bad as the sugar in the gas tank. Eventually we just started hiding all our cars on Halloween.

Having a father in law enforcement wasn’t an easy life. It was hard seeing some people dislike him for what he had to do. They didn’t realize the many times he’d come home for a meal after having worked such a horrific accident that he just didn’t have the stomach for food. Or the times he had to be the bearer of the worst news possible to a family expecting a loved one to return home.

At one time some of the state troopers were called to assist in the McAlister prison riot. Word got back to us some had been killed. I’ll never forget the tears of relief my mom shed when the police officer came to the house and let her know daddy was ok.

Then there was the night when some took vengeance too far. I was awakened in the middle of the night by someone furiously knocking on our front door. I opened the door to see smoke billowing. I was afraid our house was on fire. But it was our wooden carport out back that was ablaze. Along with my brothers car, motorcycle and my dads boat. Someone had chunked a Molotov cocktail in there. It caught the telephone pole on fire as well and cut out phone service for a lot of the town. No one was ever prosecuted for that.

We lived on 4th street which is a part of the towns main drag. I used to get a kick out of watching my dad sit in the dark in our driveway and as soon as someone sped by there he’d go lights and siren. You’d think they’d learn at some point that Trooper Mayer lived there and he might still be in his patrol car.

I’ll never forget a funny time though when I was in Jr. college here in Sayre. I met this guy and we were chatting after class one day. He asked if I’d like to go for a coke. I said, sure. So he followed me home where I left my car and got in with him. We got a coke and cruised around for a while. My dad had came home from work before he brought me back home. So as he was bringing me home he noticed the patrol car in the drive. He said, “oh man the cops are at your house. “ I laughed and said, no that’s just my dad. The guy never asked me out again. I believe he was a bit of a pot head so that explained that.

Being a cops kid I was never invited to the parties the high school kids had. It was ok though. I do remember being out with some friends one evening that were enjoying some marijuana. Boy was I terrified to go home and let my dad get a whiff of me!

Other than the few lawless individuals my dad was/is well respected by many in this community. It seems everyone in this county has a Frank Mayer story to tell about the time he stopped them. And I’m always proud to hear them!

TAH DAH!!

I did it! I created my site and now my very first blog! This feels like home! It’s like all roads have lead to this! You’re probably thinking, wow this chick is easily pleased and sure uses lots of exclamation points. Well you’re right on both points. Not only did I want to blog I need to blog! I’ve got so much bouncing around in my head it’s just gotta go somewhere! I’ve worn out my poor Facebook friends by posting there but now they are free to schooch on over here and read my blatherings if they so desire.

I’m an INFJ which means I can always write what I want to say better than using my mouth. As I understand it the wiring is wired differently. Apparently there’s a short in the wire from my brain to my mouth. I’m fairly intelligent but I sure can’t prove it by talking to you. But I can send you a hell of a text!

I’ve always loved writing. I’ve had diaries from very young to capture all those coming of age adventures. Which also included Girl Scout camp. There I’d meet new girls and camp counselors. At the end of camp we’d all exchange addresses and promise to write. I always held up my end of the bargain. The others, not so much. There was also Falls Creek church camp where as you know I’d find that love of my life in a weeks time. Again we’d exchange addresses. I couldn’t hardly wait to get home to fire off a letter to him. I’d seal it with a S.W.A.K. of course and anxiously await that letter I would get in return. After a couple of weeks I decided to send off another, you know in case the first one got lost in the mail🤷🏻‍♀️

I loved writing in school, term papers were a welcoming challenge. College was even better! I’ve even written proposals. Now I’m not claiming my grammars the best and I love playing with words so ease up there.

I’ve had some encourage me to write and at times I think I can write a good piece. I dearly love making people laugh or stop and think with my words. To me it’s such a great high. Now that I have this outlet there no telling what might appear in writing. I only hope you will enjoy it as much as I enjoy doing it!

If your wondering about the picture that’s my mom with her disabled pet goat Reggie. She has a big heart for animals!