Spoiled Rotten

 

No. We don't have to live in a palace like this to be spoiled... and spoiled isn't really the right word. We, in the United States particularly, take so much for granted. We do not recognize the bounty of our lives. We don't understand the concept of enough.

We can just be working class citizens thinking we are just getting by. We think this because we look at the 1%, or the four bedroom houses in exclusive areas to those who are employed, to those who own their homes.

And it is a struggle. The expenses of living here, especially as regards housing, are numerous. We want to give our children some of what they see that other children have.

However most of us have running water. We can take showers with hot water. We don't have to boil our water or walk for miles to get it. So many in the world do not have this luxury. 

Many are thankful just to be able to get clean water. Most of us take this for granted.

We don't have to leave the United States to find people who have learned that life can change in a moment and all our needs are suddenly out of reach.

it's a hard awakening.

I had such an awakening after Hurricane Micheal entered our house with bay water.

But we were fortunate to have help immediately. Electricity was slow but the water in our house was restored quickly. We think of water for drinking, but water is really important for cleaning. We were able to clean floors and walls and our outside porch where we lived for a couple of months. 

We were able to purchase cleaning supplies (those of us who still had income and the means). For others, the generosity of people from near and far brought them to us. (i must mention UMCOR who prepares these things for disasters before they even happen).

The military came in with bottled water and MREs.

Organizations such as Good Samaritan and individuals came with chainsaws and tarps to clear roads and cover roofs.

We were in need but others supplied us in our need. Others cared that we were suffering. 

As I write, firefighters are working night and day to contain the wildfire that is destroying the beautiful mountains and coast of Los Angeles.

I hiked those mountains less than a year ago and can contest to their beauty.

Going up in smoke.

We take government help in times of crisis for granted. 

We lost our heat on Christmas Eve when a power pole was hit by a motorist and blew out an essential part of our heating system. Several days later a cold spell hit sunny Florida. Our house is now a consistent 52, sometimes higher, but mostly low 50s.

 It feels cold. We're not used to it, but what we are is uncomfortable. We even have a space heater that can bring a room to almost 60. If our rooms were smaller, it would be higher.

But my mind goes to those in the mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee where people are overjoyed to have a winterized camper in this cold front. I think of those poor people in Gaza who have moved from place to place to escape bombs and have little to nothing to keep themselves (and their children!) warm. Hunger decreases the body's ability to generate heat. That takes a lot of energy, energy that comes from food.

We need to be more grateful that our needs are met.

We need to thank those who have been there for us in our need.

We need to recognize the difference between need and want.

 

We need to see in others the needs we have and give to them with the abundance of what we have been given.

Christmas story - 2024

He was oppressed and afflicted,

 yet he did not open his mouth;

he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,

 and as a sheep before its shearers is silent,

 so he did not open his mouth.

• Isaiah 53:7

Intelligence is the only solace a eunuch has.

Zerah could not only read and write; he could do so in six languages and several dialects. By the time he was seven, Zerah could speak both Meroitic and Egyptian. By ten, he had added Greek. Languages came easily to him, a blessing and a curse.

It was for this reason Zerah was chosen to train as an ambassador for Kandake Amanirenas. She selected Zerah herself after hearing him speaking fluent Egyptian to a traveler. She immediately recognized his intelligence. A child able to learn languages would make a valuable addition to her ambassadors.

To work for Kandake Amanirenas, he was required to be cut, to lose his manhood. 

It was not his choice. 

What ten year old boy wants to be mutilated in that way. But he had no say. He was supposed to be honored.

He did not feel honored. He felt afraid.

Zerah knew that the life of a eunuch was one of privilege. He would never lack for food or shelter. He would wear fine clothes. He would be educated.

These advantages did not tempt him. He would rather continue an ordinary slave and remain intact. But he knew they would do as they liked. He had no voice in what would be done to him. He never had and never would be in control of the circumstances of his life.

The procedure was horrifying. Many boys did not survive the cut. Zerah wondered if he would be one of them.

Zerah was a handsome ten year old. His ebony skin was clear and smooth. His eyes were almost black. The curls on his head formed tight intricate swirls. His high brow of glossy skin proved a fitting symmetry to his oval face, while his long dark eyelashes gave him a sultry look, unusual in a child. Others were constantly commenting on his exceptional beauty.

They would no more.

Beauty would not be his as a eunuch. Eunuchs do not look as other men do. He would be tall and his ape-like arms would fall down by his side to his thighs. Small breasts would form. Zerah would never have facial hair. Maybe no hair at all.

No longer would he be the the beautiful boy he was now, basking in the praise of friends and strangers.There would be no pride in his appearance. He would be a freak.

Not only a freak, he would be a freak without friends.  Intrigue and jealousy flourished among eunuchs. There was no trust. There were no friendships, only alliances. He would no longer have contact with all who were his friends before being selected to train as a eunuch..

How does one live without friends?

There are things known and things unknown and in between are the doors.

- Jim Morrison

The pain from the cut was swift and intense. For ten seconds, Zerah felt nothing at all and then the burning between his legs was unbearable. It was sharp and his stomach and bowels emptied instantaneously.

After the cut, a paste was placed where his scrotum had been and something sharp was placed in his penis and left there. For three days Zerah was allowed nothing to eat or drink. The pain and the urgency never left him until the pin was removed. 

During those three days, Zerah yearned for a death that didn’t come.

After two years of training, Zerah began his career accompanying older eunuchs to their destinations. It was customary for a young eunuch to drive the chariot of an ambassador. This was part of Zerah’s training. He observed the negotiations of the older eunuchs without speaking. Only in his practical duties did he ask questions, and of ordinary people. It didn’t take long for Zerah to recognize how he needed to speak in order to achieve the Kandake’s goals. In every country, Zerah learned new languages and cultural practices to use later when he became a senior negotiator. 

Zerah never lost his ease with learning a language or his love of new places and ideas.

Languages became Zerah’s friends. Within the eunuch community, he was thought a recluse. He did not involve himself in the many schemes common to the other eunuchs. Zerah had no desire for greater power.

He was a freak among freaks.

Zerah knew that learning a language takes so much more than knowing the meaning of words. It takes seeing nuance, phrasing, and body language which gives meaning and shades of meaning to what has been said. Zerah immersed himself in a language. He got to know it better every day by being in a place and hearing how ordinary people spoke with each other. He learned how people moved as they spoke, how their faces change, how a change in tone can make a difference in how something is understood.

He found culture a spiritual being, and learning its language an art.

Another advantage in his assignment as chariot driver was learning how to navigate the best route from place to place. This was yet another advantage in proving his worth to the Kandake.  It was a skill not every eunuch could master. Once he was in charge, he would have a young eunuch to accompany and drive him; but he would be the one to teach him to navigate the unwieldy chariot.

…. Him. 

Neither one of them was a him. 

There are no pronouns for a eunuch. Eunuch is the ultimate descriptor. There was no hiding his status. Zerah’s appearance marked him for what he was. He stood out in public with his height, his long arms, and his pudgy physique. The softness of his skin, accented by his lack of hair, gave him a boy’s face on an adult man.

Tribal people sneered at him when they thought he was not looking. It was  dangerous to openly sneer. After all, Zerah was a eunuch. He held political power. Zerah could not inspire love from any, but fear of him came from what he was and what that meant.

No one looked at Zerah as a person. He was a eunuch. Few looked past his physical oddities.

Hidden behind his freakish body was that beautiful boy who loved watching people and learning their language. Inside was the remnants of a man who longed for a family he would never have. Inside was a person who wanted to love and be loved. 

Inside every person is a person who wants to be loved.

Zerah had not found love but he found a measure of acceptance in what he called little while friends. He discovered he could sometimes break through the barriers to have a true relationship with some of the people around him, most often slaves who knew oppression well. It was not love, but there was a kind of bond.

Zerah always initiated contact. He would surprise others with his personal questions and the fact that he actually listened to the answers. Those not involved in direct negotiations, who served the negotiators, were as invisible as Zerah had once been. Men, women and children who cleaned and cooked and tended to the animals were not spoken to beyond instructions, by anyone but Zerah.

Tentatively, as they became used to this strange eunuch that asked their names, that asked about family and religion, some began to trust him. Some came to know him as a person who cared about people and animals and plants, about religions and harvest festivals. They found his voracious curiosity a non-threatening irregularity and relaxed so that Zerah could observe them in their daily lives.

Zerah would pay children generously when he first arrived to show him what he wanted to see -  indigenous animals and religious ceremonies, farming methods and bartering techniques. His interests were all encompassing. Zerah’s peculiarity was lucrative and the children competed with each other for who could tempt him with the best information. 

Every creature is a word of God. 

• Meister Eckhart

Zerah’s trip to Rome was the longest of his career. Trilingualism and more were not uncommon in Rome. There were so many languages spoken from the different parts of the empire. He spent five years studying Latin, Gaulish, Etruscan, Aramaic and Coptic. He also learned the subtle differences in the way Greek and Egyptian were spoken throughout the empire. His last year was spent studying the Hebrews with their odd religious practices and beliefs. As a eunuch he was barred from the inner worship area and had to content himself with asking others. This was a great disappointment as he studied this religion of only one god.

Zandake knew his gifts and used them well. She found his greatest talent was as a learner and teacher. Zarah would go to strategic places and bring back his knowledge to other eunuchs. Zarah was a valuable asset. She knew she had chosen well. Information he brought back provided negotiators a greater chance of peace and continued trade.

His companion on this trip was Horo. Horo was 13 when they left. Zerah watched as Horo’s body changed into that of a eunuch. At each change, he saw Horo’s spirit dim. Zerah saw great anger, an anger Horo held tightly within him.

Horo was chosen to accompany him because of his intelligence and his ability to learn quickly. This was true but he no longer received joy from it. As his body changed, so did his curiosity. He did as told and learned what he was taught, but there was a quiet rage waiting just beneath the surface.

Horo did not tell his story and Zerah did not ask. This was something that must be offered, and in their six years together, Horo never had. He did not respond to Zerah when he told his own story. Horo had found no solace for his pain, no sharing with another who suffered as he did.

The time had come for them to return to Kandake Amaniremas. They had learned so much. However, Zerah was not satisfied with his knowledge of the Hebrew people with their strange religious practices and theology. He had acquired a copy of their sacred text but found it incomprehensible in many places.

• Yet the Lord longs to be gracious to you;
  therefore he will rise up to show you compassion.
  For the Lord is a God of justice.
  Blessed are all who wait for him!
  Isaiah 30:18

Zerah understood the Torah more than the other parts of the Hebrew texts. Most religions contained a set of laws, rules and regulations to follow. Some of the stories told in the Torah were similar to other religions he had studied. It was the writings that were considered sacred, those not found in the Torah, that Zerah found obscure.

He was reading aloud from the book of Isaiah, pondering over the passage that read He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth; he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth.

He read this over and over wondering who these words described. After the third time, Horo said bitterly, “It sounds like us.” Zerah waited to see if Horo would continue, but his lips tightened and he knew that Horo had said all he would say.

Zerah was aware of someone approaching their stopped carriage but continued to read from Isaiah. He looked up as the man approached and saw that he was a Hebrew.

Zerah was surprised when the man spoke to him. He had found the Hebrew people the least likely to engage in conversation with a eunuch. He found no eunuchs in their assemblies. They were not allowed, as he well knew from his own experience.

“ Do you understand what you are reading?” the man asked.

“How can I unless someone explains to me?” Zerah could not keep the frustration out of his voice. “Is the prophet speaking of himself or someone else?”

The man who was called Phillip offered to teach him what this passage was referring to. Zerah invited him into his carriage and told Horo to continue on their journey.

Phillip spoke of recent events that happened since Zerah left Jerusalem to return to the Kandake. Zerah had heard some of this Jesus along with many others who claimed to be what the Hebrews called the Messiah. He knew that many Hebrews wanted to break from Rome and return to governing their homeland. Zerah had not heard the story of Jesus’s crucifixion, the brutal way of execution reserved for slaves and revolutionaries.. This was strange indeed. How could he be the long awaited Messiah of the Hebrews?

Even more confusing were the teachings of Jesus. Phillip shared how the Messiah had come to build a spiritual kingdom on earth rather than a physical one. Jesus taught of radical love to both neighbors and enemies. Jesus told stories about ordinary people. He preached a loving god who cared for all.

Phillip told him about how Jesus had women among his followers and how they traveled together. How many became his disciples, just as men. How could Jesus allow women with men, not eunuchs? Zerah thought.

A woman ruled in his own country but he knew this was unusual from living in other cultures. Women had no rights in Hebrew society. They were treated as property. If Jesus had women as disciples, he was radically different from the Hebrew religion Zerah studied. And yet, Phillip was telling him that it was always the plan of the Hebrew god to send Jesus to mankind. If Zerah were not expected back soon by the kandake, he would return to Rome to study this new branch of the Hebrew religion.

Humans think in stories, and we try to make sense of the world by telling stories.

Yuval Noah Harari

Phillip continued to tell about what was happening after Jesus’s death, word of his resurrection and ascension into the heavens, how his followers lived in community sharing together what they had. It was fascinating and he felt a strange longing to be part of this community of Jesus who didn’t care if he was a eunuch. If all his followers were as kind and accepting as Phillip, he would like to be a part of this religion.

Zerah, having studied many religions, was a follower of none.

Phillip explained further that Jesus’s followers called themselves The Way because the teachings of Jesus brought them into a new way of living.

When Phillip told him about how new followers were being baptized to represent this transition to a new life, to a life of love for believers and non-believers alike, Zerah immediately knew this was something he wanted to do.

As they came to a small pond formed by a slow moving river, Zerah wanted to ask for Phillip to baptize him. Zerah knew that he would never be allowed to practice the Hebrew religion because of what he was, because he was not a real man. But this Jesus religion seemed to include women and men as equals. If women could be accepted, could he be accepted as a man who was not a man?

Zerah finally overcome his fear and made his request. Phillip was overcome with joy. Zerah had never had a person in all his travels treat him as this man did. In all the places he’d traveled, he never stopped being a eunuch, an outsider, a freak.

As Zerah emerged from the water, he was filled with a joy and peace beyond his understanding. He felt loved in a way he never had.

He observed that Horo had come to stand beside the water, his face filled with longing.

“Could I be baptized?” he asked of Phillip.

Phillip embraced Horo and led him to the water.

Zerah knew that Horo had been listening to all that Phillip said. As they walked back to the chariot, Horo and Zerah animatedly talked of what they had been told and of all the implications this newly embraced religion could mean for them. Both knew how much it would affect every part of their lives. Both were anxious to share what they had learned with others.

In their protracted conversation, they forgot all about Phillip. When they realized they had not thanked him, they found that he was already gone.

Horo increased the pace of the chariot as both wanted to return home as quickly as they could. They would not continue at the leisurely pace of before. There would be no stopping by the road to read. 

A name in Meroe is given to a child to determine his destiny. Horo means one who will multiply. When he became a eunuch, this name became a source of sorrow. He would never father a child. How could he be one to multiply?

But Horo would be the one to multiply followers of Jesus. He would return, not as the sad bitter teenager who left, but as the joyful man who returned to tell of a love that has no bounds.

Horo began to tell Zerah his story.

Merry Christmas, Shosha, Matt, Maura, Autumn and Nicholas. You are all beloved.

Christmas Story - 2023

I remain confident of this:

I will see the goodness of the Lord

in the land of the living. — Psalm 27:13




In the background, I could still hear Flying Fish giving their rendition of Pink Floyd. I love every cover they do, Jeff jamming on a harmonica selected from an impressive suitcase of harmonicas, Robert’s soft, melodic voice crooning the lyrics and Tim’s always just right drums. I thought once again what a wonderful surprise the abundance and quality of local music is in this beautiful place we now live.


Earlier we spread out a blanket and chairs in front of the bandstand and continued Olive’s education on how to be a proper bar and festival dog. Olive came to us through courier from Sacramento. My daughter rescued her at about age two. (She’s now nineish). Olive was crazy even then, but after my daughter had a difficult pregnancy with twins and her husband got sick, they could no longer deal with Olive’s extreme anxiety - She came with her own prescription for Zoloft.


….. So Omi to the rescue. (Omi is my grandmother name - Omi Katherine).


Olive did really well, better than expected. I walked her around the booths introducing her to sounds and smells and other dogs. Afterwards, she lay contentedly while Flying Fish entertained the crowd..


Definitely a successful outing.


We moved to the street where the Mardi Gras parade was beginning to drown out the Flying Fish’s last song. All the wonderful local festivals were yet another reason to love this place called the Forgotten Coast.


My goal, if Olive allowed, was to video some of the parade so i could share with my twin grandchildren. COVID limited so many experiences for them.


(I never bash technology. Free out of state phone calls, texts, Facetime, phones that take videos - these are perks of technology I love!)


Olive cooperated.


The Forgotten Coast Dancing Witches came into sight and I zeroed in with my iphone camera. They were all in their finest regalia, a bright tribute to Mardi Gras with smattering of witchy black. My body started to move. I hear the beat and my feet want to dance. I feel the music in my body as much as I hear it. Music hits my soul and my body needs to move.


Mardi Gras wasn’t my first contact with the witches. The dancing witches were part of the Christmas parade a few months before. I remember thinking at the time That looks like so much fun! Today was the same.


My idea of hell is a party where I don’t know anyone. I hate introducing myself to someone I don’t know.


But I really wanted to dance.


Could I get up the emotional courage? How would I ask to join the group?


I fell back on humor, my go-to coping mechanism. I approached a blonde-headed witch and told her I felt called to be a witch. (I didn’t say by the Lord, but the reference was there). After a pause, she handed me a card and told me I could call about joining.


Now that I know her, it makes me chuckle.



Depth of friendship does not depend on length of acquaintance. 

- Rabindranath Tagore




Imagine my surprise to find myself with a group of women where I really felt welcomed and accepted from the start. I’ve always felt awkward around other girls. Most of my friends growing up were guys. I never was very good at being a girl.


I embarrassed everyone when on about the third practice I told them how much it meant to me to have friends. It was just so unexpected.


Brenda and I were the ones most in need of help learning the dances. She was a newbie, too. Everyone else seemed to already know all the dances.


Karla, a natural caretaker if there ever was one, began a Tuesday practice just for remedials (Brenda and me). It later became a practice for newbies, but somehow or another Brenda and I remained.


We met in a small building down the road from Karla’s house. A friend of hers allowed us to use it to practice….. and I needed it! Brenda and I bonded in our frustration with learning the steps. Fortunately for both of us, I asked for more time and repetition. I couldn’t fake it. I was lost.


What looked like a lot of fun to me was serious business to these witches.


When I started, I knew two line dances that I worked on for weeks. In my exceeding boredom during COVID isolation, I used YouTube to learn Copperhead Road and the cowboy shuffle.


I walked 2-3 miles every morning, but then I had humid summer days to get through when I couldn’t be outside for more than 15 minutes after seven a.m. and sometimes not that. So I did my walk early and didn’t do much else the rest of the day.


My answer was to learn a line dance or two.


Thank God I did.


The witches knew 27 dances and were adding more. I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn that many dances. This was more serious than I thought.


I’ve always loved to dance, but pretty much free style. Me and the music dance together. There are no rules. The only line dancing I’d done was at weddings and middle school dances. I sucked at it.


The blonde-headed witch turned out to be the leader. Tracy cracked the whip to get me into shape and I didn’t really appreciate it until we did a St Patrick’s Day bark parade two weeks after I joined. I actually knew the dances (mostly) and it turns out practices are serious and performances are for fun.


It’s theater. I’ve always loved theater.


I’ve never been great with names but after several contacts between my face and hard objects, I’m really terrible at names. They go in one ear and out the other. Two minutes after hearing a person’s name, it’s gone unless I repeat it with every contact.


No one seemed to mind when I repeated their name for the fifth or sixth time. Not remembering someone’s name isn’t generally a problem for me because new relationships for me are rare. When we moved to Port St. Joe, I would go home after talking with my neighbors and write their names on our chalkboard with something about them to help me remember. If Kerry erased the board, I was out of luck.


Getting to know these women was a joy. I found a place where I could be my quirky self. I never expected to find that again, and certainly not in more than one or two people.


What we don’t have in ethnic diversity, we make up in personality uniqueness. I told my husband early on, these women seem very comfortable with who they are.


Kerry and I joke about my top 10 weird people in my life and how no one will ever break into the top 3. (Weird is a compliment for me). They’re pretty much set in stone. I’ve always loved people who dance to a different drummer.


Perhaps because I hear a different tune myself.


I’ve never felt so comfortable so quickly being me within a group. I feel like I’ve found my people.


Robin helped in those Tuesday practices. Some people just exude cool. Robin is one of those people. When we are dancing, I sometimes lose my place because I get caught up in Robin’s dancing. Even though she’s doing the same steps as we are and ends up in the right place, it's her own brand of cool. She is definitely far away in her own zone when she’s dancing. (She reminds me of me in that way). My problem is that I needed to concentrate like she didn’t. I had no muscle memory.


But Robin always emerges to encourage and help us newbies. She’s as patient and kind as Karla. What a bonus for Brenda and me.


Brenda, Robin and Karla were who I felt a bond with almost immediately, but every witch in the group is a good person that I’d like to get to know better. That is such a gift.


I opened up and talked about my daughter’s struggle to become pregnant and how carefully excited I was that she finally succeeded. Susan, a former midwife, was especially encouraging to me. Everyone was supportive.


I more tentatively shared about my daughter getting married. No one asked me questions about who she was marrying, but I figured it might come up. Port St Joe is about as red a town as you can get. One night as we were finishing up our newbie practice I said, Would now be a good time to mention that my daughter is marrying a girl? The immediate answer was Yes! Otherwise we might say something we shouldn’t.


It was just so honest.


I have, in my life, been accused of being brutally honest. Like I might have mentioned, I’m terrible at “small talk”. Even saying I’m fine when I’m not is a bit uncomfortable. I always appreciate honesty in others.


I have to mention how witty Brenda is, how funny and outspoken. I don’t think there’s ever been a practice where she didn’t make me laugh. I don’t know how you can get through life without humor. As long as I’m around Brenda, I know I’m safe.


And Karla may be the sweetest person I’ve ever met.



All the nights that joy has slept 

will awake to days of laughter

Gone the tears that you have wept

You'll dance in freedom ever after

 

- Julie Miller




It’s been a brutal decade for me.


In 2014, I woke up in an ambulance not knowing how I got there. I remember hearing Holly, my assistant principal, talking. I don’t know what she said; I remember it was kind.


Holly is another precious friend.


Turns out a local firefighter found me by the side of the road next to my wrecked Piaggio X-9, It’s basically an electric motorcycle with the power (400) and the weight (500) without the noise of a motorcycle, or having to change gears. He turned me over and I started to breath normally so that he didn’t need to do CPR. I only know this because I was told.


Amnesia is real. I have never remembered what happened after I pulled out of the parking lot at school. For a couple of weeks, I didn’t even know where it had happened.


The ER determined that I had a seizure. I was 58 years old. How could I have epilepsy all of the sudden? Evidently, it was a case of bad timing. My seizures were only seconds and put me in automatic pilot. I guess I had one while making the turn where I was found.


There were many parts of my body that needed mending but the worst was my brain. Like I don’t remember my wreck, I don’t remember normal before my wreck.


It didn’t help that I had a concussion; and epilepsy medicine, by design, is a mind altering drug. I spent at least six months walking around like a zombie. It was not conducive to teaching middle schoolers. I retired at the end of the year.


Long story short. In the next 10 years, I’ve had three more falls on my face, a violent death of a loved one, and Hurricane Michael flooded my not in a flood zone house. Those were the biggies. There were other devastating heartbreaks too private to mention.


One of the most often cited recommendations to counter dementia is to learn something new and to be socially active.


Forgotten Coast Dancing Witches came to my rescue.


Sunday practices in Apalachicola is where we usually learned new dances. Thursday practices were more for review, but not always. I quickly discovered I needed to place myself near Gina or Carol. I’ve never seen either miss a step. Gina and Tracy both tried in vain to teach me the box step. My brain just could not do it that day.


Now I know it so well I can teach others.


Kerry and I would often go see the Flying Fish play at the Half-Shell Dockside on Sunday afternoons where they have a regular gig. When I started dance practice on Sundays, he would take the dog there and I would meet him afterwards.


Soon it was a dancing witches habit as well.


The Forgotten Coast has music and fun festivals in abundance. In our six years here, I would often plan to go and then forget. Dancing with the witches sent me to festivals I had so often thought of going to. Even when I couldn’t dance because of my asthma, Kerry and I followed the witches to the Carabelle festival where Kerry took photographs and I took some videos on my phone. I mentally kicked myself for missing it in the past. It was so much fun.


Brenda and I could no longer call ourselves newbies when Kelley and Tari joined. They came as a set. They were so obviously great friends. They stayed newbies for about two weeks before Tari assumed her leadership role. She became another go-to dancer like Gina and Carol.


… and the outfits!


They both dived in head first.




Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil, nor spin; yet I tell you that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

- Matthew 6: 28-33




Let me take a moment aside to discuss theater.


I love theater. I’ve performed in a few plays and directed some middle school plays. I’m all about the voice and movement. I would direct on a black box stage….. but for middle schoolers and a helluva lot of others, it’s all about the costumes.


Eva Haynie and Desiree King saved my life there. They loved dressing up. I never had to worry about that at all. Eva would have made such a great witch! Her four children were in full costume for every holiday…. I think they still are.


I found myself in the midst of many Eva Haynies. (Kimberly especially reminds me of her… both beautiful women. (Both good at being girls).


Amazon is troubling for me, but in a small town, I use them often. I found a cool witch dress, Gina gave me a witch hat, and I thought I was set. I had a costume. Then, I realized that outfits changed with the theme, and every dancing event had a theme. No one size fits all.


Queen of Good Enough became my moniker.


Tari and Kelley immediately joined the throng of amazing witch attire. I think Kelley may have won the all time award with her white witch, but the competition is way beyond stiff. Every performance is a work of art among the dancing witches. Except for me, of course.


My goal became not to embarrass myself (or them) by being “good enough.” While waiting on the Christmas parade, I happened to be standing next to Kelley and Robin said something to the effect of here we have the most and the least. An apt assessment.


I can’t do justice describing the witch outfits… way beyond local theater, these costumes are professional. All I can do is enjoy and have Kerry take his stunning photographs of these picturesque women.

And picturesque they are.


If I started to name all the superb witch attire, I would surely fall short. I did love watching Wanda’s shimmying behind with her jingly waist band. I had to get one myself, but I would never match her shimmy.


And there’s Caroline. She was misplaced at birth in California. She is the quintessential Southern lady in the manner of the progressive women of the 30s who brought public libraries, food safety laws and so much other good to our country.


When I learned her age (which I won’t share), I couldn’t believe how well she danced. She was slowed down by knee surgery, but she came back in an amazingly short period of time. Caroline is one of those fantastic dressers, and is a little like Robin in adapting her dancing while still being totally in tune with the group. (In her case, more because of physical limitations).


The Forgotten Coast Dancing Witches is so much more than the dancing. It’s the camaraderie. I take great pride in goading Robin into karaoke. She completely blew us away. I’ve been waiting breathlessly to hear her again.


I love the company for a beer or meal. It’s always been just Kerry and me since we moved here.


These ladies do like to eat out. They must have a separate bank account just for restaurants. Kerry’s cooking is better than almost any restaurant we go to, but sometimes I just have to join for the fun of being together.


The butterfly counts not months, but moments, and has time enough.
- Rabindranath Tagore



For the past decade, I find myself just waiting for the next disaster. It came this month when I awoke to a thump and realized Kerry had fallen off the bed. I rushed to his supine body and held his head in my hand as I tried to talk to him. He was completely unresponsive. His eyes were open but there was nothing there.


This is it, I thought. My life is once again going to change forever.


When we got to the ER, I was so wrapped up in my fear that it wasn’t until Tari said, you didn’t get enough of me yet, that I realized she was his ER nurse. (We have so many witches who are, or have been, nurses….something I’ve pondered. We have a lot of former teachers as well).


I immediately felt better.


At our next dance practice, Tari stood next to me and quietly asked how he was doing. It’s hard to explain how such a small gesture can mean so much.


Life is just so much richer when you have friends.


Our witch troupe keeps getting bigger and better. Obviously, the bigger the group, the less likely to get really close to someone. (a lesson churches should heed). But I feel like I could. And I am.




The universe is made of stories, not of atoms.

- Muriel Rukeyser




My Christmas stories are almost exclusively fiction. Most of them are imagining back stories of people in the Bible. I think I’ve only written two autobiographical ones.


So why this year?


Christmas is a time of seeking light and grace for me. All my stories are ultimately about grace, about a light that shines in the darkness.


Our world is pretty dark right now…. as it was when Jesus was born. We are not just divided in our nation. We are divided in so many ways. Prejudice is universal. We fear people who are different from us.


Red-blue, black-white, citizen-immigrant, rich-poor, hungry-fed. People living in war zones and in the midst of natural disaster devastation. Kindergarteners gunned down in their classrooms. Mass shooters everywhere. Spouse abuse, child abuse. It is so hard not to be overcome by the evil. It is so hard to find joy.


So I tell a real story. My story. I tell it because we all have our stories. We are alike so much more than we are different. Mostly, we all want to be loved. We all want to be heard.


Perhaps by telling my story I can make it easier for someone else to tell theirs.


Maybe I was called by the Lord to be a dancing witch.


Jesus never said Follow me and you will go to heaven when you die. Jesus said the kingdom of heaven is at hand.


We can be part of it.


We can be friends.


We can love and be loved.




Peace and Joy, Christmas 2023

Mama

Christmas 2022

Raising a daughter is like growing a flower. You give it your best. If you’ve done your job well, she blooms. And after that, she leaves

- Unknown

The last wagon had been out of sight for over an hour.

John left after the last wagon became a mere speck on the horizon. With a squeeze on her shoulder, and a quiet they’ll be fine, John  went back to his workshop where he would lose himself in the wood he carved with such skill.

 Margaret swallowed the lump lodged in her throat, the finality of her loss overwhelming, like walking away from a graveside, never to see the one laid there again. 

Katherine’s home would be in Santa Fe, almost a thousand miles away. The distance was unbearable and unbreechable  Whatever life they found there would not include Margaret. She would never see her daughter again. She would not be there to see her grandchildren change and grow. She would not feel their small hands around her neck. Jess and Katherine would never again fill their house with their sweet harmonies.

More powerful than her grief was her fear. There were so many unthinkable things that could happen. The journey would be full of danger. 

Indians who might kill or kidnap them frightened Margaret the most. The brutal deaths of those stagecoach passengers by the Apaches was less than a decade ago. The fear that Jess could be killed in the horrible way they were, and that Katherine and the children could be captured never to be seen again was too terrifying. 

There was so much to be afraid of. They would travel through harsh desert where the lack of water was a serious threat. Sometimes she would see their bodies lying in the desert having died from thirst. It was a vision that returned too often. She shook her head to vanquish those images.

No doctor and few women were in the caravan as most the travelers were traders. Families were more common now but still unusual. The trail was mostly for carrying supplies that were scarce in the West. What would Katherine do if the children got sick? How would she manage without other women to share her burdens, to talk to when she was lonely or scared?

Hardest would be the not knowing.

All these things that could happen would be out of her sight and out of her control. The anxiety of it was crippling. Katherine could write along the way with the newly created stagecoach post; but if they were killed, how and when would she know? Such things did not make it into a newspaper. Only a huge massacre such as the stagecoach tragedy would be reported.

 

They might be suffering from any number of hardships while Margaret would be going about her day. Hardships were inevitable, whether on a trail or on a farm, and Margaret would not be there for Katherine. 

She could not bring herself to turn away and make that step back to a life without them, and so she stayed. She stared onto the empty horizon and wept.

A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality. - Yoko Ono

Jess was good with animals. He’d been that way since he was very young. He made friends with feral cats in the barn. He could catch a chicken when he was three just by talking to it. He never met a dog who didn’t love him.


He first started riding when he was six and had his own pony at seven. By the time Jess was 12, he had a reputation for being able to tame any animal and break any horse. Neighbors would come to him with any animal that was troublesome. He was best with horses, but he was able to tame the most aggressive dog and had once broken a mule to ride. He saved all his horse-breaking money for his dream, a horse ranch of his own. There was nothing he wanted more than that. Land was getting scarce in Kansas, but every day people passed on their way West. Jess would go there.


The Santa Fe trail was his goal. The Oregon trail was for farmers and gold miners. He would join the traders on the much shorter trip to Santa Fe. He was sure he could find work with a caravan that would pay his way. Not only was he great with horses, but he was a crack shot with a rifle. He could hunt buffalo along the trail and provide protection.


Things changed when Jess's father died. Their farm was mostly livestock. In the past, they grew a small field of tobacco as a cash crop, but when Kansas became a slave state, slaveowners from the South began to migrate and buy up land in Kansas. Cotton and tobacco farmers without slaves couldn’t compete. The Kansas Nebraska Act had brought the fight for slavery to their home. They had no desire to own slaves and converted the tobacco field to corn.


They increased the number of cattle on their farm but it was less money than they made from tobacco. They raised milch cows for their milk, which was used in trade. The other cattle they kept to sell for their skins and tallow. The male milch calves were sold to those who wanted to train them as oxen for the wagons going West. The demand for ox was great. There was always someone to buy theirs, and Jess’s father never took less than three dollars for one. He knew his calves were worth it.


Ox training took four years. That was not practical for their farm. Any skill can be learned his father would say, but it takes many skilled trainers and a lot of cattle to make money selling oxen. The big ranches sometimes supplemented their herds from small farmers like his father. That was enough.


Jess was one of two sons. Jess was the oldest with two sisters before his brother was born. Theirs was not a small farm, but it needed the labor of two grown men.


Jess’s mother always kept three or four nanny goats and a billy. She kept the goats for their milk and cheese. She preferred it to cow’s milk for the family, and the cost and care of goats was negligible. They ate the meat from the billy kids to supplement the chickens and the hog they slaughtered every fall for the winter. The sale of pigs did not bring in the money that the tobacco did, and after his father died, Jess couldn’t maintain the farm as it once was.


Jess worked alongside his father caring for all their livestock, but he could not do it alone. His brother was still too young to help with the heavy labor. His sisters kept busy helping his mother with the house, the milking, and the goats and chickens. Jesse could not run their working farm without his father.


There was no choice but to take a job at the grist mill so that he could have regular pay. He was also allowed to grind their own corn for free. It was hard work and Jess missed the animals. He kept the last filly from their stable to train to ride and pull their buckboard wagon. The stallion and two mares were sold. They also had to sell half their pigs and most of their cows.


Jess still broke horses putting all he made into his savings. His provided for his family but he would not abandon his dream.


When his brother was able to work at the grist mill, perhaps then, he could buy the horses he would need, another mare and stallion to breed. Taking two horses on the trail would not be difficult. Indians were more likely to steal horses but it would be worth the risk.


He’d rather pick his own stallion than depend on studs from farm horses. He wanted quality riding horses. Jessie knew he could breed and train the best. Once he made it to Santa Fe, there were wild horses to be had for the taking.


But then came Katherine.


Jess fell head over heels in love with her. Any plans he made now would have to include her. He had not seen himself taking a family out West. He always thought to hire out as a ranch hand until he established himself, saving his money for the best horses. Jess saw himself having his own ranch before having a wife.


However, Katherine was the one he wanted to share his dream with, even if it meant waiting longer. Katherine supported his dream and never wanted for them to do anything else. Kansas was not what it was. She would miss her family but she was as ready for an adventure as he was. A new life with Jess was her dream, too.


Their first child was a boy. They named him William. He was healthy and strong and had the red hair of Katherine’s great grandmother. Jess was thrilled with William, but it made him realize that having children would make a huge difference for them. Traveling with a child would present an even greater challenge. When Anna came two years later, Jess begin to think about what was most important for him. Katherine and the children changed his priorities. What he wanted for himself became what he wanted for them.


I have found that joy and sorrow often come holding hands.

- Katherine F. Capps


Margaret and John had their first child a year after their wedding. They named her Sally after her mother, Sarah. Sally was a quiet, easy baby. Margaret was so proud when Sally started walking before she was a year old. Of course, Margaret thought every milestone Sally made was brilliant.


They lost Sally to the measles right after Margaret started showing with her second child. Sally died three days after the sickness struck her. In her grief, Margaret took to her bed and John could not entice her to get up. Ten days later, the midwife came and tended to her miscarriage.


It weren’t right, the midwife told her, undoubtably wanting to ease the loss. It had the opposite effect. Margaret remained in bed and stopped eating. In his desperation, John drove into Kansas City to retrieve Margaret’s sister. She stayed with them for a month until Margaret was able to get up again. Margaret knew that she had to return to her duties as a wife despite no longer being a mother. There was the garden to tend, the chores of their small farm that took John from his woodworking. Margaret knew her sister had family of her own to care for. She was finally able move on, to tell her sister goodbye and thank her for all she had done.


Two years passed before Katherine was born. Katherine was as different from Sally as she could be. Katherine had the colic and cried every day her first year of life. Margaret was exhausted all the time, but one smile from Katherine brought her all the energy she needed. Because Katherine wanted to be held by her mama all the time, Margaret carried her in a sling. Not content to rest on her back, Katherine wanted to be able to look at her mama’s face. She loved to be touching her mama’s cheek. Margaret adjusted her wrap to carry her in the front. Nothing Katherine wanted was too much.


Ten years later, Samuel was born. Margaret almost died giving birth to him and knew there would be no more. She never bemoaned the lack of more children. Margaret was so in love and grateful for the two she had. John’s workshop was in the barn where he produced his high demand woodwork. They had all that they needed and more. Samuel would learn his father’s trade and be able to care for himself and his family in the same way that John did. It was a good life.


She was content.


Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


Taking a family on the Santa Fe trail changed everything. They would need a wagon and supplies that Jess would not have needed alone. A horse and a donkey ( or a second horse) was sufficient for a single man’s needs.


Jess and Katherine spent long nights planning for their future. Unlike in most marriages, Jess wanted all decisions to be made by both of them. He respected Katherine’s opinion and thought of her as his partner as well as his wife.


His brother was now working at the grist mill and his sister was married, her husband taking over much of the farm work and bringing it closer to what it once was. Jess felt they could leave now with his family well cared for.


They had much to discuss.


The best animals for hauling a smaller wagon were certainly mules. They were strong and faster than oxen. They did well grazing and could go without water longer than horses. Most who could afford it chose mules over oxen. Horses were rarely used. Even though they were fast enough to cut days of travel time off the journey, they were not hardy pullers on the trail and required feed and more water than either oxen or mules.


Oxen would be the their best option. It was for most people. Jess was sure he could handle them on the trail. He wouldn’t need to whip them either. He never whipped any animal. It was his patience that made him so good with animals.


The other consideration was the wagon. Taking a family meant a good wagon was essential for carrying the supplies they would need. The family would walk. Only in case of injury or illness would the wagon be used. Jess would only ride his mare for hunting.

Jess and Katherine agreed on a Murphy wagon over the Conestoga wagon. They had no need for the bigger wagon. They were a family traveling, not a company of traders. They would limit the weight as much as they could. The Murphy would still require two pairs of oxen, but with less weight, they would not need to buy a spare. The Murphy wagon’s high sides would also provide them with greater protection and more space for their goods.


Saving every penny they could would still provide only the minimum they needed with little left over for supplies along the way. Without Jess’s savings and skill as a trader, it wouldn’t have been possible at all. Jess was so good at finding and getting the best deal on whatever they needed. Soon they had purchased the wagon and the oxen at a price they could afford.


With his mother’s help, they bought a billy and two nanny goats. His mother knew enough about goats to help them select the best milkers. She would make sure they were pregnant when they started. There would be no way to make cheese on the trail, but once they arrived, Katherine could make butter and cheese for them to eat and to sell. Along the way, the milk would provide nutrition and nourishment for the children. A small chicken coop could be placed in the wagon big enough for a rooster and four hens. They would try to save one hen and the rooster for Santa Fe, but if needed they could kill the chickens for food. The farm would supply the pork for their journey.


The big question was what to do in Santa Fe. Jess’s plan for a horse ranch depended on being a ranch hand when he got there, and that was no longer possible. The money he had saved for horses would now be spent on wagon and oxen and the kind of supplies needed for a family.


Not only was Jess a good trader, he knew how to find the people who had the information they needed. He talked with many people returning from Santa Fe so he knew more about what to expect. He was able to learn much about not only the trail, but also what they would need once they arrived.


The biggest concern would be the price of goods and what kind of things would be most expensive in Santa Fe. As much as possible, they needed to take those things with them. He now knew what a good price was for his oxen and wagon would be in Santa Fe. They would need all they could get from the sale. It would go a long way in helping them with what they would need.


Jess and Katherine worked together to make a plan for what would be best for them and to anticipate their needs along the way and when they got there. An inexpensive undertaking would be to raise goats. Both nanny goats could be bred again in the fall. It would be slow, but they could easily build a herd for selling milk and cheese.


Mammoth donkeys were unusual in Kansas. Some could reach 14 hands, more the size of a pony than your typical burro. There were breeders in Kentucky but only a few made it into Kansas. Jess ran across one and came home to tell Katherine his idea.


We can breed mules that would be stronger and larger. The donkey I found is black. That’s the color that is most prized. It’s a bit more expensive than a smaller donkey, but I think it’s worth it. What do you think?


Katherine agreed. Their plans had always included a donkey for lighter burdens. They named him Esperanza, the name for hope in Spanish. Jess knew that he could make a trade for a farm horse to impregnate before they left. It would be next spring before she would give birth, but it would be another source of income for them. He would reluctantly breed his own mare to Esperanza, too. She was too fine a mare to mate with a donkey, but it would be wasteful not to use her. He would wait to breed her until they were on the trail. He needed her to be able to hunt.


They decided it would be better to have no more than two horses. They would need to take feed on their wagon for horses which would take up more weight, but it was a gamble they both felt they should take.


Their life in Santa Fe was full of unknowns, but both felt that together, they could overcome whatever the challenges they might face. As long as they were together, anything else could be overcome.



Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.

— Jane Howard



When Margaret told the rest of her family, Katherine and Jess were overwhelmed with support. Margaret had five siblings living in Kansas City, only 20 miles or so from Blue River. She met John there when he was delivering custom tables and chairs. John dropped by the store where Margaret was shopping. He was smitten with her and offered to help carry her groceries home. Four months later they were married.


Margaret’s sister, the one who came after Sally’s death, arrived with her teenage son driving their buckboard wagon. It was full of dried fruit, vegetables, beans, rice and four quilts from Margaret’s siblings. As soon as she dismounted from the wagon, she pulled Margaret into her arms. They both cried in silence. There were no words needed between them, their heartache shared as it had always been.


I’ll be praying every day. People have been traveling this route for a long time. The drivers know how to keep safe, and you know how good Jesse is will be with the oxen. He’ll take care of them, and he’d do anything to keep Katherine and the children safe.


Margaret could only nod. She held her sister’s hand. Together they went to the wagon where her nephew was unloading their gifts.


***


Margaret filled her days helping Katherine and Jess pack their wagon for the trip. Each item needed to be evaluated for its use, weight, and the amount of space it needed. Margaret insisted they include a copy of the Bible and a copy of McGuffey’s reader.


There’s not likely to be schools there. I want the children to keep up with their reading, she told Katherine.


Yes, Mama.


If Katherine regretted the weight or space, she said nothing. She knew how hard this was on her mama.


You know, they both love reading already, Katherine reminded her.


Grief hit Margaret like a wave. She would never again sit by the fire and read with Anna in her lap. She would never again praise William for sounding out a word.”


She looked away then, and so did Katherine.


***


When the day came for them to leave, Margaret and John had gifts to give Jess and Katherine that would not take up room in the wagon. John presented his first. It was a colt paterson revolver, something Jess didn’t even consider buying because of the cost. He knew how valuable it would be on the trail. It was used but in perfect working order. Jess couldn’t have asked for anything better.


Margaret’s gift was in a very small box. When Katherine opened it, she found to her surprise that it was full of needles. Katherine looked at her mother confused, she had two needles, thread, and a bolt of cloth already packed.


I’ve been asking around at what is hard to find in Santa Fe. Someone told me needles. They’re for you to sell.


It was so like her mama to think of something so practical. Katherine hugged her. Thank you.


While Margaret held on to Katherine in their last good bye, John and Jess shook hands. Margaret could not be the one to let go first. She would wait for Katherine. She would not deny herself a moment in her last touch with her daughter.


As Jess and Katherine walked forward to their wagon, Samuel ran after them and put his arms around Katherine fighting back tears. I’ll miss you, he told her and ran back to their house.


***



It was Samuel who came for Margaret. The sun was setting and she still had not moved. The beauty of the orange sky mocked her tears.


Samuel put his arms around her from behind and leaned his cheek on her shoulder. He had not hugged her in a long time, being much too old for such unmanly affection. She leaned into his embrace.


Her child. Her son.


Let’s go home now, Mama.