Part 2, "Something Wicked This Way Comes"

A blur, a shapeless black blur moving.  I saw it out of the corner of my eye. But when I look over in that direction... nothing out of the ordinary. Same furniture, same window, same bookcase.

I'm drifting back to a memory of the bad guy and the evil spirit blurs in the Patrick Swayze/Demi Moore movie, "Ghost."

"What are you?" I spurt out loud, then think to myself, "Are you crazy? There's no one here." Egad, I'm loosing it now. Talking to no one. Just shadows.

What was that? In the far corner of the cabin, I know I heard the floor creek. Now that my eyes are playing tricks on me, are my ears too? Holding back the urge to speak up again, suddenly I gasp for air as I have forgotten to breathe. The sudden intake of air seems to echo throughout the house, bouncing along the walls.

Clutching my sweater together, I can feel my heart beat. "Well at least I'm still alive," I think. Then turn towards another blur that disappears.

I've got to get out of here; just get in the car and drive away. But I can't. The snow's too thick, my car is stuck. I'll make myself a cup of strong coffee. Doing ordinary things will surely dispel my vivid imagination. Going over to the small coffee pot and filling it with water, reaching into the cupboard for the Folger's, I'm startled by lights from a car reflecting on the wall then gone into the night. No car engine running, I hear nothing, just the wind, howling and moaning. Did I say moaning? I'm loosing it for sure now. Slowly, I peak through the window curtain. The snow is so thick, I can't see the edge of the deck. Great. now what?

The gun that I always carry is in the car, outside, in the car that  is stuck in the snowbank. Too far away.

(to be continued, yet again)

You are not alone.

My brother, Johnny, died at age 23 of cancer.


For years, tears would roll down my checks whenever I saw someone who reminded me of him, until someone very wise asked me if I could still picture how he looked. "Yes," I said. 


He then ask me if I could hear his voice, see his smile. "Yes I can," I felt the pleasure of this vision.


He continued to ask me if I asked Johnny a question do I know what he would answer. Thinking long and hard, and seeing Johnny in my mind's eye, hearing his voice, seeing his crooked smile, I responded, "Yes, I do know what he would answer." 


Then, he replied, "Your brother is always with you. You can see him, hear him and talk with him anytime you want."


I have never forgotten that moment. I love you Johnny. You are... always with me.

OH NO, I KILLED IT!

Limb by limb

I am now an official Killer. Yes, Christopher, my tree cutter told me so. When I was trying so hard to keep the ratty raccoons off my roof, I put a loose ring of tin around my spruce tree. Over the years, I'd have it removed and put back on loosely. It worked for the raccoons, but it did kill my beautiful tall tree.

I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be a killer. Never had a killer thought, well, that's not true. There were the mean girls in Mission Beach Grade school that I'll never forget. After crying my eyes out, I did want to kill them. No, I really wanted to kill the words and looks they spewed out at me.

Standing on what?

I wanted killer looks in High School where I was friendly, but extremely shy and quiet. Too tall, bone skinny with greasy hair and acne, yes, it was not a pretty sight. By the time I went to college and help from a Charm School, Make-up and Hair training, Dance class, and singing lessons, (thanks Mother) I started to look and feel good. By the time I was hired by Disneyland in my Senior year of College, I had killer looks! My body had filled out, hair straightened and back combed, and that eye liner and eyebrow over my blond lashes brought out the tan California look. Going through the Disney Hospitality School back then, gave me  poise, confidence, and charisma when I interacted with people as a hostess/tour guide and in every job since.

As I got older, (like 23) the killer looks didn't matter, for the inner look was coming out. I followed my passion and went to work on on a dude ranch in Grant, Colorado, so I could be a horse wrangler. Even with all that college, all that charm stuff, all that hospitality training, in reality all I wanted was to be with horses! Go figure.

Christopher cut stairs to the top,
then starting at the top,
took it down in small pieces.

So now that I am THE tree killer, I've got to do my time. Every day I'll look out my window and miss my friend, the tall spruce. My other friends will miss the tall spruce, too. The Downy woodpecker that graced the frame of my window. The other birds who hopped and sang to the spruce, even the squirrel who will now have to find another ladder to run around on. 

Be careful what you do for there are consequences of your actions. Most of all, know that life is fragile! 

The Ring

My Granddaughter, Chelsea, is leaving soon for her first year at Stony Brook College in Long Island, NY. It's the start of only one of the many adventures in her life.

We had lunch today at her favorite Hamburger Place. Just the two of us. I mistakenly told her I liked her one line zingers in Facebook, such as: "We are the trifecta." referring to her best friends. and just this morning, "and then there was one." 

Chelsea told me, with tears welling up in her eyes, that it was unexpected that she would feel so sad about leaving her best friends. One who was going to Colorado University and the other to a catholic college in Washington, D.C.

We also talked about her Facebook comment, "All it took was two boxes for my room not to be mine anymore" and she further wrote in comments, "It's sad my room feels so empty but my dad said if I had lost all that stuff earlier, my room would've been a lot cleaner."

With that the laughter began!

After lunch we did a little shopping. Suddenly I remembered that I wanted to give her my ring. We were at the check out stand, when I told her. "I want you to have my ring," I blurted out and took the ring off my finger and gave it to her. Expressing what the ring meant to me, I said, "My ring reminds me of my horses I loved so much for it looks like a stirrup or cinch. It has a line of square rubies, my birthstone, down one side." Looking into her eyes, I sighed and told her, "It's a simple ring that has a lot of meaning for me." Then when she put it on, I quietly said, "When you're lonely or feeling sad, just look at my ring and know that my circle of love surrounds you." 

Not an original statement for long ago my step-mother, Alice gave me gold hoop ear-rings and told me that they represented the circle of love from her and my Dad. I wear them still today and rarely take them off. Once the back of one became so worn it wouldn't close. I had it fixed right away by Ken Nelson, my friend and goldsmith. He wouldn't take any money for it. Sometimes things that people say and do are "golden". 

And like Chelsea says in her Facebook album: "Summer 2010: The Night is Golden," from the minute she was born, my life has been golden with Chelsea!

Passing the Reins

Goodbye Buff, we will all miss you. Buff Rutherford, a 3rd generation Georgetown, Colorado resident died this week. He was 81 years old.

In the last two weeks of his life, he was still giving... like he always did. This time my 13 year old granddaughter, Olivia, was the object of his generosity.

When Livvy, cashed in her savings to buy an older Arabian mare, "Striking Lady" the start of her dream came true. The first thing she bought was a halter, lead and grooming tools. There was no money for a bridle and saddle.

Her Uncle Joe at Shadows Ranch, where she was keeping "Lady"gave her a small used saddle. It needed work. Grandma was worried about the leather, and would it be safe. There were parts missing. Thinking of the best person to evaluate the safety for her granddaughter, Grandma called her friend, Buff, the old cowboy, who gladly offered to look it over for us.

It was a match made in heaven for a little girl and a old cowboy. She hung on every word, as he explained what needed to be done. "I've got a lot of cinches," Buff said as he dug through a box of them. "Here's one that looks like it would fit." As he showed her the nearly new cinch, Buff smiled that quiet smile and told her, "You can have it."

Livvy asked about what a "dog-bit" looked like. With the customary patience, Buff was known for, he brought out a small box of bits and explained several. Then he took one he thought would work and said  it was hers to keep. Buff Offered to buy a bridle, saddle blanket and reins that Livvy could pay him for later. Grandma was overwhelmed and had to walk into the other room, to keep her tears to herself.

"I'm working at the event center, setting tables, napkins and helping Joe in the kitchen, " Livvy excitedly told Buff, "I will have the money for you."

As they walked into the computer room, the screen saver was alive with a slide show of memories. Buff and his beloved wife, Mary Lou, hunting with horses. Their life together from early-on to more recently. Friends, children, grandchildren all flashing on the screen for a moment or two, giving Buff such pleasure as he explained the ones that meant something even more special to him.

As we left, Livvy, eyes bright with joy, couldn't stop talking about Buff.

Arabian Mare - Lady and Olivia

We didn't pick up the saddle that next weekend, for Buff and Mary Lou went to Denver to watch their granddaughter ride in a horse show.

Buff and Grandma later the next week exchanged "Granddaughter" stories. As the stories came out, Buff said he really wanted to help Livvy get started. He remembered that riding bareback with a halter and lead as reins was how he learned to ride when he was a kid and so in love with horses. "An old cowboy gave me the gear I needed and explained everything to me. I want to do it for Livvy," Buff tells me.  "I also want to give her a book I enjoyed as a boy. She might enjoy it too." He is reliving his memories back then.

An act of kindness, as a Grandma, I will never forget ... neither will my granddaughter, Livvy.

Buff Rutherford, his haywagon, and my older granddaughter, Chelsea, who was only seven back then.

Something Wicked This Way Comes

The house feels heavy as though the air held secrets... Not good secrets. As though the whispered words I only feel not hear were pushing down on my chest. Something I don't want to know.

The floors sagged slightly. Just enough to throw you off balance. No reality here. A hodge-podge of rooms added on sporadically. Another tripper step is just a few inches high that leads into a back hallway and out the back door. A door where the deadbolt lock won't open. A door you can't get out.   Who built this? Is it their secret being whispered?

There are plenty of windows, big picture windows but it's a dark house. This cabin in the mountains along a dusty little-used dirt road sits on a triangular piece of pine tree covered land, yet the views are hidden by walls misplaced.

I've got the heat blowing hot from the wall heater. It's cold here... like it's seeping up from the floors, leaking through the walls. The cold, I can't get warm.

I'm uncomfortable, I want to leave. Why do I feel this way? I have to leave and soon. There is no reasonable explaination. I just feel it.

(to be continued)

If I were a Native American Child for a Day

by Chelsea Nugent, Age 10

June 29, 1682

As the sun crept across the room and kissed my face, I wake up with a sudden jolt. Visions spin in my head as fear raced through my body. My heart is pounding. I blink once or twice bringing myself back to reality, realizing it is only a dream. "Not only do the Navajos raid Hopi villages," I thought, "they raid my wonderful dreams, too."

My father, uncle, little brother and cousin left to farm the fields on the mesa. My mother, aunt and I are outside grinding corn as we eat our morning meal of leftover bread from yesterday. Soon my arm ached from grinding corn so I stopped to rest. "Mother, what are we going to bake today?" I asked. "We are going to bake piki bread from this blue corn," my mother replied still grinding her corn. "Shooting Star, start grinding your corn, the sooner we can get baking," my aunt scolded. I sighed deeply and began grinding my corn again.

After all the corn was ground, my mother, my aunt, and I began making piki bread. First, my mom mixed the corn meal with water to make the dough. Then, I flattened the dough until it was paper-thin, and my aunt placed the dough on the stove to bake. "Now remember half of the bread is for supper, and the rest is for the ceremony," my mother told my aunt and me.

Ceremony? What ceremony? Then it hit me. The Coming Home ceremony! We have it every July as part of our Hopi culture, and it was only four days away! I must have looked shocked because my mother asked, "What's wrong Shooting Star?" "Nothing," I replied quickly. "Why don't you go help grandfather weave," my mother suggested.

Once I was on the second level where my grandfather was, I stepped into the weaving room quietly. My grandfather looked up and motioned to the loom on the other side of the room. I knew he wanted me to work on the weaving that I started yesterday. Soon my weaving was almost finished and the dark room was getting very hot. "Grandfather, may I go outside?" I asked. He looked up and studied my weaving. "Yes, you have done enough today, Shooting Star," he answered in a raspy voice. When I was on the roof, I felt a lot better than being in that stuffy room. I looked up at the sun and noticed that it was towards the west. The delicious smells of supper were rising from the kitchen.

Suddenly it occurred to me that it was time for my father, uncle, little brother and my cousin to be coming back from farming. I looked across the mesa. At the very edge I could just make out four figures in the distance. My body filled with joy as I  climbed down the ladder with my long black hair flowing behind me and ran to the door followed by my mom, aunt and sister who clutched a Kachina doll in her hand. My father, uncle, cousin and little brother were just coming up to the door. We hugged each other and went inside for supper.

After a delicious meal of piki bread, corn, beans and pork, we sat around the sitting room telling stories and laughing, all happy to be together again.

We were safe from the raiding Navajos today, but sadly, you never know what tomorrow will bring.

Comments from the Clear Creek Courant Newspaper editor.
"You have every right to be ultimately proud of your granddaughter. What a delightful article! She should be writing children's books. She has a knack for simplicity and wonderful description."
Einar


January 27, 2003