Prologue: "Mystery of the Chiasmus Cipher"

Prologue

Spring, 1778

Bagootsoo Mesa

Territory of Spain

      NeZhoni sat atop the towering pillar of stone drinking in the sight of swaying spring grass.  

     “Finally, the treasure is hidden ̶ ̶ the duty done.” 

     Her gaze went to the embers of the dying fire and settled on the baby nestled in her lap. She put him to her shoulder, patted his broad back and secured the front of the leather wrap over her creamy skin. A lone hawk circled in the warm updraft and squawked in surprise at the intruder invading his realm.

     The many years of hiding secrets from the man of my heart are over and my spirit can lie still.

     The cavern had been cool for most of the work, but now after the steep climb to the mouth of the hidden shaft, she was hot and red dirt dusted her hair and filled her ears. She finished the task by dropping strings of garnet stones into the burial tube. Then after she levered the heavy capstone into place, NeZhoni arranged cactus and sifted fine dirt into the seams.  The fire burning atop the stone would add ash to the camouflage and finish the disguise.

    The plump baby in her arms looked up with his dark green eyes flecked with gold. They were her eyes, the ones that had attracted the men who took her from her family. She knew she was treated better than most taken to be of service. Yet she had no regret about keeping the secret of her theft.

     “Dulce hijo, all is in place to follow the guide I’ve preserved for them. Only the hidden message has knowledge of the way to obtain this legacy. Those who come after us must follow carefully or they will meet their end." I must have faith it will be found, for I shall never see this land again nor shall you. 

 

     For ten springs, because of the agreement with travelling men, NeZhoni had been brought back to spend time at her father's hearth. Always, on one of  those days, she put on her ceremonial robe and went to Bison Mesa to mediatate. Diego, the man who had claimed her, honored the pledge and allowed her this time.
 _____________________________________________________

     When the strangely dressed traveling men came to winter camp she was afraid. The tribal council had long ago learned they could fight the men with shining hats, lose many braves, end up with nothing—or they could barter, trade and gain new tools and weapons for their people.

     On that day long ago, as she peeked out from behind her father she was noticed by one of the men. He longingly admired her fair skin, and emerald eyes. Several weeks later as the caravan of horses and wagons prepared to leave, the bargain was made.

     “NeZhoni, you will go with these men as payment for the mustangs we gain for the hunt. One man has promised to care for you. If you serve him well he will return to this place so you may see your family. Escalante, a man of God, has promised this to me.”

     There was no choice. NeZhoni knew she had to go. She walked slowly over to the man, Diego, and stood behind him. He, from that day had treated her kindly, and after some time had made her his woman. He taught her his language and ways of worship. He also taught her to read so she could study his holy book. In return, she taught him the medicine of plants and bore him many sons. During their travels she saw lands—amazing and precious things that she had never seen before.

     As she went quietly about her duties, the men of the quest ignored her as if she was mist. Not realizing she had learned their language they spoke freely and NeZhoni discovered the hiding place of their treasure. At first, she took only a few coins to cut into trinkets for hair adornments. Later she stole larger amounts and hid it among her belongings. There was so much. No one ever missed what she removed.

     As the days and weeks became years  she forgot many of the ways of her people, so making the trips of renewal to her homeland became important. Along with women’s learning and ceremony, each time she returned NeZhoni deposited the growing golden treasure in a hiding place she had discovered. Always silent to Diego and telling no one of her theft—ever firm in resolution NeZhoni never knew why she felt so compelled to carry out such a deception. Today was the last of her trickery, and she was glad she no longer had to fear discovery.

______________________________________________________

     Gently she placed her fifth son on the carrying board and wrapped the soft straps around the wriggling bundle to secure him. His eyes were closing as she put the sun cover above his head and lifted him upon her back. Shielding her eyes from the brightness, she took one last look at the mountains across the valley to ensure she had all the signs precisely written on the underside of her gown.

     The setting sun had turned the hills blood red and the sky violet by the time she reached the encampment. Her man was patiently waiting with their sons at spring camp on the prairie.

     “Diego, por favor toma tu hijo that I may take leave with my father”

 

     She gave him the sleeping child, and gestured she was going to the structure across the clearing. Her father, Chief Toohoo-Bagootsoo sat cross-legged on the dirt.

     In the corner of the enclosure, she changed back into the woven cloth dress and bonnet that made her look like the other women traveling in the wagon train. She laid her ceremonial gown out across the stone used to grind grain. Then she took out a knife, and carefully cut around the part of the soft leather where she had written the guide. 
________________________________________________________________________________
     On the day of her vision, six years ago in the women’s sweat house, she had eaten the ‘Flesh of the Gods’ mushroom, and asked the spirits how she could help her suffering people. In her waking dream, she saw a future where a spider spun its web across the land, white roads were made tall on stilts and people traveled in metal boxes. Homes were shut from the sky and everyone sat entranced before flickering lights. She also saw how to conceal her stolen gold.

     “Do this,” the spirits said, “Or, your people will fade to nothing from illness and greed. You can save them from this suffering with a great gift from the past—your gift.”

     She saw the way to prepare a guide and asked faithful ones to assist in following the plan she was given. None of them could understand the reasons for the peculiar work, but trusted in NeZhoni's vision to ensure the treasure would be found at the right time. They were saving their hope-dream for children unborn.

______________________________________________________

     Now the task was finished. Only she and her infant son knew the final secrets. She twisted the hide into a roll, positioned it within a Bagootsoo horn and gave it to her father. "Honored father, I have done as the spirits wish.
     As she placed the horn in his hands she said, "This will show the way to the gift for those who seek. But who ever attempts the quest must do so with a pure heart. I give warning  to follow only when the time is right and the sign is true or the journey shall end in tragedy.”
     She saw sadness in his eyes, “Father, have not sorrow in your heart, for my life of exile has become a blessing to our people, and also to me.”

     NeZhoni reached out to touch her father’s hand and stroked his sunken cheek. They both knew their next meeting would be in sky-clouds. The parting was heavy and silent.

     Overhead there was only a slice of moon and few stars. She could barely see the children in the wagon entwined in the rhythmic unity of sleep. Diego saw her coming, rose quickly and with one motion was in the wagon seat with the reins in his hands.
     NeZhoni lithely climbed the wheel and slid across the smooth board to be at his side. She felt the warmth of him and looked up at the wide shoulders and strong profile of the man she had learned to love. He slapped the reins and urged on the horses.
     The wagon pulled free of the muddy ruts with a jolt. They had many miles of travel to join the others for their journey across the rolling waters. NeZhoni did not look back. There was no need—her world was with her in the wagon.

Grumpy and with good reason! I have Fibromyalgia.

For the most part I am a very positive person but today has sent me into a state I rarely linger in for very long.  However, today....I started off grumpy, cranky, depressed, fat, with a headache, heartburn, swollen feet, hives, bad breath, nausea, constipation, diarrhea, stomach ache, and bad hair. Rather a rotten way to start the day...so far...

Now I sit waiting for the something good to happen.Under all that poop there must be a pony...right!

I think this time everything started because of very little sleep. Last night was a snuggle night for Mr. Patrick. He grabs me pulls me close, I figure sweet nothings will begin. But No...nay nay...as usual within less than five seconds he is breathing loudly in my ear which rapidly becomes a sawmill rendition of, "Opus in B minor."  (See previous entry on why I don't protest him sleeping in the bed upside-down.)

Then the topper is that he started getting his nightly toaster warm-aura, and I envisioned myself in the Hansel and Gretel oven warmed up by the lady who lived in the candy house. Several times I tried to gently slide away, but each time I did, he re-established the anaconda grip...(stronger than a Kung-foo-grip) I could not go to sleep needless to say.

I think it was 2:30 when I finally escaped to the spare bedroom...forgetting I have been purging closets and the floor was covered by various clothing items and an array of coat hangers...
Once across the land mines, of course. And I also forgot many of the clothes were on the bed.  I clutched at whatever I could get my hands on and launched them across the room in the pitch dark.

Around 3:30 I got to sleep only to be awoken by my dear at 4 :30AM with his question, honey....couldn't you get to sleep????  Echhhhhhh!!! He was trying to be considerate I know, but REALLY.

The worst was when I looked in the mirror to realize I looked like a chipmunk with nuts in his cheeks or a poor imitation of Marlon Brando as Don Corleone in the Godfather...(.cotton in his mouth). This happens to be a fibromyalgia thing. Everyone says I'm allergic, but nay nay...I've gone that route and find nothing...so I know now from experience that for the next 48-72 hours I will be puffy....often on the bottoms of my feet too!

I have said I will not complain, I hate that...the only thing is sometimes I am so puffy I look like a gargoyle and certainly not ready to give a lecture on pharmacology...when I am gorked on Benedry to keep the hives from extending to my tongue and throat!...SCARY!

But as with all fibromyalgia stuff, no one cares so why should I...Right?
So here I am Grumpy, foggy headed from meds and a swollen brain but I will press on.
I'm still waiting for the sunshine...but with patience...sort-of.
So how is your day going.????

Upsidedown! and I have a wrestling match every night!

This week 2012 fall school starts so in an attempt to get myself together and ready for my classes to start I wanted to purge a bit of the house (especially since the mess from the family reunion of 24 extra bodies in the house for almost two weeks...ech!).

 We are the sedate and well mannered family

everyone desires, Ha! just kidding!

Of course in my typical OCD, ADD inability to stay on task as I started to fix our bed...now I say fix because we have a little sleeping issue! (that is an understatement!).  My husband says I slither into bed and lay there like someone in a coma...barely moving...usually with my mouth open and snoring...while he on the other hand is a nomad who cannot stay still or be happy unless every cover of every sheet and blanket has been pulled into a large ball and molded to suit whatever position he decides is the one for the moment...and I do mean moment... Sleeping with him is like being in a meat grinder.

Now we have had this issue for quite some time! Truthfully...from day one of our over 45 year marriage! At first I called him the blanket spool...he would wind up in the covers and leave me with none...and squeeze me out and off the bed (I have a fear of heights...see previous story....mind you we have a very large bed...BUT, It is also very high (I need a stool to get in) and falling off would leave me with scars from some injury or at the very least blood gushing from a deep  wound). 

In our first days of marriage I would get out of bed and move to the other side....only to have him worm his way back over to push me out again.

Have I mentioned the weight issue...when first married I was all of 104...(he is nine inches taller than me) He was at least 205 and I believe the weight disparity has remained the same as years have passed with each of us gaining a few...well more than a few...but anyway, as he gets closer and closer to me, I begin to slide under him and then smother. No wonder when we were first married I would wake up gasping for breath and find him with his chest on top of my head.

So this nightly battle continued until we moved to a house we bought from friends...it was just a transfer of papers between friends...no realtor...no title search, nothing..how cool was that! I think the only closing cost was to purchase deed stamps required to pay off the Spanish-American war ! I'm not kidding! (Thank you again Don and Ann Barnes)

At that time he swore the bed was tilted and in order to sleep he had to have his head at the top of the slant...so he slept upside down most of the time. And I had a romantic view of his feet...(possibly his method of birth control...) 

Then we moved to Santa Clarita and I said there was "no way two bedrooms are slanted" and he should sleep with his head up top like "normal people" (he's never-ever proclaimed to be normal) But I wanted to sleep with something other than a view of his flat feet...

But, he swore he needed to have fresh air in his face and that he could only get it from the window...and he had to sleep upside down to have the cool air hit his face. Yea! Right!, excuses, excuses. 

I'm quite sure now he does it due to the fact that his feet are very-very flat and he wanted me to rub them. He told me his feet always hurt at the end of the day and if I rubbed his then he would massage mine...hm mm...not often did he rub mine now that I think about it...

You may think this would be unacceptable, however this arrangement has not been a bad thing, for several reasons

First, he sleeps hot...and his side of the bed is usually wet from sweating all night and when I started having hot flashes there is no way I wanted to be anywhere near Mr. Radiator.

Second, he has always had huge shoulders...nice protective shoulders, and very nice to hug...but they fill up the bed...so his feet are actually a better fit and give me a tiny bit more room for my coma act.

Third, because he sleeps hot often he is on top of the bed...(this takes his hotness away from my skin..and prevents hot-flashes). With his five pillows strategiacally placed, then he usually takes another blanket just incase he gets cold in the night...fat chance!  (simply another thing for me to fold and put away each day,)  Now I admit I'm a bit of a nut and like a nice flat bed with military, neat, no wrinkles, square corners.  (Could also be the strict nurse training of the 60's)

And then the topper fun upsidedown activity is that we have a TV across the room and when he is upsidedown he uses a mirror to watch the screen. (I swear this is so he can practice his backup techniques...he is the master of backing up the car) The problem is he waves the mirror around and blocks my view of the screen as he starts to fall asleep which is in about three seconds. (weird I know, but this whole thing is a bit strange..don't you think) 

Then I have to pull the mirror from his hand to see the TV because in order to get to sleep I have to watch TV or read for at least an hour to get to sleep..and often in the night wake up again! and then read some more...and many times get  up with only 2-3 hours sleep...and 5 hours of laying flat to keep the sheets neat!

Here I am with Jacob and his sheep at the county fair...I slept alone at Colleen's house and had no feet in my face so you can see....no bags under my eyes...
So if you wonder why I am grumpy or have bags under my eyes...don't ask...now you know why!  Sorry if I'm complaining, but it is Monday for goodness sakes.

SERENDIPITY HEALS ALL ILLS!

We got through the reunion with I'm not sure how many grand kids at one time sleeping in the circus tent in the backyard. Patrick swears sleeping out there cured his leg and knee pain.  I'm not sure that was it but having all those little boys hanging on every word of his bedtime story must have had something to do with it. Like serendipity healing the new holistic method. However I spoke to some of the boys on our drive home from Lego land and they said every night the story dwindled off and then they heard snoring...and he never finished the story, most likely he never had an end to the story anyway. 

My bedtime stories at least have a plot. Patrick's on the other hand wind around to end up nowhere, but somehow the kids love them anyway. 

The popcorn machine outside was a good idea, except when the popcorn landed in the house...all over the place. 

I really miss everyone needless to say and as they left one by one, my tears began to flow and my chest felt tight.  I even saved some of the cups with names on them as a memento. Oh one day I'll throw them away but not now! and not yet!

What a ride, we went from the beach and little Pat's surfing lessons to California adventure, running on the Saugus High School track, Tandem riding, Games led by Jessika, Birthdays for 6 or 7...hiking up to the HOLLYWOOD sign, visiting with old kid friends. Going to the Temple (Patrick and his new wife were witness couple...how cool is that!) We had a big party with great grandma Helen learning to throw gang signs for the photo session. We went to Magic Mountain water park, Lego land, and the Lego water park...We never stopped running.

After the fun, frivolity and food, I wonder...Hey, why don't my pants fit? I weigh almost the same as I did ten years ago. I think gravity has something to do with my wardrobe malfunction. It's gravity and the fact that my adipose tissue seems to migrate. I mean move around. I see the advertisements for Brazilian butts. I have the same butt only thing it's in the front. I guess I should walk backwards and then I'd be in fashion.
I know my condition is the result of time passing, yes I admit it. Getting older is the pits. A while back I went to a gerontology class so I could teach Medical Surgical Nursing. Ha, the information they talked about is my life! First they mentioned your vision not only fades, but colors become more difficult to match as detailed perception also fades. So I end up looking like a Johnny Depp character from Alice with bright colors. Ones that I thought were faded and subtle.

And who knew..Ha..I wear glasses sometimes WITH my contacts to read pharmacy labels which are written for the little itsy bitsy Whos in the Horton story.
Then they mentioned that your taste is the next to go. Some young whipper snapper of about 50 years or so said "you are born with 100% of your taste buds, they don't grow back so when you destroy them with hot liquids...brain freeze cold, and Tabasco sauce your taste begins to disappear." I think that means that by the time you are 80 you have anywhere from 25-20% of those taste buds left...that's why some of the things I hated as a kid... you know like...garlic, onions, avocados, you like in your senior years. That's why old people chew on mints constantly to get rid of the bad breath from the noxious foods they eat. Eating strong foods can at least allow you to get some enjoyment of food. Salty and Sweet still remain, but chewing may be a problem. 

I remember Patrick's dad being hooked on chips and doughnuts...makes sense now!
Balance can go pretty quick so that's the broken hip thing as you fall down because the message to the brain to re-adjust your posture or "Quick..you'll FALL" is pretty slow. Hot also takes a long time to reach the old thinker too and that's why my mother-in-law could take out a tray of cookies from the oven without hot pads to protect her hands...

I'm still going to try and get this five baby baggy belly to reposition or go away...but decided if I did that it would be worse. Hmmm, one giant boob, no... a hump back, one large hip, Oh DARN! Naw.

Then I thought how about the thing I saw on TV the other day that flattens your stomach. Where does that fat go...right up into your neck and thoracic cavity so you look like you have a goiter and can't breathe to boot. 

So there you go! Asphyxiate to death, while looking good! I don't like that option.
This is grim...so picture this, a weirdly dressed, smelly, falling down, person who is able to stand extremes of temperature due to slow neuron movement.
 
But then I tried to think of one good thing as I usually do. And decided there was one good thing; as Social security runs out WA-LA who cares! You won't care or be bothered when forced to eat cat food and crackers because the taste and smell would be fine due to zero taste buds and no olfactory sense at all. (maybe not so okay with lumpy or stringy texture) You won't care about lots of miss matched old clothes either for now you can't distinguish anything except bright colors...Hmmm , that's a silver lining, sort-of-I guess.

Don't tell your kids about all this getting older stuff or they will not want to ever visit!

Heaven or Hell!

Days drift by in numbered succession
We work to buy another possession.
Routines of life burns the candle low
There is another world beyond this I know
Break through the fog and into the light
Open wide the cracks, escape from the blight
How to emerge from the darkness and gloom
And not remain trapped in an earthly tomb
Do what's right, set aside your fears
Keep your chin up and smile through your tears
Patience will bless us, with affliction we'll grow
Set aside temptation, for we reap what we sow   
Yet for sure Heaven or Hell awaits for us all
And there is one who gleefuly wants us to fall
Or you can turn to Him who loves without condition
Looking over us all, pulling us back from perdition
He knew long ago the mistakes we would make
And gave us the grand plan for us all to partake
He waits at the gate arms wide to embrace
His countenance is in you, it shines in your face

The Dog Ate What? and he still lives?

Yesterday I took our dog Biscuit to the vaccine clinic...he was so obedient and gentile...and I mean the dog not the buffoon vet-assistants who gave the rabies shots. They were nasty and rude. (Now in the past I picked up our dog shots and gave them myself! but I guess that is in the olden days here in Santa Clarita when it was a farming community. So this is only the second shot for an animal where I had to take the patient to the clinic...)

There I was getting our old doggie a rabies shot for his license......(What does that license get him...permission to pee on our lawn?) anyway, I signed in at the walk-in-dog-clinic. I was in line behind an old skinny-girl Labrador who looked like she had been on chemo, her hair was so thin. I stood there with my bear-fur dog...that's what his fur-hair is like before it sheds. It's 110 today so maybe he will start soon, he's a late shedder...(Is that a word?) I wasn't sure of his age, but the very large check-in-lady said he was 12, (according to their records)..so in people years he's 84...almost as old as my mom, and in much better shape.

I continued to stand behind the mange-almost hairless dog who was 10 yrs or 70 in people years, a mere whipper-snapper compared to the Biscuit . As I got closer to Frick and Frack, the two guys giving the shots...I began to cringe and close my eyes due to their really rotten sterile technique...they took off the caps of the needles with their teeth. (You flunk my pharmacology class Dude!) Then they were waiving the UN-covered needles around like maracas in a Desi Arnez band. I ducked to avoid being skewered. The piece-de-resistance was putting the syringe, and needle sans-cap...under the foot and stomping down while at the same time- giving another shot...(That is a double flunk action DUDE!) Oh! did I say, I never saw a needle disposal container, AND THEY RE-CAPPED several times as I watched in Horror!...(What is the result of multiple finger sticks of rabies vaccine?) I wanted to flee before the guys had foaming seizures, but obediently stood in line to pay my money and then fled out the door....I am hoping...yes hoping our poor old canine friend is pushing up daisies before he must have another shot at that place.

But sadly, he constantly rallies like a puppy and runs after the ball, even when he drops it himself and thinks some invisible person is playing with him. He still has OCD and lines up rocks and balls, bones and other Geerfkaa he finds. You could consider him a dog MONK...like the TV show. And yet, He has finally become an endearing dog...but if we move, which is the plan next year we are not sure what will happen to the sweet old guy.


If anyone wants to adopt him let us know as he no longer excavates the yard, does not bark unless a stranger enters the gate,  And has had his shots!

So Have fun reading Biscuit-rewind if you are interested in adoption and see what you as his new family will NOT have problems with...

After Tuna (our first dog... who was of questionable linage) died we had several other dogs join our family. Bandit was an absolutely nutty Dalmatian, he put out fires. If we set off a firecracker, he would pounce on it with his paws and put it out. Fairly soon after we got him, he jumped the fence. We never saw him again.

Shoe came along…a long haired retriever of sorts, black with white patches. He became the Rooster of the back yard. Megan had chickens in a coop along the back fence. Shoe would sit like a king with all the hen-ladies surrounding him, pecking, grooming and getting any bugs or dirt off. In return, he protected his girls from the many raccoons who prowled the neighborhood and would have loved to make a chicken dinner of his harem.

Next came Bevis who was massive, protective and gentle…and he loved the beach! He could swim 2 or 3 hundred yards into the water to retrieve his beloved ball and swim back to the shore like a seal. When Bevis died all the kids were gone from the house and Mike was on a mission to Texas. I wanted someone, anyone, to meet and greet me when I got home from work. Patrick was working long hours at a hospital job over an hour away from Santa Clarita so I wanted another dog. I watched the paper dutifully and soon found an advertisement for retriever puppies. There were only two males, a wild acting black one with white marks on his chest and a cute sleepy golden one. Hoping to get a calm dog we chose the golden and named him Biscuit. Big mistake, as soon as we got his shots (which I gave...bad move) and other puppy ministrations (de-worming) he became a crazy monster who could jump straight up into the air about 6 feet and began to dig and demolish the back yard like an archeologist searching for King Tut’s tomb.

He particularly liked PVC pipe, and excavated all the sprinkler lines in the back yard. Patrick was incensed and thought getting him a new home would be better than dog-o-cide. I tried to minimize Biscuit’s behavior and would often replace the sprinklers before Pat came home. One time he got into the house and got shoes, the TV remote and my daughter-in-laws’ cell phone and IPod. At that point he was very close to being abandoned in the Mohave Desert. Then we discovered he could open the sliding back door by using his nose to push it open (The pee stain is still on the living room rug...brand new at the time... which I could never get out) and would also get into the garage and my clean clothes in the hamper…spreading them all over the backyard in the dirt. We were unaware of another of his tricks until one day when taking him for a walk.

He was about 14 months old but somehow was one of the most obedient dogs when on a walk especially when we had a weighted pack on him full of about 12 pounds of nuts and bolts from one of the buckets Pat had left over from one of his jobs. (see “What do you do with a dozen doorknobs.”) Caesar the dog whisperer had suggested having a weighted harness was a good way to calm down an over energetic dog, so I was willing to try anything at this point since it appeared Biscuit was soon going to the dog jail as a result of his gangster behavior.

After we were about half way around the block he stopped to manage his usual poop deposit which I dutifully picked up in one of the doggie bags I carried. I dropped the deposit in a trash can which was on the curb waiting for the garbage men and we continued on a while, talking about the vicissitudes of life. It was Patrick who noticed what looked like a string hanging from Biscuits’ rear. I watched it dangling back and forth and thinking it was something he sat in so put a dog-bag over my hand to retrieve the string swinging from under his tail.

As I grabbed the string he walked forward and as soon as he did we both realized the string was getting longer as it came out from his rear.  He walked forward,  and by then about two feet of string emerged and finally out came tied to the end of the string was a wooden pull handle which made an audible pop as it came emerged and fell to the ground. He had eaten the lawnmower pull cord…handle and all…

It was if we had revved him up and started him like the lawnmower. He ran forward yipping as the handle extricated and we couldn’t believe our eyes…but it was true. When we got home we discovered sure enough, the handle and pull cord were missing from the power machine! He had devoured the cord…handle and all. Patrick’s only comment was, “That’s your dog.” Now how could you get rid of a dog who was that clever…and that stupid?  
And now that dumb dog is 84, older than Coon, our first dog, when he passed. I have a feeling all our dogs in heaven are looking down and laughing!

Football players watched my butt in dance class! How I became a writer...

When I was in the second grade I clearly remember writing a play about bunnies. I asked my friends to help me put on the play, and after I made the costumes and had a few rehearsals during recess asked my teacher if we could perform it for our class.

Not long after that we put it on for the entire school. I guess she liked the play, or the way I wrote, or how I convinced so many of my friends to wear the paper ears I made.

I’m not sure why I was drawn to books, but I was often found in the library. I loved reading as a kid and still do. I read about two to three books a week when I can. In the summer at the age of eight I walked two miles to Van Nuys dragging a wagon to carry home the ten books I was allowed to check out. Ten was the limit of books you could check out. After doing that every few days for several weeks the Librarian took pity on me especially after she saw the wagon and I told her I walked the two miles down busy Oxnard St. from near the college to check out the books. After that she broke the rule and allowed me to check out twenty books so I only had to make the trip twice a week.

In Junior High School I took the bus in the morning as it was three miles away. I told my dad not to pay for the afternoon bus pass as I often missed the ride and walked home because I was in the library.  It wasn’t long before I was asked to work in the library because I knew how to use the Dewey Decimal system to file away books.  I loved it because then there was no limit to the number of books I could take home. All the while I was writing stories poems and plays, which I then directed. The plays I wrote always had dancing, my other love. (my tap dancing never improved but my Ballet was impeccable.)

I think I set my sights on nursing rather than dancing or writing (although I have kept up both) because I read so many books that idealized the profession.  When I started nursing school at the age of 16 I had never been sick, or been in a hospital but knew more about hospital life than most others in the program because of the books I read. Of course in College I needed gas money (32 cents/gal.) to get to the hospitals we were training at. So I got a job at the library and in the summers got paid jobs to dance and sing in shows and programs.  I was a theater minor and took drama, dance and theater management along with nursing. I wrote away for my own fun and most of those stories are lost in some trash heap.

I met my sweetheart in the library.  Actually we first met when he sat behind me in Junior High home room and bugged me by putting his finger up the single long curl of my ponytail. Later he told me he couldn’t resist fiddling with my hair because it tempted him every day swinging back and forth in front of his face. He was a chubby kid who every day bothered me. I was the skinny girl who tried to be cool, but actually was a book loving nerd.

In college working at the library most nights I had a clipboard for the football players to sign-in for attending study hall. I guess they wanted to make sure none of the players got bad grades. Several times a week this one tall very handsome fellow signed in. (how did he get sooo tall?) Then he proceeded to bug me all night checking books in and out. He made tons of work for me.  I did not recognize him from Junior High School, but he tells me he knew exactly who I was…he continued to delight in bugging me. To this day he is a tease. We had one sort-of blind date that went so well as far as attraction went that after the date I told him I couldn’t see him anymore. I liked him and was attracted to him way too much (we had a snog session that lasted for hours) as I was supposed to be spoken for by my High School boyfriend who was attending Annapolis. Later of course it was obvious that particular high school relationship was not going to work out well. Dennis turned to his religion once away from home. As you can imagine, a Christian Scientist who believes medicine is unnecessary did not mix well with a nurse who was becoming dedicated to her profession. I was unable to understand the mindset of that particular religion.

I remember one odd thing was that we had some of the football players in dance class. The coach had the idea that modern ballet would make them more agile on the football field.  I remember they all stood at the back of the class. I thought this was because they didn’t know what they were doing and were embarrassed. I learned later it was because they like to watch the butts of the girls in leotards up front. By then I was pretty shapely and unbeknownst to me, became one of the targets for the watch patrol.

My writing career after I married and began a family was limited at best and with a few short bursts of writing poems about my children almost came to a halt.  Then it started up again with plays and roadshows. My writing must have been good enough, along with my directing as many productions won accolades although none was ever printed.  As the years passed my scripts and poems written at others request piled up in a drawer. Often I would write to keep a record of important life experiences. Now that I look back, many wonderful opportunities were missed but now I am trying to catch up after raising my family. The problem still exists that time is elusive as life pushes in and prevents my sitting down to put my thoughts on a computer chip (I almost said put my thoughts on paper, however that medium is almost archaic)

My longtime dream was one day to write a novel. One that was interesting had some shred of reality to it, as well as mystery and romance. Inside my head, thumping to get out was my story and when I finally got some of it recorded on a computer it was lost and I became discouraged. (That does not happen when you use pen and ink.) When my sister-in-law complained I had sent her pages and then stopped I began thinking of my story once again. She wanted to know how the story ends. When I told her I knew what I wanted to happen but the characters would tell me what should happen she didn’t understand and demanded to know the end of the story. If you are a writer you understand the zone…and how sometimes time disappears as you write and the story unfolds without you help. 

I’m stopping now and will continue later. I want to edit and get my novel ready. For what I’m not sure, I guess hope and faith that someone will want to read it and know how it ends is the goal.  Thank you to the author of the last book I read who wrote of her writing passion and how it began for she created the need to record this little history of my writing…and why it took me so long to pour my wild brain onto paper/computer.

Yelling at the Mexican's in My Tree!

What a Monday morning! Last night I didn't sleep well. My husband set his alarm and it went off at 2:30am. He wears ear plugs. (He says this is so he can sleep above my snoring. I say it's so he can't hear himself snoring.) I finally had to shake him to wake-up and turn the blazing-loud alarm-thing off.  He uses his old phone as a clock so he can see the time in the night, but I have never figured out how to turn the alarm off. Especially when I am fumbling around in the dark!

He finally got up and turned it off, he started to get ready for work, until I pointed out it was only 2:30am. He of course went right back to sleep. He can sleep at the drop of a hat. I, on the other hand have a hard time getting to sleep and staying asleep. If I am rudely awakened, I'm doomed!

The alarm went off again at 4:10am (his usual time to get up and do all the junk he does before he leaves at 5:30. For the life of me, since he does not put on makeup or do much of anything to his non-hair-bald-shaved head, I can't figure out what the heck takes him so long...but I digress.)  As he said prayers and left the room I mentioned I never got back to sleep after 2:30am.He said...too bad! and went on his merry way.

I decided to try and get at least another hour of sleep so began to read a very nice vampire story. I finally drifted off at a little before 8am, only to be awakened at 8:15 by a very loud noise coming through the windows. At first my groggy brain thought "Okay, it's the garbage guys who come on Mondays." But no, the noise continued and low and behold...I looked out the window to see at least three Hispanics up in my beautiful tree tied-there with ropes and using chain saws. They were in the process of cutting down the tree in the front yard!

Several times previously I have fended off these city know-nothing fellows who have tried to assault our beautiful tree. They keep telling me it is a city tree. I beg to differ because it is over 12' from the sidewalk, which seems to be their criteria.

Once when we were gone we returned to find the tree cut back. (Which by the way shades our front window and keeps the electric bill down in the summer...Oh maybe they are in cahoots with Edison and Co.) It had a haircut that I can only call a butch-cut. Down to the nub. That must have been about 5 or 7 years ago and just now the poor thing is finally starting to come back. This tree has been the glory of the neighborhood and for years in the fall has graced us with the beauty of golden leaves. I love it when the sun shines through the foliage during that time of year and bathes the whole front of the house in a Midas touch of beauty.

So there I was running to get dressed and hopping around to get on my pants, I was barely pulling on my shirt and jamming a hat on my unkempt bedhead when I made it out the door and began yelling at the men in the tree!
Get out of there!  You don't have permission to cut my tree! It's not on city property! NO PERMISO! ALTO! ALTO! I yelled. (Maybe they hire men who don't speak english so they can claim they don't understand when you tell them to go away.) 

The guys in the tree all grinned and stopped their chain saws but remained in the tree watching the boss, "Padron", on the ground.

It seemed they were getting a kick out of me yelling at him and telling them to get off my property. He told me the city told them to cut the tree. I said NO! go away! Give me the city number, "Ill tell  them where they can go!" 

"I like my tree just the way it is." We have tons of memories wraped around that  tree. So, the up-shot was, I was given a number to call and get an explanation. Well, "Ignacio" has some s'plaining to do! Not even a notification about the cutting! I almost feel like I need to be as dilligent as Butterfly Jones. She was the tree-hugger lady who sat in an oak tree to prevent people from cutting it down to build more and more homes.  Good for her! Good for me, I averted another tree biting the dust! I hope, I can only HOPE they don't come one day when I'm gone.

Confession time!....I never called Ignacio, but the men with the chain-saws never came back...Yeah!

I skate for the t-birds...Never trust a Frenchman!...UP-DATE

He is at it again, my angelic husband who loves to tease! Yesterday I discovered he recently told the guys at work I am barely five feet tall and over 400 pounds.  I'm not sure it's politically correct to discuss the weight of a woman these days, but his personal filter is non-existent when it concerns me.


However his boss heard the comment and told everyone the story of a very "fat" wife was a lie. Then this fellow proceeded to tell all who would listen that he had seen me several times and I was a willowy blond. (a bit of an exaggeration on his part)
Behind closed doors Patrick reminded this fellow of his loyal support when the boss told white lies and himself teased and tormented his workers and sub-contractors.


And so I heard from the horses mouth (so to speak...) that the big boss in a loud resounding voice rescinded his statement and said he had met the rotund me and I could cause earthquakes when I got mad and jumped up and down...which was frequently since my temper had not cooled down much from when I was a professional roller-derby queen for the t-birds in the 60's.


Once again Patricks reputation as a saint, who still loves and adores his wife and her largeness...has been preserved. (I'm not sure if he said this time my legs were amputated in an accident but it doesn't matter much anymore).  Does anyone know where I can get a t-birds jersey to prove his fantasy is true. I do think he is beginning to believe his own tall tales...the problem is...so am I!


Following is my original story of my lying, fib-telling tease of a husband !  If you  havent' seen it yet...read on...


For some strange reason my husband has been blessed with an innocent face and most things he says folks believe.  I have heard people say he looks like a cop...and since his name is Patrick...he looks like, an Irish cop...an honest fellow.  Not So!   He is a Frenchman...and is as slippery as they come!


He is the master of words and can croon unbelievable stories that sound true...especially regarding me his sweet and innocent wife.  I have heard it said how rude the French speak, but I think mostly they are masters of disguise, and I know for a fact the phrase, "Never trust a French Man." rings true.


Please remember I came from a quiet formal New York City family where dinner was served on a white linen tablecloth, and one never told stories unless they were the honest truth...as opposed to my fib-telling husband's family of five boys who were from a homestead ranch in the middle of no-where and quite close to cave men in their behavior. (the mother of the household, Ruth, lost the battle for civility many years before I married into the family). The truth is all the men in the Hanrion family delighted in deception.


Soon after we married my husband would introduce me as his "little roller skating wife."  When people would ask, he then explained we had met when he attended a roller derby match at the Los Angeles arena and I was a jammer for the Lady Thunder-Birds rollerskating squad.  He did this with such a quiet and sincere voice and serious face everyone believed him.  At first I was stunned and would loudly protest, but he would shush me and say, "Now Dear, don't be ashamed of your past...and you were so cute in your tight uniform and were a very skilled roller derby girl! I fell madly in love." And much to my chagrin, over my complaints...most all believed him and were in awe of my talent and also a bit afraid that if confronted I would punch them out, since Patrick would then explain, "She has a bit of a temper, so watch what you say and don't set her off."


Soon I gave up trying to protest as I knew my words would fall on deaf ears once he had persuaded all within earshot, I was only shy and did not want anyone to know of my fame and talent.  So after a while I didn't try to convince others his words were a lie, hoping this would quell his enthusiasm for embarrassing me. Oh! not so.  It didn't work.  So, I then began to agree with him and added tales of my prowess and stories of my victories.


This did not stop him either, so I gave up and when he started with his deception of my past when introduced to new acquaintances, I would walk away in disgust and leave him to weave the tale of our meeting, much to the amazement of those listening.


I found this talent extended to the office where he told the office help his wife was a "little person" or quadriplegic, or double or quadruple amputee.  Most would feel sorry for him and amaze at his kindness and concern.  That he, such a big and virile man would have the consideration and compassion to care for such an invalid never questioning what he said.  All the while he was chuckling at their gullibility.

However, as the years past, some became aware of his deception and wild imaginative stories and knew he was a tease and that he would patiently wait to spring the joke that trapped his audience.  But they were never quite sure about his tales and always held in reserve the tiny possibility that he told the truth.  My daughter Rebecca and her family a few years ago dressed as nerds for Halloween and the photos were quite funny.   About a month later he showed the photo to a secretary in the office who had a particularly tender heart.  He told the story of how proud he was of his middle daughter who was handicapped..."Eugenia" and the husband she met at the institution, and the sweet, yet mentally handicapped children they bore.


The secretary, slowly and (knowing Patrick was a tease,) quietly with trepidation responded with sympathy and concern.  It was several days later he showed her a real photo of Rebecca and her handsome...very smart boys.  This secretary didn't speak to him for several days saying she had wasted her emotions and worry about him and his daughter Eugenia.  From then on she called him "The Devil", and "Doctor Evil."  He wore the monikers with pride!  Imagine!


While he was in Chandler he told the engineers and other Superintendents his wife was a "little person".  This happened when someone in the office was speaking negatively about some TV show regarding midgets.  He told the person he was offended by the word midget especially since his wife was a "little person."  Of course he said this all with a straight face, and then immediately walked back to his cubicle as if upset by the conversation.


I guess there was a buzz in the office for a while..."Is it true Pat's wife it a...ummm "little person?"  No one knew, and so they called to the office in Anaheim Calif...those guys had never met me and didn't know, or couldn't tell them for sure. And the men were not quite sure if he was telling them the truth or not, and when asked repeatedly, Patrick of course, would only bow his head and turn away with a few tears in his eyes.


I visited Chandler for the first time during Spring break from teaching at COC.  The first morning there I drove him to the work site at Intel and dropped him off so I could have use of the car.  I guess all the guys at the office were still wondering about the little lady who was Pat's wife...quite a match since he is over 6"2 " tall.  When I arrived to pick him up that afternoon I noticed the parking lot was loaded with quite a few men milling around and talking in groups.  Patrick stood by himself near the stop sign so I slowed to allow him to climb into the passenger seat.  I noticed several of the men had disgusted looks on their faces as they turned and walked away and when I questioned the behavior the reply came..."Oh, their disappointed your not a little person, that's all."


"Up to your old tricks again.  If you had told me I could have scrunched down in the seat and looked through the steering wheel to go along with the joke," I responded, as I had learned...It's better to go along with the gag than to fight city hall.  If not, he just would have invented some other story for his amusement!


It's amazing to me after all these years he can still pull suckers in (I guess there really is one born every minute) and hook someone to reel them in like an unsuspecting catch while he laughs like mad on the inside.  Often times the "catch" never learns the truth... "Leave 'em guessing and that's the best reward," or so he says!


Somehow, after all the stories he tells, I am starting to be convinced I was quite the skater,
yes I was....
I know I was...
wasn't I?