Angel Faith

             I knew we were going to go over the edge of the canyon. Sitting in the back seat of the Dodge Ram Charger, I caught a fleeting glimpse out the window. My sight was filled with an impression of a steep bank, which was nothing but a jumble of large rocks and boulders with a wild, rushing, surging river at the bottom of the gorge. I could see no sign of the highway, of the shoulder of the road, or even any grassy dirt area beside the road. It was just straight down. I felt the right hand wheels of the truck leave the road. I was sure I did. We were going over. I braced for the crash.

As I did, a line from a popular country/western song floated through my thoughts. A song about someone who has so many troubles she needed the help of ten thousand angels. As I braced for the impending roll into the gorge, I said a quick, silent pray for just one angel.

 We were on vacation. Our first in a lot of years. My son Denis was driving, my husband Luke was beside him in the passengers’ seat. I was in the back seat on the right side. We had left our home in Albuquerque, New Mexico three days before. We had driven straight through to Oregon, but were now taking our time so we could look at this beautiful state. None of the three of us had ever been to Oregon before. We were headed for Bend, Oregon where my sister and her family had recently moved to. They had been pleading with us to come see them and their wonderful new home.

We had crossed a lot of desert in the state and were glad to get to the mountains. We went through John Day, stopping briefly and were headed for Bend, Oregon, by way of a scenic route through the mountains.

We had been admiring the trees and more trees, wild flowers, creeks, streams, and the river. Beautiful views greeted each turn of the narrow, two lane road. Denis had opened a soda and was drinking it as he drove. He had had his license for three years now and I had never worried about his driving. He had always been careful.

One little inattentive moment was all it took. Denis took another swallow from the soda can, turning it high to get the last drop. As he did the truck veered toward the edge of the road and the canyon below. There was very little road shoulder, so in less than a second Luke and I were looking into the yawing abyss of the gorge, with the river at the bottom.

Both Luke and I instinctively yelled at our son. “Denis, look out!” “Get back on the road!”

It was at this point that I was sure the truck was going over the edge: that the wheels were already in mid-air: that the accident couldn’t be avoided.

But something happened. Denis, realizing he was too close to the edge, dropped the soda, and pulled the steering wheel hard left. I would swear that it felt as if a large hand pushed the truck to the left at the same time. It was as if the truck was shoved back onto the road.

And then we were going on down the road.

I shook and shivered with fear, and relief at the same time. We were still on the narrow highway and not at the bottom of the gorge. I yelled at Denis. “Don’t ever take your eyes of the road like that again.” After a moment I continued. “And thank you. Thank you for getting us back on the road.”

Luke spoke as he picked up the discarded soda can. “Settle down everyone. Denis, be a little more careful.”

Denis muttered something I didn’t understand. His face was very, very pale, and he had slowed the speed of the truck considerably.

Sweat still poured off me as I sat back in the seat, trying to calm down. I considered what had happened. I didn’t think I had ever been so frightened or so close to death. I wondered if we had really been as close to the edge as it seemed. Luke said that we hadn’t been, but I knew he was really shaken too. In my own mind I was sure the right hand wheels had been hanging in mid-air over the canyon. Had I felt something – some force – shove the truck back over. Or was it just the motion of the truck changing direction that rapidly when Denis spun the steering wheel?

 Long years ago I had quit believing in angels, or going to church, or believing in God, or some sort of superior being. Over the pass few years I had heard a lot of people talking about how angels had helped them out of danger or turned their life around. Angels – immortal, invisible, unseen, special beings. Angels that always do incredible good. Sometimes it is something as simple as pushing our truck back on the road, or it could be something that on one ever realizes. That no one will ever know about. Angels that sit on our shoulders, or in our minds and direct us on what is the right, or good, or proper things to do. Angels that carry us to heaven when we die. One theory is that we may even become those same angels in the next life, if we are good in this one. It’s a pleasant thought.

Could it be – could there really be angels? Had an angel shoved our truck back onto the road? I had to consider the possibility. Certainly something had kept us safe. I didn’t believe it was just plain luck that maybe Denis had made a return to skillful driving at just the right moment. Something or someone had helped us. I was sure of it.

Somehow the near accident wouldn’t leave my mind. I kept considering the idea that we had help. I have to admit my belief in a spiritual being – a God – and angels has returned. At least now I don’t disbelieve.

I find myself listening to other people’s stories of similar happening. I find myself watching TV shows like ‘It’s a Miracle’. Now I don’t ignore or scoff at them.

Yes – I do believe in angels now. I do believe in these special, invisible forces that help us when we most need them. My believe faith ha returned. I don’t believe any religion is perfect, nor are any of them completely wrong. I think it’s just a matter of finding the one that best suits your own needs. So I’ll keep trying until I do find the right one. One with lots of angels.

Aloe Vera Plant

Aloe Vera Plant

I had to laugh when I read an article on using pure vanilla for slight burns in the kitchen. I suppose it may work, as stated in the article, but vanilla is expensive and I prefer it for flavoring in cakes and cookies. Although it did say to use cold water first, you didn’t mention using my favorite plant, the medicine plant, Aloe Vera. Aloe Vera has been used for burns since before man began writing down all these good, and useful home remedies. It’s what I learned as a small child from my mom, and my grandma, and it seems to still be one of the best remedies for minor burns today in my kitchen and home.

Cold water is always what I use first, and I’ve never had it fail me. Not only does the cold water clean the burn and keep it from blistering so bad, the cold makes it feel better. Many’s the time I’ve had or seen a burn blister when no cold water was used, and yet a burn of about the same degree of seriousness, held under cold water for a few minutes did not blister. My husband, who gets frequent burns form welding, uses a glass of water with ice cubes in it for minor burns on his fingers.

Of course I always follow up the cold water with some aloe vera. I never use anything except a fresh leaf. I am always leery of what else may be in the aloe gels sold in stores. I keep several pots of the plant in the house, for not only minor burns, but minor scraps, scratches, and even bruises, insect bites, and acne. I cut off a piece of an aloe leaf, split it open, and using a clean finger, or a cue tip, I smear a thick coat of the glutenous stuff in the leaf on the injury.

I don’t know all the chemical make up of what the goo-y stuff is in the leaf of an aloe plant, but it sure does feel good on your skin and helps heal burns and scratches. The gel feels cool and refreshing, with a smell I like, but some people don’t like. The gel can feel sticky at first, but that goes away as it dries.

Not only is aloe the medicine plant, it is a handsome plant that can be used as a good accent point in your home decorating. The leaves are long, thin, and taper to a point after coming form an over-lapping circle at the base, like a yucca. Like the yucca, the aloe is a succulent, which means it takes very, very little care. The hardest part is to not over water the aloe. It is very forgiving if you forget to water, in fact, it may even appreciate it.

I spent many years working in floral shops, and plant nurseries, and over watering was the main problem we saw with people who’s aloes had died. So remember good drainage is necessary in a potting mix that is about half sandy soil, with loam. Fertilizing should be done very sparingly, if at all, and then cut the amount in half of what is recommended. All aloes want at least four hours of bright sunlight each day. If they don’t get enough they will began to have this strange, leggy, spindly look. But to much sun can also be damaging. If yours is outside and turns dark, it may be sunburned, and in need of a shadier spot.

Aloe can be left outside in southern states where it never freezes, but for areas where freezing occurs, be sure to bring your aloe inside when the nights drop to about 40 degrees. The least little bit of frost can be death to your plant.

I have found that it is very easy to propagate the aloe plant. Most plants put on an abundance of young plant-lets around the base of the parent plant. At almost any stage, the babies or plant-lets can be gently removed from the parent plant, and started in their own little pot. They make great gifts. A mature plant is usually only one to three feet tall at most, and if your lucky it will produce a spike with either white or yellow flowers, but this is very rare.

So do keep a pot of my favorite plant, the aloe vera, in your kitchen for that sudden grease splatter, skinned knee, scratch from a rose bush, insect bites or sunburn. It is a good friend for those who need a little medicinal help. Best of all the aloe, as do all plants, helps us by adding oxygen to the air we breath.

Stardust

At some point nearly every little boy and girl hopes and dreams for a horse or pony. I know I did. From the time I can first remember, I dreamed of having my own horse. But it wasn’t to be. Although my parents knew I wanted a horse I don’t think they realized just how much I wanted one. And being a child who had been taught to appreciate what I had, and not wish to hard for what I couldn’t have, and knowing my parents really couldn’t afford a horse, I never pushed for one. I waited, and dreamed, and waited. I knew that someday I would have my horse.

After high school, I left home, got a job, and realized that a horse would have to wait a bit longer. I certainly couldn’t afford one. While waiting, I read books about horses, and went to horse shows, and rodeos, and watched them on TV, while I admired the big beautiful horses I saw in fields on farms. But I had very little actual experience with them.

As time passed I married and had a son. The thought of having a horse was pushed even farther back into a small corner of my brain and buried there.

My husband, Lee, and I wanted our son, Dustin, to grow up to do what he wanted. Not what we wanted him to do, so we tried not to influence his likes on anything. We introduced him to everything we could. All kinds of music, sports, books, city life and the big outdoors of camping and hiking, hunting and fishing. Mechanics, cooking, and computers. Some things I didn’t even like – like the cooking and medicine. And maybe I did go over board on the pets. We have cats and dogs because we love them, so of course Dustin got a good introduction to them. But other then the basic – this is a horse, so that you know what one looks like – I never encouraged him on the subject. His dad isn’t as crazy about horses as I am, and I didn’t want him to be as disappointed as I had been about wanting a horse.

So it was quite a surprise when he told me he had excepted a part time job helping with some horses. I was glad he liked horses but didn’t want him to be upset at not being able to have one. I wondered if it was just a boy’s liking of horses, or had genetics given him a love for the equine animals.

As I had expected it wasn’t long before he wanted to get one. By this time he had graduated from high school and had a full time job, but was still living at home. We had no place to keep one. Lee and I hated to tell him no.

Of course it didn’t do any good. Dustin had the initiative that I hadn’t had. He bought a yearling colt and rented a stall for him at a nearby boarding stable. It was something I had never considered doing. I had never had the money for it. I think I was as thrilled as Dustin.

GoldDust, a palomino quarter horse was, and still is a great horse. I petted Goldie and admired him from a distance, but wouldn’t let myself get close to him. I was afraid to let myself get to close to him. He is Dustin’s horse. I wanted my son to have what I had never had.

Now it was Dustin’s turn to encourage me to get my own horse. He knew I had always wanted one. He kept an eye on newspaper ads, made phone calls, and went with me to look at horses. He pushed, prodded, and urged. I started looking. I couldn’t help it. His attitude was infectious. I looked for a good gentle animal that was already well trained. For a verity of reasons I didn’t find one that I liked, or could afford.

One day I saw an ad in the paper and went to look at a white horse. I didn’t like her, but in another pen a yearling caught my eye. I didn’t want a young horse that I would have to wait for it to grow up and then train it, as Dustin was doing with Goldie. I had been waiting long enough.

But on the way home, I remembered how two deep, dark, brown eyes had stared at me. How her sturdy little body was ready to run if I came near her, but yet, she was filled with curiosity. She was untamed, and just a gangling baby, but I sensed that she had a lot of potential. I was unable to stop myself. I called back and the next day I finally had my own horse. Even if she was still just a baby horse.

I was so happy, thrilled, and excited all at the same time. I wanted to shout with joy, and then I would find tears in my eyes. Tears of delight. It was March 7, 1998 and I had waited for forty-seven years, but I had a horse.

She is a red sorrel with a white star right between her eyes. I named her Star. I had known it would be her name from the first time I had seen her. Since Dustin’s horse was GoldDust we added the ‘Dust’ to ‘Star’ and had StarDust. She was wild, although not one of the true BLM wild horses, she had never know a human hand except to be branded.

At first she wouldn’t let us touch her, and would only eat hay, but our patience, and her intelligence and curiosity won out. In a couple of days she was allowing Dustin and I to pet her, and brush her. She began adding apples, carrots, and grain to her diet. She learned to lead on a lead rope, have her hooves cleaned, and – eventually - to let me brush her tail.

Now I have waited another year and Star is a two-year-old. She is friendly with everyone. She has filled out and gown a lot, although she may always be on the small side. She has learned a lot and still seems full of curiosity. She now excepts a saddle and bridle, and, with the help of a friend, will soon be trained to ride.

She has also changed color some. We have no idea what her blood lines could be, but were sure there was some appaloosa as she has striped hooves. After she lost her winter coat there was a smattering of white spots over her silky red hide, and now she has a smaller, second white spot on her face.

Dustin, with his horse, Goldie, have moved off to another town, so Dustin can go to college. Of course he is majoring in animal sciences. He is doing what I would have wanted to do, if anyone had informed me that you could go to college to learn about horses.

I still have to keep Star at a boarding stable. I have found one that is really nice. Not only do they take good care of my horse, when I can’t, but I have made some new friends there. Friends that are really concerned with their horses and caring for them. Friends who don’t think it is silly to be horse crazy.

Although I don’t make it to see her everyday, I spend as much time with Star as I can. Soon I will be riding her. If nothing else, I can just be with her. It is one of the best ways I have ever found of relieving stress. I can be all tense and upset and in just a few minutes with her I find myself calming down.

Of course there are times when she is a pest, and very trying. She can act just like any teenager in her own horsey-way. Refusing to do what I tell her, and wanting to play. Working with her I have learned to have more patience, and the ability to stay calm when I need to. Not only with her, but with problems at work, my other pets, and my family.

Lots of people have told me it was foolish, crazy, or just plain stupid for me to get a young horse to tame and train at my age of forty-seven. But taming and training Star has given me the encouragement to do new, exiting and wonderful things in my life. Whatever it may be, I love that little horse. Star has given me a fulfillment and achievement in my life like nothing else ever has. Star and Dustin have given me the motivation to experience and try new things. My thanks to my son and a little red horse

Life in a Desert Drought

I wrote this when we first moved from the city to a small desert property in New Mexico. There was a bad drought going on then. We didn't realize how bad the drought was until we moved here. That was 12 years ago. The drought continued and we learned more about how to cope with it. Then this year we got the rain we had needed for years. Of course the rain brought a different set of problems. Number one being the weeds. We have fought tumbleweeds and ragweed all summer and couldn't get it all gone. But the birds like our yard more all the time since we have added several trees, more water containers for them. The past two years we have had hummingbirds as well as several other different kinds of birds I haven't seen here before. We now have four horses instead of just two, and a different pair of dogs follow me when I am feeding and watering.
Hope you enjoy reading about our life on the desert.

Life in a Desert Drought 

Here in New Mexico we haven’t had any rain in quite some time. In fact it’s been so long we are in a severe drought. The thought of rain and some mud would be quite delightful. That is, if it didn’t last as long as this drought has. I understand that those of you in the eastern states have had way too much rain and would be more than happy to share some of your moisture with us.

To better let you understand why we want some of that wet stuff that you complain about let me go over a typical day here in the desert. This morning I got up at 6 o’clock. It was still only a cool 75 degrees. And for the moment there was no wind. What a relief. I made coffee and tried to drink a cup. No way. I was sweating by the third sip. I poured my coffee into a glass, added some ice and set it in the freezer. Maybe it would be drinkable after an hour or so.

At 7:00 o’clock I went out to feed my two horses. I mixed a handful of grain with a handful of sand clear in two buckets. Sand clear or some sort of psyllim fiber product is necessary to avoid sand colic when you live on a sand dune in the desert. Two horses whinny at me saying to hurry up, and don’t I know that they are starving. After their treat of grain and the psyllim fiber they each get a flake of grass hay. My small chestnut mare Stardust flips hers into the air and a good portion of the dry, itchy stuff lands in my hair with a bit going down the front of my tee shirt. I try to shake it out. BlackJack, my black Morgan gelding follows her lead, throws his out of the feeder and into the sand, then gives me a disgusted look as if to say ‘where’s the alfalfa?’

“Nothin’ doin’, guys,” I tell them as I pick up the hay and put it back in their feeders. “Your both over weight, it’s the middle of the summer, and I can’t find time to give you the exercise you need. We’re all on diets, me included. Now eat your hay.”

While they eat I make a half-hearted attempt to brush them. Their coats are full of dust, sand and a few burrs. Regardless of how I stand that fine dust I’m brushing off them comes right onto me and forms a layer on my face, arms, and clothes. I clean their hooves, reminding myself to make an appointment with the farrier, and to get some moisturizer for their hooves the next time I’m at the feed store. (And some for my nails.) Maybe I’ll give them a quick bath this afternoon. No shampoo that dries the natural oils in their hair, just a quick spray with the hose. That would feel good wouldn’t it, ponies.

I head back to the house where my iced coffee waits. It’s 8 o’clock and 80 degrees. I had left the ceiling fans on all night, but now I wonder if its too early to turn on the air conditioner? No it’s not, so I flip the switch. I know it will be 100 degrees by mid-afternoon, if not a bit warmer. I also plug in the mini fountain that I use for a humidifier. At least the sound of water is soothing even if it doesn’t do that much good.

I better make sure the plants are all watered. Got to remember to do it frequently in this heat wave. And a fresh bucket of water for the dogs and cats. Nikki my old Lab/Collie cross opts to stay in the house. She is to old for spending the day out in the heat. (So am I.) Oh, and don’t forget the pan of water for the wild birds. I look out and see about a dozen quail taking turns drinking from the pan, while sparrows and flycatchers line up on the fence to wait their turns. A jackrabbit sits under a clump of sagebrush, his long ears up and twisting to catch any hint of a cool breeze. I add water to another pan I have placed under a large cholla cactus. From the nest built in the middle of the cactus a curved bill thrush watches me. “There’s your water, mama bird. That way you won’t have to leave your eggs for very long.” I assume the eggs would probably fry in their shells if she left them for to long in this heat. I add a handful of bird food.

I put fly masks on the horses, which I think also helps shield their eyes from the sun. (I forgot my sunglasses.) Then spray on some fly spray before turning them out into our little field/riding arena. I watch as they plow through ankle deep sand and trot once around, causing a cloud of dust to drift over me and adhere to every part of me. Thank goodness I’ve remembered to put on my hat, but I can still feel it drifting into my ears, eyes, and nose. I sneeze and decide that any riding will have to wait until this evening, when it’s cooler, with hopes that the wind doesn’t kick up. I tried to ride yesterday and with in ten minutes BlackJack and I were both covered in muck and sweat.

Dutifully I set to work cleaning their pens. Two small horse pen doesn’t take that long to clean, but with the first fork full of manure, mother nature realized what I was doing and began blowing a hot, dry wind out of the west. The wind made sure to help by depositing another layer of filth and grime on me with the addition of some fresh horse poop.

The water buckets have as much sand in them as they do water. I dump all three buckets. One in each pen and one in the field. I buy large fifty gallon plastic barrels from the feed store and cut them in half to use for feeders and water buckets. Most people I know do the same for their horses. The barrels are easy to cut and clean, never rust, and last many a year in the heat of our summers and cold of winter before they crack. Also the horses like to play with them. They are small enough I can carry them when empty, but big enough for feeding in and the perfect size for water. Even though I clean them daily I figure the bottom third of the bucket is to let the sand sink to, so the horse isn’t getting so much. One third is for the horse to drink, and the other third is for evaporation. This morning I clean one bucket, and put the water hose in it to fill while I clean the other pen. In seconds I am dodging a hard spray of water as some horse has pulled the hose out of the bucket and aimed it at me. If I didn’t know better I would say they do it on purpose. Now I am wet and there our splatters of mud all over the front of my white tee shirt. I pick up the hose that has been left in the dirt where it is trying to make a new Grand Canyon in the sand and put it back in the bucket. The water makes me a bit cooler but my clothes stick to me and feel icky as I finish my chores.

I watch as a couple of ravens circle and come in to land on the edge of the water container in the arena. BlackJack chases them off but as soon as his back is turned they fly in again. It’s a game between horse and birds. I take a moment to water a few pots of geraniums sitting by the front door. A lizard comes with in a few feet of me knowing I’ll leave a saucer full of water for him, too.

Yes, here in the desert water truly is our most precious asset, especially during a drought. I look up hoping to see a few rain clouds building on the horizon but all I see is brilliant blue sky. I go into the house to treat myself to a well-deserved shower. (I hope there’s plenty of cold water.)

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror on the wall. Tell me what you see today.

I see a baby, all happy smiles and chuckles, as she tries to feel the refection of herself, with pats and thumps of her tiny hands. Her mom, who finds great pleasure in her baby’s explorations, holds her. The baby laughs and giggles in delight.

Mirror; Mirror, on the wall. Tell me what you see today.

I see a little girl playing dress-up, admiring her reflection as she pretends to be a princess, Cinderella, a movie star or a famous person. She giggles and laughs as her best friend joins her in the game of pretend.

Mirror; Mirror, on the wall. Tell me what you see today.

I see a teenager, sullen and depressed. Hair dyed purple, a ring on her eyebrow, a stud in her tongue. Afraid of what the future holds for her. Will it be wonderful and beautiful like the flitting of a butterfly? Or will it be filled with the worst horrors of life? Like abuse drugs, gangs, poverty, war, or death. She frowns and wipes at tear-filled eyes before someone else sees her fear.

Mirror; Mirror, on the wall. Tell me what you see today.

I see a young woman lovingly holding a baby as she looks deeply into the eyes of the child, wondering if she will have what it takes to be responsible for this new life. Can she provide for it, as well as love and adore it. She smiles to cover the fear that shows in her own eyes.

Mirror; Mirror, on the wall. Tell me what you see today.

I see a woman, harried and stressed, as she attempts to finish dressing, so she can rush to a job that doesn’t pay enough. Several young children are playing near her; demanding her attention. Attention she knows she has to give to her appearance and job rather than the children she loves and works so hard to care for. So, instead, she yells at them; sends them away from her. Her eyes fill with anguish, and remorse and a tear slides down one check as she tries to call them back to her. She wants to say 'to heck with the job', but knows she can't.

Mirror; Mirror, on the wall. Tell me what you see today.

I see a middle-age woman who is surprised to find streaks of gray in her hair and wrinkles on her face that she has tried diligently, but unsuccessfully, to hide. A tear slides down her face. Her husband wraps a strong arm around her shoulder and pulls her close as he mummers that it doesn’t matter; that he still loves her regardless of how she looks. He kisses the tears away and makes her smile.

Mirror; Mirror, on the wall. Tell me what you see today.

I see an old woman, elderly, frail, with hearing and eyesight almost gone. Her hand shakes and trembles as she tries to brush at a straggling wisp of white hair. Memories, good and bad, flit through her mind. She remembers family and friends, some dead, some having forgotten about her. But she remembers, even though she doesn’t want to. Her old, faded, defeated eyes squeeze out one more tear. It slides down her face to drop off her chin and disappear into oblivion.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall. 

Temper Tantrum Swimsuit

Temper Tantrum Swimsuit

As a sales associate in a call center that took calls for clothing catalogs I have taken lots of calls, both good ones and bad ones, but it is always the swimsuit orders that make me cringe. I understand that to many people a new bathing suit, each spring, is a very important part of their wardrobe. It seems to be even more important to today’s modern teenage girls. To me it would be on the very bottom of the list of clothing items that I would buy for myself.

Yesterday I took the ultimate in bad swimsuit calls. It started out all right. The customer had called before and all of her information was still accurate, so we moved on to what she wanted to order. I didn’t think twice when I keyed in the first item number, a swimsuit, and the size, only to see it was on backorder for sometime in May. I related this to the customer and got the first hint of a problem when she said, “Oh! No!”

I could hear her as she informed someone of the delay. I could then hear what sounded like a young teenage girl began chanting “No, no, no, no.”

“Did you want to try ordering a different swimsuit?” I asked.

My customer, apparently the mother of the teenager asked the same question of her daughter.

“No! I want that one. Now!” I heard the girl yell. I could hear what sounded like someone stomping on the floor or kicking the wall. The temper tantrum was in full swing, and I could hear her mom trying to calm things down.

I waited a moment, and flipped to the page in the catalog where the back-ordered swimsuit was so I would know what it looked like. It seemed to be an awful skimpy suit for such a young sounding girl.

It didn’t take much thought to figure out that the swimsuit was needed for something very important to the girl, and soon, so it had to be available for shipment today. Doing as I had been trained, I offered a couple of the suits that were on incentive. These were quickly turned down.

Something made me want to help solve this women’s problem and make this young girl happy. I can remember having been a teenager once, too, and wanting something desperately.

I flipped through the catalog some more, making a few suggestions, checking as I went for availability. I could hear the mother trying to get the girl interested in something else. The daughter was adamant about not wanting any but the original choice.

Out of the blue I suggested another suit that was showing to be in stock. I emphasized the well known name of the maker and seller, hoping it would impress the girl even though the suit was a totally different style. It was a two piece, as the other had been, but there was a lot more coverage, the bottom being the shorts style, and I went over a list of attractive colors. Surprisingly the girl was interested and agreed to try it.

I heard the temper tantrum calming down and the mom gave a sigh of relief. So did I, but silently to myself, so my customer wouldn’t hear it.

My customers, mother and daughter then ordered several other items, and I finished the order.

It gave me a good feeling to complete this order that had started out so badly. I may be wrong but I had the impression that this mom was more satisfied with the swimsuit that had finally been ordered for her daughter than she would have been with the one that had not been available.

The Dancing Merchant

                                          The Dancing Merchant

One fall day last September I went to Silver City, New Mexico. Silver City is in the southwest section of the state of New Mexico and has a population of about 10,000. There are several different areas of the Gila National Forest to the west, the north and east of the town with mostly desert to the south. A lot of the land is devoted to ranching and farming. You will find an assortment of college students in Silver City since it is the home of Western New Mexico University. I also have noticed that Silver City has become more and more of a town consisting of retired people, as it is such a nice little town to live in. It has a lot appeal to the tourist with its fascinating cowboy and mining history in Silver City, plus there is the historic town of Pinos Altos, and the Santa Rita Copper Mine. Be sure not to miss the Big Ditch Park, the Silver City Museum, the magnificent Gila River and Gila Cliff Dwellings, the City of Rocks, and Lake Roberts.

 

I had gone to the small western town to visit a friend and we decided to attend a medieval European Renaissance Faire being held in Goff Park. I certainly never expected something like this to be held in Silver City. It was at the Faire that I met Macie, a dancer and merchant.

Before I met Macie I watched her and several other dancers as they performed for the re-enactors of the King and Queen and their attendants. Renaissance Faires are groups of people who do historical reenactments of old England, even to speaking in ‘olde English’. There were seven dancers doing a form of ethnic belly dancing. Although they danced as a group you could tell each one had their own style. Each dancer had a unique handmade costume. Several dancers had two piece costumes reminding me of Egyptian or Arabian belly dancing costumes. Some other dancers were dressed like gypsies; one costume seemed Grecian while another was more suggestive of a European peasant. It was Macie’s costume that really caught my eye, as well as her dancing.

Her dancing was very, very good to my inexperienced eye. I had never really watched anyone belly dance before. I was amazed at how much energy they put out. No wonder I have heard it can be such a good exercise for loosing weight. The dancers had muscles in their bellies that were akin to muscles I would have expected to see on someone who worked out in a gym or did weight lifting. But then what would I know about that either. The extraordinary, dazzling, and beautiful, swirling, flowing dance went on and on. I would have fallen over from exhaustion long before the music ended, but when they stopped the dancers were just starting to breathe hard. And they all were still smiling.

Now I had a chance to take a good look at Macie’s costume. The top was red, a true fire engine red. It was a satin bra-top with the addition of long sleeves. It had lots of cleavage that looked great on Sarah. I could have never worn something like that. In addition it had several rows of lightweight chains with coins dangling off the chains. They weren’t real coins, of course. The coins glinted, wiggled, chimed, and jingled with every movement she made. The long sleeves of her top were made of a soft, see-though, shimmery material, also in red. She wore a low-wasted gypsy skirt in wide bands of bright colors, which came to almost to her ankles. A yarn belt that had tassels dangling around the edges set off the skirt. Between the top and the low-draped skirt she was showing off her well-muscled belly, which is the reason for the name belly dancing. Later I was to learn that she usually wore wide-legged, harem pants instead of gypsy skirts.

The dancers left, and were replaced by a reenactment of a medieval battle fought with swords – but without real swords, of course. Swords and other weapons were replicas with lots of foam padding for safety. The taped music was replaced by a group of drummers. After the sword fight the King and Queen, and their court paraded around the park stopping here and there to examine the wares of the approximately thirty merchants that had booths set up like an old-fashioned, European, oven-air market or fair. It seemed as if the whole town of Silver City had turned out for the celebration. Imagine my surprise when I saw Macie, the belly dancer, now playing the part of a merchant. She was hawking her goods at one of the most attractive booths at the fair. The booth looked like an Arabian barber tent. Actually there were two tents. One with all the merchandise in it and another we couldn’t see into as it had been used by the dancers as a dressing room.

Macie played the Renaissance Fair role well, using the old European expressions while explaining what she was selling to the make-believe Queen, who was examining a large selection of jewelry, the chains with coins attached to them, and other things that could be used to liven up dance costumes, or even worn with normal everyday clothing. One thing that really caught the Queens eye and other customers, as well as mine, was a display with a wild array of colorful scarves gently blowing in the light breeze. They ranged from a rainbow of expensive, hand-dyed, silk scarves to reasonably priced scarves for any occasion. The Queen bought a scarf and proceeded on.

I stayed as I had to have one of those scarves, and I wanted a chance to talk to Macie. I wanted to know why she did belly dancing and why she sold things at Renaissance Faires.

We had a very nice conversation. It turned out that Macie does dancing and fairs because she really enjoys it. She says she loves to dance. She got started dancing as a form of exercise, and has been doing it for about twenty years now. She said it was much more enjoyable than jogging or aerobics, or anything else that she had tried. Before becoming a dancer and merchant Macie had been a musician I can see how the music and dancing go together. Once in a while she teaches a belly dancing class. She said that the dancing was mostly for fun and enjoyment, but that it also helps relieve tension and stress as well as being a good exercise.

To my surprise there are lots of these different events in nearly all states. I had heard of Civil War Reenactment’s, but not reenactments at Renaissance Faires, SCA camps, and Amtgard events. There are also events and reenactments at belly-dancing festivals, mountain men rendezvous, Single Action Shooters events, and others to numerous to mention. Sarah and other merchants also go to many arts and crafts fairs, horse shows, and rock and gem shows.

Macie says her favorite events are camping trips to SCA events which are dedicated to reenacting 17^th century European history, and where you sometimes have to be a member, as well as the Renaissance Faires, and the belly-dancing festivals. There is a big festival in Salt Lake City every year. All of her merchandise is concerned in one way or another with belly dancing, ethnic, or folk dancing. Most of what she sells is products and jewelry that dancers can add to their costumes. On occasion Macie makes complete costumes. One thing she always tries to have plenty of is her handmade, yarn tassel belts. She says they sell almost as fast as she can make them. She, also, keeps more period costumes of the 17^th European time for those that want them.

Today Macie has her dogs with her. She says that any events that allow it or that last more than a day, she takes her three German Shepherd dogs with her. Many of her events are camp-outs for the re-enactors and lots of dogs go with their owners. Her dogs are well trained to be friendly with customers and can be an effective drawing card to get customers to look at her wares. I was able to pet all of her beautiful dogs.

The day and the Renaissance Faire had come to a close, and I found myself still hanging out near Macie’s booth, as she packed her consumer goods and dismantled the tents.

Macie attends shows in the southwestern states. You might find her in Texas, Arizona, Colorado, Utah, or California as well as New Mexico. Look for her, watch her dance, buy a trinket, and say HI, if you get a chance. You will be glad you did.  

To find out more about Silver City, New Mexico go to www.silvercity.org

To find out more about Renaissance Fairs go to www.renaissance-faire.com

To find out more about Amtgard go to htt://amtgard.com:8080/

To find out more about SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) go to www.sca.org

To find out more about Single Action Shooters Clubs go to www.sassnet.com

To find out more about mountain men rendezvous go to www.rondylist.com