May Happenstance

Happenstance

MAY 2, 2011

life happens

This issue of Happenstance is dedicated in memory of my friend, Sherry Anne Clancy.

I thank God for her life and for all the ways she touched the lives of others.

Books by F.S. Vander Meer

Inside this Issue

• Something New, p. 4 • From the Editor, p. 5 • A Musing, Mothers and Daughters, p. 6 • In the Garden: What Now? p. 7 • Mother’s Day: Breakfast in Bed, p. 8 • My Mother, My Child, p. 9 • The Science & Art of Acupuncture, p. 10 • From Farm to Table, p. 12 • Reflection: Mother Love?, p. 14 • El Zocalo Featured Artist, p. 15 • Recipes & Chat, p. 16 • The Code, p. 17 • Yesterday, p. 18 • Detox Dramas, Sad but True, p. 19 • Tiger Lilly continues, p. 20

Available at

www.happenstancelifehappens Tome on the Range Bookstore 158 Bridge Street

Not Just Another Day is a series of daily reflections that celebrate the gift of life.

Based on the author’s Christian faith tradition the book uses Bible passages, prayers and readings to capture the common experience of living a life of faith in an ever-changing world.

In Future Imperfect conflicting forces control two individuals seeking stability and sanity amid escalating political and environmental chaos. Their lives are fraught with lies, treachery, and an altered environment.

In The Ballad of Bawdy McClure short hauler Jake Casey is confronted with the age old question: Who can you trust?

From the opening scene in which he finds the body of his murdered friend to the end he is constantly questioning the motives of those closest to him.

Check out the

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Buy books (Print, PDF and CD)

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Call for Content

Happenstance June

A First Monday Publication June 6 Issue • Fab Fathers

Who are the special men in your life?

Think about that when you submit: • Poetry and Essays

• Short Fiction or Memoirs • Artist Feature

• Book and Entertainment Reviews

Features to Look For • Tiger Lilly • A Musing

• Recipes & Chat

• Happenstance Kitchen • Eclectically Yours

In the coming months submit content for: July: Coolest Country

August: History’s Mysteries September: Happy Har vest

Content contributions will be thoughtfully considered.

Deadline for submission is 2 weeks prior to publication, no exceptions.

Happenstance, Life Happens

PO Box 187 • Las Vegas, NM 87701 505 617-0839 happenstance@happenstancelifehappens.com Happenstance Store www.happenstancelifehappens

Happenstance Contributors

Patrick Alarid is an avid gardener whose insights are practical and experience-based. This month he looks at water restrictions and how that effects gardens already under development. His advice is to be creative and don’t give up.

Regular contributor Cindy Charlton is a published columnist for inMotion magazine, has just finished writing her first children’s book, and is working on her memoirs. In this issue she finds that unbroken connection that gently ties generations together in Mother’s Day Breakfast in Bed.

My Mother, My Child writer Claudia Charlton, is in her second year as a Shamanic studies student and has become a Reiki practitioner. “When I retire, I hope to supplement my retirement with a small practice in the energy healing arts.” She lives in Port Orchard, Wash.

Recipes & Chat writer Pamela G. Daves shares a recipe and her perspective on the community’s water issues in this month’s column. Her recommendations for conservation are sensible and easy to employ.

Robert Gallegos’ look at Yesterday gives an up close and personal perspective on days of old. His lifetime of living in Las Vegas lends authority to this regular feature and puts a different spin on nostalgia.

Eclectically Yours is a diverse view of a world full of surprises. Connie Mack’s mind works a mile a minute and she often puts those thoughts to paper.

She brings a fresh look to common and uncommon experiences.

Maridell Monnheimer’s article The Code, is her first submission to Happenstance. Her dedication to finishing her degree and reaching her goal to become an academic language therapist comes from lessons learned from her mother.

Niki Sebastian continues to produce wonderful stories from her own life experience and her many interests. As a health care professional and student of human nature, she captures the essence of what people do with finesse and sensitivity.

To submit an article to Happenstance, life happens contact happenstance@happenstancelifehappens.com Material must be the original work of the writer.

Happenstance life happens

A literary and general interest magazine Submissions welcome E-mail submissions to: happenstance@happenstancelifehappens.com Material will be selected based on general appeal to a wide readership, with a focus on Las Vegas, NM, and the area. Letters to the editor and comments related to published content will be appreciated and considered for publication. If you do not want your letter published please note that in your correspondence.

If you would like to subscribe please e-mail your request to happenstance@happenstancelifehappens.com

Happenstance Publishing

PO Box 187 Las Vegas, NM 87701 www.happenstancelifehappens.com Copyright 2011 Blog: sharonvandermeer.blogspot.com All rights are reserved by Happenstance, life happens, a digital magazine published by Happenstance Publishing, Sharon Vander Meer, in Las Vegas, N.M. Reproduction of contents in any fashion without written permission from Happenstance, life happens, is prohibited.

Happenstance, life happens, is not responsible or liable for the loss of any unsolicited materials or incorrect dates or incorrect information in articles. The opinions expressed within the pages (or web postings) of Happenstance, life happens, do not necessarily represent the views or opinions of the magazine.

By-lined articles and editorial reports represent the views of their authors.

Happenstance life happens

Vol 2, No. 6, May 2, 2011

Happenstance Publishing Back Image: From clipart.com Copyright, Sharon Vander Meer, Happenstance Publishing Select content may be used with appropriate attribution: Sharon Vander Meer happenstance@happenstancelifehappens.com Cover Image: May Family Farm, Amy May Some interior images from: clipart.com Copy Editor: Sally Hanson

I

Something new...

am a writer. I don’t know if any of you knew that, but that is what I do and that is who I am. I’ve been a writer since forever.

It’s the skill God put into me that, try as I might, I can’t get rid of. Not that I want to. I love to write, which is an intriguing concept considering I PROCRASTINATE like crazy. I play stupid computer games—although I must say, I’m getting pretty good at computer Scrabble. It helps that I can just start another game when things aren’t going well. I make “to do” lists for all the things I should do… but don’t. I work hard at making excuses for not getting started. None of this is conducive to completing articles, books or poems.

Where was I? Oh, right, I am a writer. I’ve written and self-published three books: Not Just Another Day (inspiration), Future Imperfect (futuristic), and The Ballad of Bawdy McClure (sci fi).

I learned a number of things from that experience: 1) It’s expensive.

2) If you don’t get someone competent to edit for you, mistakes—like weeds—crop up everywhere.

3) You have to be constantly promoting your work.

4) You spend no small amount of time on your knees praying people buy your books, flaws and all.

5) You set yourself up for criticism.

I have a new book (serialized in Happenstance, life happens) titled, Tiger Lilly. It is a wonderful story about a widow reconnecting with life. The book has been edited by Sally Hanson, Gail Malley and my long-suffering and wonderful husband Bob Vander Meer. I’ve decided to self-publish the book in e-format. That doesn’t necessarily mean fancy e-readers can “read” it. It means you will be able to read it in PDF format on your computer. It’s available from me. At some point it may be available as a print book, but because I’m not making money at much of anything, I cannot afford a publisher, so it is what it is.

I’m through trying to snag an agent or a traditional publisher. It takes an incredible amount of time, energy, frustration and luck. At my age? Give me a break.

Tiger Lilly, is a contemporary story about a woman who goes from being lonely and maybe a touch grouchy, to having a houseful of people, a dog and more trouble than she bargained for. It’s funny, sorrowful, joyful, and a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. The book is available in PDF only by e-mail or on CD. See the Happenstance, life happens store for details.

You can continue to read Tiger Lilly for free in Happenstance, but it has 46 chapters and I can only fit one or two chapters in each month’s issue. You do the math.

So, yes, this is blatant self-promotion designed to get you to buy Tiger Lilly, as well as my other books.

So that’s the skinny on writer Sharon Vander Meer. Your call to action? Buy my books, please.

You can also purchase a nifty homemade Happenstance book bag, or you can lend your support to the continued publication of Happenstance, life happens by buying a sponsorship.

Also available in the store is Kathy Allen’s Someone’s in the Kitchen cookbook as a PDF or on CD. I’m working on another contemporary novel, a second book of inspiration, and the sequel to The Ballad of Bawdy McClure, so you can see why it’s important for me to stop procrastinating and get my bustle moving, or more specifically get my fingers to typing.

Thanks for reading Happenstance, and be sure and visit my online store.

—By Sharon Vander Meer

From the Editor

Sulfur and Molasses

by Chad Boliek

T

Heart rate’s low Leg muscles soft Energy – missing But it’s still cold out there And windy And the pollen But the phoebes are back It’s time

hanks, Chad, for this bit of free verse. I can relate. That molasses thing (“slow as,” I’m assuming) is why I was down to the wire getting Happenstance wrapped up for May. Nevertheless, welcome to spring everyone! Really, it is spring, despite the cold temperatures and absence of hoped for rains. I’ve had various and sundry obstacles to getting this thing done, but it’s now ready for publication, thanks to all my contributors.

This month’s issue is pretty tight to theme. “Super Moms” brings out the sentimentality in most of us, but as Niki Sebastian points out in her essay, Reflection: Mother Love? the nurturing instinct doesn’t take root in every female. Because she connected with a strong woman who became her mentor, Niki was able to overcome the lack of mothering at home. Learn how it has affected her choices about being a mother herself.

The Charlton sisters, daughters of Fran Charlton—a fondly remembered friend of many in Las Vegas—honor their mother and mothers everywhere. Breakfast in bed delivered by the hands of giggling children isn’t new, but Cindy’s personal experiences gives it a whole new meaning, connecting the past with the present as only mothers can. Claudia shares a poem she wrote before her mother died, and later read at Fran’s memorial service. My Mother, My Child is a reminder of the changing roles we experience as we age and our parents age.

Maridell Monnheimer looks to the past in The Code, a story about her educator mother who died at the age of 54 when Maridell was pregnant with her own daughter. The loss knocked her off kilter. Read how her mother’s life lessons got Maridell back on track.

In A Musing I talk about my wonderful mom and her

attempts to make a lady of me. Mostly it worked and I won’t say any more about that!

The May Family Farm CSA story is about a great way to get fresh produce on a set schedule. People who don’t buy from the Farmer’s Market because they can’t seem to get there, will find this to be a great way to stock up on nutritious produce. Marc May’s enthusiasm for what he does made May Family Farm: From the Field to Your Table an easy story to write. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed putting it together. Thanks to Amy May for sending me wonderful photos to choose from, one of which I used on this month’s cover.

Niki Sebastian knows the most interesting people.

Her article about acupuncture taught me a lot. The Science & Art of Acupuncture focuses on doctor of Oriental medicine John Mince-Ennis.

In the midst of his teaching schedule and getting ready for a big exhibit of his work in Kansas, Todd Christensen—the featured artist at El Zocalo for May—took time to provide answers to our questions about his work.

Connie Mack’s back with Eclectically Yours. Her varied life experiences make for interesting insights. Detox Dramas, Sad But True will make you laugh… and cry.

Patrick Alarid returns with his perspective on the water woes of Las Vegas. His creative approach to maintaining his water wise landscape is thoughtful and inspiring. He also offers food for thought about working toward practical solutions.

Pamela G. Daves’ Recipes & Chat has a great recipe and advice for being water conscious at home. Her recommendations are worth clipping, saving and acting on.

I add an additional recommendation. In the bathroom, if it’s yellow let it mellow; if it’s brown flush it down. We all have a responsibility to do our part. I do think the scarcity mentality we’re living by introduces another set of problems but that’s a subject for another article entirely.

Robert Gallegos continues his stroll down memory lane in his article about the streets in Old Town before they acquired their now familiar names, like South Pacific and South Gonzales.

This month I’ve included three short chapters of Tiger Lilly. I hope you’re keeping up with the ups and downs of this diverse group of people learning how to be a family.

That’s it for May. Enjoy and have a happy…

—by Sharon Vander Meer

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 5

I

A MUSING

Mothers and Daughters, My Oh My

had the best mom on the planet, so keep that in mind as I forge ahead here. Mom was funny and fat, ambitious and mercurial, beautiful in heart and spirit and tough as nails.

When I reached my teens and started dating, Mom became brutally dictatorial. She had a code of “ladylikeness” I was expected to follow and if I didn’t, Katie bar the door!

When I was fifteen I had a crush on a guy who was a car nut. His name was Will and I thought he was the absolute coolest. He had a ducktail haircut (remember those?), was tall and lean and had thick dark blonde hair. Mom never met Will, but she knew I liked to go to the drag races with my friends and watch the hot rodders run their cars. Let’s say she became suspicious it wasn’t the cars I was checking out.

Will was a shy boy who had little to say, but he seemed to like me, which made me ecstatic. Of course it’s also possible he was just a kind person and liked everyone. I never got to explore the possibilities because my mother made it known that “ladies” didn’t hang out with grease monkeys.

“Ladies” did not lean their hips against the fender of a car while some guy had his head under the hood checking out the motor. There went that potential relationship.

A couple of years later along came a tall drink of water with flame red hair (think Robert Redford but better looking), who was a cowboy who played basketball for the high school team. Wow. Now this guy really did like me. A lot.

And I liked him. A lot. My mother? Not so much.

He came from a “broken home.” In the late Fifties and early Sixties that was still a rarity, at least among the people we knew. Broken home in our house meant somebody wasn’t doing something right and that had to rub off on the kids.

John Henry’s father was long gone and his mother worked, leaving her son to pretty much fend for himself. Mother thought he was “wild” in the way boys were known to be wild in those days, drinking, staying out late and driving too fast. That was the year I turned seventeen, a time during which my mother hardly spoke to me. That was her way of saying I wasn’t acting like a “lady” because I was hanging out with a rough crowd.

Rough. Hmmm. We loved to go to the country dances held nearly every weekend in various barns or community centers in the area. Yes there was drinking going on, but I never drank a drop. I for sure knew drinking was something “ladies” did not do. Ever.

So anyway, after high school John Henry went off to the college where he had a basketball scholarship. My mother was so relieved. And then his mother died. Apparently she

had cancer and nobody knew. Maybe he didn’t know. His life changed dramatically. He dropped out of college and really did become that “wild” man my mother warned me about.

The constant reminder that being a “lady” was more important than anything was my mother’s way of protecting me from bad choices, like being promiscuous, or drinking (if drugs were out there I never knew about it), or being flighty.

What she didn’t have was a vision for what I should do with my life beyond marriage. She fully expected that a “lady” would marry a nice man and have a nice family and live happily ever after. Despite her own ambitions, she did not see a future for me that didn’t involve getting married.

My ambitions weren’t a consideration, perhaps because in my desire to please my mother, I didn’t voice them. I was always a writer, mostly in the form of letters to friends and family, but as I grew up I began writing short stories and poems, and even went to work for a small town weekly newspaper right out of high school. For reasons beyond my understanding, I never showed my poetry and fiction to my mother. Was I afraid she would be disappointed? Wouldn’t like them? Treat them as unladylike?

I don’t know. She was supportive in many ways, and always loving. She was the anchor in every storm in my life.

Mom died way too young (she was barely sixty-three), and left a hole in all our hearts. She has great-grandchildren who will never benefit from her wisdom. And then I realize they will indeed benefit. They will learn from us who learned from her. The lessons of being loyal, loving unconditionally—even when you want to shake the orneriness out of someone—living out your faith, trusting each other and standing up for what you believe in.

My mother’s attempts to make a lady of me were moderately successful. However, as I get older I realize that being a lady is less about deportment and who you hang out with and a lot more about how you treat people. It all goes back to what has become known as the Golden Rule: “Treat others as you would want to be treated.” Of course that instruction came from my mother as well.

Mom may not have liked some of my boyfriends, but she was always nice to them when they came to call. That didn’t stop her from reminding me of all the ways things could get out of whack and stay that way if I didn’t insist that I be treated, all the time, like a lady.

Mona Peralta Conkle died in God’s time, but her legacy lives on.

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 6

—Sharon Vander Meer

A

VOICES

In the Garden: What Now?

s we go into our third month without moisture and as our spring winds dry out the prospects of bountiful summer gardens, I am prompted to ask myself if I am ready to give up on my hopes of bringing early spring color into the grays and browns of my backyard. I have learned to live with weather, however frustrating that may be, but this year is different, no moisture coupled with low flows in the Gallinas River, the city’s lack of water storage and the past and painful lack of investment in water infrastructure are hitting our community this spring. The result is well meaning water restrictions necessary to preserve precious water supplies, but contemptible boundaries to anyone with ambitions for a garden this year.

What now? Some of us may already have trees, seeds and plants in the ground or germinating on a window sill. A simple answer is to mulch heavily, look for low-water plants, plant in large pots and harvest water when rain comes. But with historically our two driest months ahead of us, times will be tough for those who are reluctant to do without spring plantings. Choosing to go ahead may mean watching plants wither in late spring heat, but as with all difficult tasks, it may also make the extra effort all the more satisfying.

I will choose to keep going. After a long, dreary winter, the rejuvenation of spring is too valuable to waste and we all know we only have so many springs in our lives to enjoy. I have chosen to hold off on getting most of my small plants into the ground and have planted them into one-gallon plastic pots that I saved over the years. These will wait until the rains come; I have also planted seedlings into a mix of soil and water absorbing polymers (you have to get water polymers in Santa Fe nurseries), which expand to many times their size and weight and hold water in the soil. Providing some afternoon shade also helps keep the soil cool. I cannot say enough about mulching to keep weeds away and to keep soils moist and cool. Three to four inches of mulch is not overdoing it.

As for water, if you can shower with buckets, bucket

water out of the washer and save water from the kitchen sink, you can go a long way in keeping things going until July when the monsoons come. In the short term it is about gardens; in the long run, if we want to solve our water supply problem, the time is now for providing encouragement and incentive to Las Vegas leaders. We need to address this issue so that in the future the perpetual lack of water is not a continuing topic and a factor in limiting opportunity in our community. For too long, in too many administrations, the water plan seemed to consist of doing nothing when it rained and praying for rain when it didn’t. Only in the last few years, with our water board, have we been able to identify, quantify and publicize problems and solutions concerning water storage and delivery.

Unfortunately while political wherewithal may have been lacking in prior administrations it may be replaced by the lack of available funding during this economic climate. We are playing catch-up with opportunity lost and the cost to enact water solutions will be steep. While it may be easy to blame a generation or two of previous city administrations—and it is—we must look for the opportunity in this water shortage to urge our city officials to move forward in solving this long-term problem.

This just may be an opportunity for the city and the residents of Las Vegas to educate the community about the further use of reclaimed water, home collection and storage, gray water and low-flow home appliances. It may also be time to consider changing long held attitudes about the real price of water delivery. Our community’s health and well being depend on learning all we can and in turn educating local, state and federal politicians about our needs in Las Vegas. We owe it to those who come after us to not let this problem continue to rear its head every three or four years.

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 7

—By Patrick Alarid

J

Mother’s Day Breakfast in Bed

ust recently I heard a young woman exclaim that she believed Mother’s Day was started by Hallmark and FTD in an effort to sell and sell big in the month of May. Then she followed up with a sour, “So I don’t buy into it!” It made me feel sad… both for her and her mother. To celebrate the lives of mothers, and celebrate in a way that reveres who they are, is homage paid to a deserving lot. I am one of the “lot,” and I totally believe in Mother’s Day. I think about my own mother often, especially at this time of year. I think of the all the love and devotion she showered on my dad, my two sisters, and me. I’m not saying that she was Mary Poppins, “practically perfect in every way;” she made her mistakes. But she cleaned up her messes as easily as she moved through the kitchen washing dishes and putting away food, after the evening meal. She was not opposed to saying “I’m sorry.” She did not cover up, coerce, or pontificate. She was human delivering humanity in abundance, especially to us kids.

My mother died May 19, 2003 right after Mother’s Day that year. The following Mother’s Day was a wicked one for me.

With memories of the previous year’s celebration still fresh in my mind, I had no intention of celebrating Mother’s Day. To me, it was a day of mourning. I was lying in bed contemplating getting up, or pulling the covers over my head and sleeping away the day.

My husband had died twenty-one months before my mom’s death, and I was feeling mighty sad, mighty alone, and mighty sorry for myself. With silent tears at the ready, I sat up in bed beginning my getting out of bed in the morning ritual. For me getting out of bed isn’t easy. I have prosthetic legs to don before the race for the bathroom ensues. Staying in bed with the covers over my head is never an option. The bladder always trumps the lingering and the lounging. That day it even trumped despondency.

As I was sitting on the side of the bed, “strapping ‘em on,” I got a whiff of something cooking, or the more appropriate word would be, burning. I inhaled a little deeper. The odor of burned (or perhaps slightly overdone) toast was wafting its way from the kitchen, down the hall, and assaulted my nose the moment it crossed the threshold of my bedroom.

And then I heard them!

“Be careful Colin, don’t cut yourself! That knife’s sharp.”

My eleven-year-old son, Wes, was instructing his eight-yearold brother.

Sheer panic set in and I quickened the pace of donning my legs. But my mother’s voice came to my rescue and

calmed my panic. “Don’t spoil the surprise for them,” I heard her say in my head. And it dawned on me. I now understood my children’s intent. I put the leg donning on hold. I ignored my screaming bladder, lay back down, and feigned sleep.

I heard their excited whispers, as they padded down the hallway. “This is so cool, she’s going to be so surprised,” they giggled. My two little conspirators could barely keep their voices down, as they made their way toward my bedroom.

“Happy Mother’s Day,” they shouted, almost shrieking in excitement. I jumped. They laughed. Their faces, lit with pride that they had pulled off the surprise on “dear old mom,” turned my sorrow into pure unadulterated joy. Breakfast in bed was served. Two runny eggs, burned or slightly overcooked toast, and a mutilated apple was the menu du jour for this glorious day. Both kids were hopping around on my bed bouncing, the two big weeping yellow-eyed eggs daring me to eat them. I quickly covered them with my slightly overdone toast, and wondered how I was going to get this meal down.

I praised my children’s ability to pull off this wonderful surprise, and asked them where they had gotten the idea. I began stuffing my mouth with disgusting eggs trying in desperation to keep the visual of those disturbing egg yolks out of my head. I didn’t even dare a glance at my plate. “From you, Mom, don’t you remember? You told us about serving Grandma Frannie breakfast in bed on Mother’s Day, when you and Aunt Claudia and Aunt Lora were kids.”

I was immediately transported back in time to my own childhood. It was Mother’s Day and my sisters and I were preparing breakfast in bed for our mother.

We were co-conspirators, giggling with excitement and burning toast. Ours was a more elaborate meal given the two older sisters, but nonetheless difficult for my mother to choke down. She was not a big breakfast eater, and certainly wasn’t one to eat before rising from bed.

I remembered Mom looking absolutely thrilled. She smiled at us as if we had just pulled off the biggest surprise of her life. And even though she could hardly stomach the breakfast served, she approached her plate with enthusiasm, eating with gusto and, “um umming” as she swallowed every morsel.

As I dove further into the memory, I uncovered my feelings

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 8

of pride and accomplishment at taking care of her that day—nothing less than what she did for us the other 364 days of the year. I felt a blanket of love extending from my mother covering me, wrapping me in her warmth.

Instantly, I was back in my own room in my own bed, now the mom, being taken care of by my children. My thoughts of sorrow were long past.

Despondency was no longer banging its insistence on the doors to my heart. I realized that just because my mother was no longer alive, her blanket still covered me. I, in turn, wrapped my own children within its warmth. As I looked at my sons’ exuberant faces, I hoped that someday they would relay this story of Mother’s Day to their children, wrapping them in that boundless blanket of love.

My mother taught me that the greatest gifts you can give to yourself are your own children. I captured that knowledge fully and completely on Mother’s Day 2004, even as my stomach lurched and my bladder screamed.

Hallmark may say it in many words, beautifully crafted and enhanced with colorful visuals.

And flowers may be a lovely gesture. For me, the memories of ”breakfast in bed” will never be surpassed by any card no matter how lovely, or any flowers regardless of arrangement. I don’t need a special day to remind me of how wonderful it is being a mom, but I love Mother’s Day because it gives my children the opportunity to know how important they are in my life, to pay homage to me—one of the very fortunate and blest lot.

Recipe for a Deliciously Beautiful Mother’s Day: Two Runny Eggs Two pieces burned (or slightly overcooked) toast Cover eggs with toast Eat with gusto Don’t think about what You’re swallowing!

Bon Appetit

—by Cindy Charlton www.cindycharltonspeaks.com

My Mother, My Child

By Claudia Charlton

Born to be loved, I was brought here by Mother.

A gift of Love-stronger than forged steel— Was given to me.

Love, Nurture, Direction, Protection Bestowed upon my life.

Unconditional, tender, without restraint, This gift I’ve borne Throughout childhood, adolescence, Adulthood; Always knowing where to turn to For Support, Guidance, Power

I want to please her but somehow fall short I think.

But her love is secure, I know.

Time and illness ravage her body and mind, Once strong and complete, Rendering her helpless, childlike, in many ways

I touch her with the tenderness of the mother caressing her Newborn My heart fills with the longing For the other mom; the strong Mom Yet I know this is the path she must walk.

And I will walk beside her Take her hand Hold her up As the Mother lends strength to her Tiny child She is my Mother, my Child I, her Child, her Mother.

Once one, as I nestled beneath her breast, Then two, separate identities, Then one again, As I take her into my heart forever.

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 9

The Science and Art of Acupuncture With a silver needle, John locates points by his own sensitivity to feeling them, and then brings the needle to the point just to the depth necessary to connect—it can be above, just touching, or pushing slightly against the skin.

The needle then stimulates and moves the energy.

PHOTO: NIKI SEBASTIAN

M

any people, when they hear the word acupuncture, think immediately of a porcupine, a body bristling with needles. Others get faint, because needles to them mean the big fat scary things with which, as small children, they were inoculated. Some who have passed by an acupuncture office are apt to suspect drug usage, as there is a distinct aroma wafting from these spaces.

Increasingly, members of the general public are associating acupuncture with healing, with pain relief, with better digestion or the control of cravings. Because increasingly, acupuncture is both available and covered by insurance and thus is joining chiropractic and therapeutic massage as an accessible treatment choice. With increased access to treatments, more people are becoming aware of differences in the styles and techniques used by Doctors of Oriental Medicine (the official title for acupuncturists). Not so many people understand the source and meaning of these differences, so a bit of history is appropriate.

Of ancient Chinese origin, acupuncture did not find a special place in Japanese tradition until the 1930s. At about the same time, with Mao Tse-Tung’s effort to modernize China, the traditional Taoist spirituality underlying acupuncture was excised from the practice in China, to be replaced by a standardized, direct set of procedures. Acupuncture became a skill set to be learned in a medical school rather than a way of being and doing, taught through the tradition of a teacher-to-student lineage. The Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) approach is more aggressive and stronger, using larger needles, which are placed more deeply. The intent is to produce strong stimulation to the meridian points appropriate to correcting problems that have manifested as specific symptoms.

In Japan, the ancient Taoist theory underlying traditional acupuncture was refined, simplified, and in the way of many things Japanese, made into an art form. The focus of Japanese acupuncture is to rebalance the constitution so that the natural healing ability of the body can address those troubling symptoms which bring the patient to the practitioner.

Another way in which the differences between Chinese

John Mince-Ennis, DOM

and Japanese styles are expressed is that the Japanese seek to supplement the body’s energies, with deficiencies addressed through the use of needles. The Chinese use needles to disperse stuck energy, moving and clearing it out, and then provide the patient with herbs to tonify and supplement the body energies. John Mince-Ennis, DOM, said in an interview, “Both systems work and can be effective.”

Discussing acupuncture with Dr. Mince-Ennis is an expe-

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 10

Relaxation aids the body’s absorption of the treatment, which aims to balance the yin and yang energies

rience of energized tranquility. He said he studied under some brilliant, right from China, teachers at the International Institute of Chinese Medicine in Santa Fe, where he graduated at the top of his class in 2000. “It was a good solid TCM education.” A month later he began a series of workshops in Tucson with Japanese practitioner Sensei Kuwahara, held once a month for eight sessions. Then in 2002 John undertook what he describes as a traditional Japanese master/disciple experience becoming an apprentice to Sensei Kuwahara at his school and clinic in Boston. “It’s very rigid,” he said. “You give up your life for that time.” John also said that learning the Toyohari style of Japanese meridian therapy was an extraordinary experience.

“The Japanese revere the blind as healers,” John said.

“This style was founded by Fukushima Kodo Sensei and is based on his skills of sensing and touch.”

With a silver needle, John locates points by his own sensitivity to feeling them, and then brings the needle to the point just to the depth necessary to connect—it can be above, just touching, or pushing slightly against the skin. The needle then stimulates and moves the energy. “It’s very Zen, very focused. It feels to me like a pearl dropping from the tip of the needle into the point.”

A treatment session with Dr. Mince-Ennis is an opportunity to relax, and to learn. “The Japanese styles prioritize comfort,” he said. “Relaxation aids the body’s absorption of the treatment, which aims to balance the yin and yang energies. Think of it as balancing heat and cold in the body. Coldness often shows as pain and stagnation, but most Americans, because of stress and their typical diet, develop heat issues.”

So the first steps in treatment are to supplement deficiencies. Then needles and moxabustion (burning of moxa) unstick and disperse blockages so that energy can flow normally throughout the body.

Moxa is a blend of herbs, chief among which is mugwort, used in much the way that Native Americans use sage, to purify and cleanse. “Using moxa on a point is a little like performing a ritual on that spot, using fire and smoke to clear the point and disperse whatever is stuck there,” John said.

“Fire is transformative and dispersive.”

This statement comes directly from the five-element

basis of Taoist understanding of the laws of the universe, and the bases of our own interactions with the environment.

“When things (chi and blood) are moving well we feel well,” John said. “When things are stuck, we have pain.”

Dr. Mince-Ennis also began studying Native American healing when he came to Santa Fe for his acupuncture training, and he continues that investigation today. “The Tao arose from the Shamanism of China,” he said. “I see from my studies that diverse approaches have the same fundamental understanding of the relationship of the body to its environment.

Healing, in many traditions, is seen as bringing the individual back into balance (into beauty, to the Navajo) and a feeling of harmony with one’s life and surroundings.

Taoists have been engaged in the observation of nature for more than 4000 years, keenly studying the body and the world. Their explanations of how things move and work, although treated by Westerners as a philosophy, are actually profoundly empirical. This empirical knowledge has been transformed through the techniques of acupuncture into a healing art, and is now widely available in the West.

“We have the privilege of having different forms of medicine available,” Dr. Mince-Ennis said. “Each has value. If you use natural methods like acupuncture, there are no side effects, and, unlike with medicines for pain, the liver and kidneys don’t have to process things that are hard on them.

There is much to gain from different traditions, and I encourage people to explore what’s available.”

Dr. John Mince-Ennis has been practicing in Las Vegas for nearly five years, and also sees patients in Santa Fe one day per week. He loves to discuss his work and the principles underlying it. He also clearly loves learning, as well as sharing that learning. A session with him will provide the patient not only improved comfort and health, but a step toward the goal embodied in a Taoist saying: Ideally you have emptiness.

If you can’t, have laughter, If you can’t, have lightness of being.

Dr. Mince-Ennis can be reached at (505) 429-8859

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 11

—by Niki Sebastian

From the May Family Farm to Your Table

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looking for a spot to relocate. wo years ago La The Las Vegas area was high Liendre farmer on his list of preferred locaMarc May and his tions, largely because over wife Amy, came up with a time his family has made creative way to market the their home here. First his produce they grow. In addibrother moved to Las Vegas tion to participation in the biand started a family, and later weekly Farmer’s Market held his parents came. on Wednesday and Saturday “I made the choice to mornings from 7 a.m. to move here for several reanoon, and selling to local sons. I liked the location of restaurants, they created a the farm, there was plenty of Community Supported Agriwater and the land price was culture (CSA) program that PHOTO: AMY MAY right.

But mostly it’s because enables participants to subWhen the time is right, melons and squash are available at the my family is here. I wanted to scribe to the service and rebe close to them.”

F a r m er’s Market and for May Family Farm CSA customers. ceive weekly deliveries of Amy said Marc’s parents, fresh produce.

Bill and Alicia May, are very “Studies have shown that local fresh produce is the most nutritious. People who buy from us, and from other local much a part of the May Family Farm. “They have been a farmers, are getting the best food possible,” Marc said in a great help. We couldn’t have done this without them,” she said. recent interview.

Marc didn’t grow up in the farming industry, but it’s The May Family Farm CSA is the only one in Las Vegas. likely his parent’s Midwest work ethic has helped to keep Marc said growing the program is his priority. “We make sure the first of the harvest goes in the subscribers’ deliveries. him focused. “My folks always had big gardens and I always liked working in the garden and being outside. I wouldn’t The extra produce we sell at the Farmer’s Market.”

Marc is a lean and wiry young man with a shock of dark want an inside job. I like the independence of being a farmer, hair and energy looking for an outlet. It doesn’t seem to being home and helping raise my daughter.”

He got his first taste of serious farming in Taos. “I moved bother him that running a small farm is hard work. “I knew there when I first came to New Mexico at age 18 and worked what I was getting into when I decided to make this my life’s at a couple of farms. I wasn’t raised as a farmer, just got into work. It is hard, especially this time of year with all the wind, it and really liked it.” Apparently so. Marc has been farming but overall I love it.”

Marc worked the farm on his own for the first two years. full-time for the past ten years, with intermittent stints in the Part of that work included rebuilding the small house on the construction trade during the off-season.

Why did he decide to start a CSA? “I wasn’t selling property, while also cultivating the land. Amy joined him in everything I was growing. The Farmer’s Market is a good his labors in the third year and they married a year later. The outlet and I have restaurant customers, but my production couple has a 21-month-old daughter, Cassidy, and a house was more than I could move through those markets. Everythat grows as needed. body I know who’s in farming tried to convince me to go to The La Liendre farm isn’t Marc’s first foray into agriculthe Santa Fe Farmer’s Market, but I didn’t want to do that. I ture. He was in partnership on a farm in Abiquiu for several want to sell everything I grow locally and make a living that years, where he put his education from Evergreen State College in Olympia, Wash., to good use. The farm catered to way. I looked at other ways to get my produce out there withwhat Marc regards as an ideal marketplace, upscale Santa Fe out having to drive to Santa Fe.” Marc realized there were a lot of people who live around restaurants. the area and work in town. “But they don’t come to town on “In a city where restaurants sell $30 entrees it’s easier to the weekends to go to the Farmer’s Market. My thought was get the price you need to have. In a small town, it’s more of a challenge. You have to lower your price and sell more of I could serve that community with a CSA by delivering on weekdays when they were getting off work.” what you have,” he said.

In the first year Marc’s CSA had ten families. “This year When he separated from the Abiquiu farm Marc started Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 12

we have 13. I would like to have at least 15 but will take for a couple of years. more. I just don’t want to get overwhelmed. If the CSA does The cost of participation in the CSA is $300 for the season grow, I can bring in other farmers to help meet the demand.” (15 weeks x $20, the market value if purchased at the Marc said some CSAs have several farms working to- Farmer’s Market). The subscription fee is paid up front and gether to serve hundreds of families. While he isn’t looking the subscriber receives a box of whatever comes out of the to have that large a CSA just yet, he has extended his May 1 garden each week. cutoff date for registration to May 15 to accommodate lastOne advantage of the May Family Farm CSA is that the minute customers. food is more nutritious and is grown organically with no pesDespite fears of water shortages in the area, customers ticides or herbicides. “Typically the food is delivered within can be confident their weekly profour hours of being picked,” Marc duce delivery will be made. The May said, “and never more than 12 hours Farm irrigates off the Gallinas and up after harvest.”

What you might to now lack of water hasn’t been a For the most part Marc’s farm is expect in your delivery problem. “There’s nobody below us, worked by hand. “I use a tiller and so whatever gets to us we can basitractor to plow and disc the land, but Early Season: Lettuce, Asian cally have. There are a lot of springs after the season begins I don’t use any greens, kale, turnips, radishes, between La Liendre and town so the machines. It’s pretty much hand beets, green onions, spinach, river fills back up. So far it’s good. Beweeding and maintaining.” peas and broccoli cause we’re the end property we The 66-acre farm isn’t all in prodon’t have much water coming our duction.

This year’s farm is about 3 ½ Mid Season—Above items and way, but what we get we use. This is acres, which produces sufficiently summer squash, cucumbers, carthe worst year since I started, but through the season to meet the exrots, potatoes and cabbage we’re still okay. We built a pond a pected demands of the market. As Mid/Late Season—Above items couple of years ago for when the with every good farmer, he rotates the and tomatoes, peppers, green water’s there, and then use that when crops and lets some land lie fallow so beans, corn, winter squash, melwe need to. So far we’ve had it doesn’t “wear out.” ons, onions and leeks enough.”

Marc said he loves farming but The growing season for area that marketing and distributing are Late Season—Above items with farmers is from around the first of big challenges. the exception of any item subject May to the end of October in a good “It gets better every year,” he said. to frost year. Always thinking of new ways to “Amy is much better at that part of it sell as much of his production as posthan I am. We’re establishing our repDeliveries begin June 14 and run sible Marc said he is getting more and utation so people know who we are. through September 20. more into storing produce that keeps, The CSA is about building trust and like potatoes and root crops. “I keep establishing lasting relationships with them at a constant 50 degrees and can customers. I also like that people are sell them through the year.” getting the best most nutritious food from me and other Marc and other farmers are looking forward to partici- farmers. The CSA is good because it forces people to be a litpating in a new market opportunity coordinated by Lee tle more adventurous and actually eat what’s in season. It Einer. The Farm to Restaurant program registers restaurants helps them kind of connect with their local ecology a little bit whose chefs post their produce needs on the Internet. Partic- because they get exactly what we’re able to harvest that ipating farmers post what they have available and through week. It helps them connect with the land in a really positive the magic of the web, the two get together. Actually Mr. Einer way.” keeps track and makes the connections.

If you are interested in subscribing to the May Family “It’s the link we need. Chefs are busy and farmers are Farm CSA, contact Marc or Amy May at 575 427-1441, or ebusy. We can’t always make those contacts,” Marc said. “This mail the farm at mayfamilyfarm@gmail.com. sounds like a good way to make that happen. Restaurants “If you call leave a message,” Marc said. “We’re not usutaking part in the program will be given a sticker they put in ally in the house.” their window to show they support local farms by buying No, they’re out in the field making sure your local fresh fresh local produce.” produce is being watched over, weeded and harvested.

Marc already has two regular restaurant customers. The El Fidel and Dick’s restaurants have been buying from him —by Sharon Vander Meer Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 13

D

Reflection: Mother Love?

I’m glad I stuck to my teen-age determioes there ever come an age by

by Niki Sebastian nation not to have children of my own until which those of us who had a lessI was certain I could be a better mother than than-desirable experience of my own mother had been.

As it turns out, by the time I felt mothering cease to react uncomfortably to phrases such as to be a good mother, I no longer wanted/needed to beable “tender as a mother’s love,” or “the way a mother cares for come one, nor was I easily able to do so.

Given that a certain her child?” amount of childlessness must be distributed amongst us, I’m Is it perverse to want, in the context of a publication happy to take up one of those slots, so that some other woman themed to Mother’s Day, to speak for women who—both forwho urgently seeks motherhood may achieve her dream. tunate and determined—found substitute role models from I credit my dance teacher/mentor/mother-model for whom to learn their own feminine skills? making my acceptance of “missing” child-rearing so easy.

And what of men without good mothering? How hard is it for them to achieve healthy balance in a relationship? We’ve Winifred was already into her sixties when we met and is— all seen men whose lack of a nurtured childhood leaves them like my parents—now long deceased. As a dancer, she was a behaving with arrogant disrespect for women or, conversely, rebel against her own very proper Southern belle upbringing seeking from a mate the constant care and attention they did in Georgia. She had performed with Martha Graham, traveled to Bali to live, and when we met was residing and teaching in not receive as children.

Paris.

Comfortable with her body, she helped me—a buxom For women without good maternal role models, growing teen who used food for comfort from maternal abuse—to acto adulthood is indeed difficult. So much of what it means to cept my own shape. Choreographing dances demands not accept oneself as a female, as a wife, as a mother, comes natjust physical agility, but also an appreciation of how different urally from childhood experience. Only as a woman grows, body shapes will look in combination, and visual knowledge and perhaps begins to experience difficulty in relationships, of what movements will look graceful—or awkward—when does that natural learning come into question. performed by a specific body type. What better way to come Some of us are lucky enough, in our teens, to encounter to appreciate one’s own form? alternative role models—older sisters, mentors, teachers. I In the three years I studied with Winifred, I drank innuwas such a lucky one, and the person who helped salvage my merable cups of tea in her 16th century apartment, situated badly distorted sense of womanliness was my modern dance at the back of a building so tilted it needed to be propped up teacher for three years—herself childless but with a wonderby tree-trunk timbers that occupied half its narrow front ful, intuitive sense of nurturance. Is it merely chance that I am street.

The timbers kept the walls upright, in a life-sustaining also childless, but the stand-in mother to several young manner.

Supported

by Winifred’s slight frame and huge women from as disparate places as Israel and Burma? heart, I learned to view life as an adventure, to accept people I think not. as flawed, and to mentally take a crucial step back from my From all I’ve been told, or in a limited way experienced experiences, and to view them “from the audience perspecmyself, there was little to choose between my two grandtive.”

It is blessedly hard to sustain the psychological viewmothers, if one was seeking redeeming maternal qualities. point of a victim when one is being applauded for a stage Both were undoubtedly strong women who faced adversities performance, or has placed oneself in the position of observer ranging from pioneering in a desert, to protecting three chilof the unfolding drama of one’s own life. dren while living in hiding in a country whose language was My problems weren’t all solved through that one nurturalien to her. Yet neither was able to love nor nurture the child ing relationship.

I suspect that they’re not completely solved who became my parent. even now—or I wouldn’t react to the use of “a mother’s love” My father’s intelligence and quirky sense of humor were with instinctive challenge.

Other older friends, younger buried under a boatload of shyness and insecurity until very friends, and a host of professional and personal relationships late in his long life. My mother’s mental state was charitably have tempered my experiences, added perspective, provided called emotional but was actually borderline psychotic, with new audience viewpoints, and collectively enabled me to befrequent eruptions into anger and both verbal and physical come comfortable with my Self. violence. Together my parents were so engaged in their battle Is it perhaps a matter of more time, more learning or more to extract from one another their own unmet needs that there detachment, for me and others like me, to be able to hear the was little room for me. My mother raged; my father withdrew. term mother without an instinctive flinch? Or is it instead My mother feared social criticism so intensely that, with my time for the social concept of mother to be broadened from father unavailable, her sole acceptable target was me. an implicit loving and caring image, to a more realistic acYears after my professional training brought me the abilknowledgement that there are all kinds of mothers, just as ity to see my parents with some sympathy and understandthere are all kinds of other categories of people? It feels like a ing, I still feel twinges of, “What did I miss?” and, “What step in both these directions is being taken right here, right would that have been like?” when phrases about parental carnow.

So much the better for all of us! ing are uttered. I still feel a degree of “left-outness” when it is time to praise mothers.

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 14

El Zocalo Featured Artist: Todd Christensen

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Making Art: “I Love the Process”

he end of the school year for college professors is always a challenging and busy time. Despite his crammed schedule, Todd Christensen, featured artist for May, took the time to give brief answers to our Happenstance questions.

Photos of his art, included with this article, speak volumes. In addition to his teaching schedule he was getting ready for a big exhibit of his work in Kansas.

H. What is your art medium?

T. Printmaking, painting, sculpture, collage, book arts.

H. How long have you been doing this?

T. I have been making art since I was a little kid.

H. Are you self-taught or did you have formal training?

T. Formal Training, MFA from the University of Arizona, BS from Southern Utah University H. What gets you excited about your art?

T. I have always had a drive to make things; I wouldn’t be happy if I didn’t. The act of making means more to me than the finished product. I love the process.

H. What inspires you?

T. Practically everything. Art history, the world around me. Right now I am fascinated by elephants and astronauts.

I am inspired by early botanical illustrations and other natural history illustrations. There are a lot of other things that inspire me but it doesn’t make much sense to list all of them.

The list would be too long.

H. You are the Featured Artist at El Zocalo for May. What will you be doing for your lecture/demonstration and when will it be?

T. I will be talking about my art and doing a couple of small demonstrations about simple book arts forms.

H. Tell me something about yourself that expresses why you are an artist.

T. It goes back to that inner drive to make things. I can’t really see myself doing anything else. Well, maybe I could be an antiques dealer or a rare books dealer (other things that inspire me), Agony

but I would still make art. I have to make art.

H. Do you work at another profession or vocation or is art the focus of your working life?

T. I teach art at New Mexico Highlands University. I teach printmaking, painting, drawing, and introduction to art.

H. What brought you to Las Vegas and how long have you been here?

T. I have been here since fall of 2004 and a teaching job at NMHU is Todd at the beach what brought me here.

Astro Boy by Todd Christensen

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 15

I

RECIPES & CHAT Featuring Pamela G. Daves

attended a conference in Silver City last month and, at one of the sessions on New Mexico water, learned that the Gila River is the only undammed river in the Southwest. For the foreseeable future, Grant County has no issues with water, but that is not the case here in Las Vegas.

I learned about the ban on outdoor watering at the emergency council meeting and immediately left that meeting and went home to roll-up and put away the hoses I had on my yard. I discussed with my husband the need to save all the water in the bath tub from his showers and since then, I have been hauling buckets of it downstairs to water plants and shrubs outdoors. I always save the water I use to wash in the kitchen, and that continues to go outside to the trees.

Of course I’m doing the usual toilet thing and for my own showers, I get wet and then turn off the water while I’m lathering up, then turn it on again to rinse off. The same goes for washing my hands and brushing my teeth. I save any leftover coffee, tea water, etc. for use on my plants indoors. If you have further ideas for me, I’d love to hear them.

The week of the moratorium, I took the following dish to a potluck at the home of Louise Drlik, where girls from UWC, who were from the Mid-East and Northern Africa, gave us their take on the events in their homelands. This recipe comes from the same cookbook I used for the recipe last month, Gladys Taber’s Stillmeadow Cookbook.

Man food from WebMD.com Dad’s Favorite Flank Steak From WebMD.com

2 T canola oil 6 T concentrated chicken broth (lower sodium if available) 1/2 C honey 1/2 C lower-sodium soy sauce 4 green onions cut into thin, diagonal slices 1 tsp ground ginger (or 2 tsp fresh minced ginger)

Sweet and Sour Meatballs

1 lb. ground beef 1 tsp salt I egg 2 T chopped onion 1 T cornstarch Dash of pepper

Mix all ingredients. Form into balls and bake at 350 degrees until brown.

Sweet and Sour Sauce

1 T oil 3 T vinegar 1 C pineapple juice 6 T water 3 T cornstarch 1/3 C sugar 1 T soy sauce, lite

To the oil, add pineapple juice. Heat over low fire and add the mixture of the remaining ingredients. Cook until juice thickens, stirring constantly.

4 slices pineapple, cut in chunks or can of chunks 2 green peppers, cut in strips lengthwise

Add meatballs, pineapple, and green peppers to the sauce.

Heat thoroughly and serve over hot rice.

Serves 4 - 6

1 tsp garlic powder 2 tsp Worcestershire sauce 1 medium-large flank steak (about 1 1/2 pounds)

Combine canola oil, chicken broth, honey, soy sauce, green onions, ginger, garlic powder, and Worcestershire sauce in a medium bowl with a whisk; set aside. Remove any visible fat from the flank. Lightly score the meat with a serrated knife, cutting about 1/4-inch into

the meat in a crisscross pattern (leave about an inch between cuts) on the top and bottom of the flank. Put the flank in a rectangular plastic container, add the marinade, and coat the steak well all over. Cover and marinate the flank steak all day or overnight, turning occasionally. Grill 10-15 minutes on each side or until cooked to desired doneness. Use a carving knife to cut diagonally across the grain of the meat into slices of your desired thickness. Yields 6 servings.

M

The Code

y beautiful redheaded mother died on a sunny afternoon in May 1977. Dreaded, cursed, cancer. She was just 54. I was 24. Her name was Marian, as is mine. We buried her on Mother’s Day. Six weeks later I gave birth to my own daughter, who I named Marian, of course. She was blessed with Mom’s wreath of red hair. An ending and a beginning. Mom probably planned it that—knew I would need something to look forward to after witnessing her pain and suffering. She was like that, always watching out for me. For a brief moment, grief took second place to the welcome distraction and joy of a newborn.

Mom was a teacher of English, speech and drama; the things she loved. After she married, her priority became raising three daughters but she never gave up her own interests or deviated from achieving her personal goals. My mom was ahead of her time in what she accomplished through civic and volunteer work. She was the president of Planned Parenthood and Junior League, vice president of the Guidance and Rehab Center and served on the local board of education and the Texas Social Welfare Association. She served as a master art museum docent, room mother, Girl Scout leader, fund raiser… the list goes on.

Mom was the architect of family vacations to the cabin in Cloudcroft, the beach at Crystal Cove, Calif., and exposed us to Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, and Gone With the Wind. She took me to see Gene Kelly in American in Paris and I was hooked on all things about dance and Broadway musicals forever.

Her crowning achievement, and the one of which she was most proud, was her election to the school board on which she served for nine years. There is a school named in her honor in my hometown of El Paso, Texas: Marian Bainbridge Collins Elementary School. I am so very proud of her.

She was a talented public speaker and advocate, perhaps on the brink of running for some kind of public office if she had lived. But as outspoken as she was in the community, privately she was independent, self sufficient, definitely not the joiner type. She had a dry sense of humor and was realistic and practical. As her own health prognosis dimmed she never complained or retreated into a cocoon of despair.

My life got way off track after she died. The marriage to my high school sweetheart ended in divorce, I became a single parent—my own sole and soul support—and I left Texas to move to New Mexico. Far enough to start over yet close enough to home. My goal to complete college got put on the

back burner. My father was always there for me, but I had lost my anchor, my role model, my Mom. I was lucky though—she had already given me the foundation that would sustain me.

Things changed: a second and lasting marriage to my husband Don, and the challenges of a blended family. I resumed college courses in between parenting, step-parenting and working.

When I was 41, our son Nicolas was born. The youngest. He’s perceptive, insightful, articulate and dyslexic. Finding the remediation he needed became the challenge and the inspiration I needed to achieve my own dream. I took an extensive two-year course in language remediation for severely dyslexic students. At the same time I knocked off the remaining credits I needed to receive my B.A. in special education. My mom would be proud.

I remember a Christmas Eve when I was about eight.

Mom had the flu. She was so sick she couldn’t make it to the candlelight service, couldn’t tuck us into bed before Santa arrived. It was inconceivable. “It can’t be Christmas if Mom is sick,” I remember saying to Dad when he found me dissolved in tears curled up by the Christmas tree. A premonition maybe?

Mom got over the flu, Christmas happened, and I grew up, but I never forgot that terrifying feeling of what it would be like to lose her. So I became vigilant. I watched and listened. Her actions, her voice, her language of love, spoken and unspoken. The code to last for a lifetime.

As I submit this article I can’t believe I have achieved my goal and have the job of my dreams. I am an academic language therapist. I work with children who are anywhere from mildly to profoundly dyslexic, rebuilding their fragile and disorganized language systems by teaching them the decoding of reading and the encoding of spelling. The code of language. The foundation of life. A labor of love.

Thank you Mom for teaching me the code that I live by.

“You, who are on the road must have a code that you can live by.

And so become yourself because the past is just a good bye.

Teach your children well, their father’s hell did slowly go by, And feed them on your dreams, the one they fix, the one you’ll know by.”

—From Teach Your Children

by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 17

—Maridell Monnheimer

YESTERDAY

T

Unnamed Streets Marked Barrio Areas

The fourth in a series of articles

by Robert Gallegos

covered with beautiful, thorny locust trees, which made entrance to the property impossible. This property was a school for Christian Brothers in the time that I remember it. The property had a two-story building, complete with a chapel. There were vegetable gardens, orchards, milk cows, a cemetery, a grotto, and black walnut trees. There was a tree-lined path or lane where the Brothers would walk and read in groups of four, an outdoor basketball court, and in the winter, an ice skating rink under some huge trees. This was quite a mysterious place that closed as a religious place in the 1940s.

In the area where I lived the people were considered Hispanic, and they all spoke our Spanish. However, in addition to the traditional Hispanic names our neighborhood had many families with names such as Geoffrion, Harrison, Thomas, Ludi, Fulgenzi, Monroe, Angel, and Guerin to name a few. Many of these families, which were well-established in the community, came from the east and some were descendents of Fort Union soldiers. It did not matter. In our innocence we were all the same. I am Gallegos and my paternal grandmother was a full-blooded Indian from Taos Pueblo.

By the late 1930s Prohibition no longer existed and we had electricity—a lone cord with one bulb for each room, but we had electricity—and we bought a radio. The effects of the great Depression were still being felt, and if a neighbor needed any kind of help, they had to rely on their neighbors.

Consequently people were very close and trusting. There was a lot of visiting, and borrowing of things, such as a cup of flour.

With no welfare programs, other than the CC Camps and WPA, there was a lot of poverty and many families had problems getting the basic economic needs of food, clothing, and shelter. We were lucky because my father received a pension from the Veterans Administration for serving in the Army in World War I, and he worked in various newspapers as a linotype operator. For a time he worked on the Highlands University newspaper, The Candle, as an extra job.

This was all river-bottom land with very fertile soil. Every summer this land was under cultivation.

he poorer sections of our city and town were known as barrios. Some of these barrio locations—or their boundaries—were well defined, and it was dangerous for “outsiders” to venture into some of them. Most of these barrios had descriptive names such as la lanera, and los chiveros, while others were known simply by their location, such as los de arriba, los de abajo, and los del otro lado del trache. These simply meant those from upper town, those from lower town, and those from across the tracks, respectively. The Northern New Mexico spelling of these names might not be correct, and I apologize for any mistakes.

One thing that I remember is that where I lived South Pacific was known as la calle de arriba and South Gonzales Street was known as la calle de abajo, or “upper street” and “lower street.”

Although South Gonzales was not paved and not well lit at night, it was one of the most beautiful or scenic streets in town. Going south from the Plaza, the first structure on the east side of the street was Our Lady of Sorrows School, bounded on the east by the ditch and on the west by a row of sweet smelling lilac bushes. Across the street was a beautiful residence that I hear was owned by the Ilfeld family.

Next to the school was the Ilfeld mansion with its marble columns, well-manicured lawns, and a large vegetable garden area next to the ditch. Across the street was a garage with living quarters for the gardener and chauffeur; all of the buildings were enclosed by a wrought iron fence.

Next to the Ilfeld property was the Pettine property with the acequia or ditch as its western border and the Gallinas River as its eastern border. This was all river-bottom land with very fertile soil. Every summer this land was under cultivation. My mother told me the Pettines raised and sold all kinds of vegetables. What we called la casa de los hermanos was next, and it also had the ditch on the west and the Gallinas River on the east.

The entire length of the compound along the ditch was

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 18

ECLECTICALLY YOURS: CONNIE MACK

Detox Dramas, Sad But True

I worked in the detox department of an addiction recovery center. Every night for two years, I wrote about the most interesting experience of the night. What follows are glimpses into that tragic, yet sometimes comical world.

• When a police car would pull up we would yell, “Incoming!” It was like a war. We kept a bottle of bleach by the door to pour on the blood that dripped on the blacktop between the police car and the entrance to detox.

• For the purposes of the intake form I always asked what the client had to drink the previous day. They never said Cold Duck, but this one did. Turns out he was celebratin’. He had gotten engaged, but then, he got unengaged because her boyfriend arrived.

• One of the clients wanted out of detox before his 72 hours were up. He said his foot was hurt, and he’d have to limp all the way home.

• Once when another client had been admitted—after his vitals were taken and he’d been put into a hospital gown—he lay down and had almost passed out when suddenly he sat straight up and yelled, “Sustenance! I need sustenance!” One of his fingers was terribly swollen and when asked what happened he said, “I got bit by a prairie dog.”

• Again, for the intake form, I asked what the client drank yesterday. “Mixed drink.” “Like what?” I asked.

“Beer, vodka, whiskey, rum…” I was chewing gum and he said, “Hey, you smell like peppermint schnapps!”

• And for the record, the clients do use their Bibles and Big Books. They put them under the newspaper for stability when doing crossword puzzles.

• One client was a very intelligent man. He had just been detoxed for the 800th time, more or less. He came in with stitches in the flesh of a huge lump on his forehead.

When I asked what happened he said, “I was hit by a projectile.”

• Then there was the client who didn’t know his social security number because he had just recently arrived in town.

• Client belongings are taken when clients are admitted, and returned when they are discharged. My co-worker was looking for a particular client’s property. She asked what he had when he came in. “A pair of white tennis shoes, a donkey and a gun,” he said.

• On another occasion a police car pulled up and an officer brought a female client in. I had not seen her before and said, “Who do we have here?” The officer said, “Well, in just the past fifteen minutes, she has been three different people.”

• The center was not a locked facility. A client who was

PHOTO CONNIE MACK

Broken bottles, broken lives

admitted said it was his first time and that we didn’t have to worry about him running. He also asked if he could watch TV, the one next to the open window and which way west was. Sure enough, in less than three minutes he was gone. I called dispatch. “This is Connie up at detox. We’ve had an early departure…Young male, tall, thin, long black ponytail, dark T-shirt, light blue jeans and, ah, probably headin’ west.”

• I learned that one of my co-workers had been an addict but said he got clean and sober because he woke up one night and saw demons dancing on his bed.

• “No,” said the female client, “this is the first time I been here before.” And I believed her.

• He poured Windex in a cup and squirted shaving lotion on top. We took his “mixed drink” and barely got the bleach chaser away in time.

• I came in to work one morning and the whole building was flooded. Everyone was talking about the client who climbed up in the ceiling, broke the plumbing and escaped.

Another client said, “If he wanted out so bad, there’s the door.” Not five minutes later this door-aware client climbed out the window and ran down the hill.

• I was kind of irritated with the three new female clients. They were, to say the least, rude, yelling and fighting. I had taken a cake to work that night for staff but for some reason I put it on the table for the clients. The next time I looked, all three previously violent women sat calmly in thin hospital gowns with disheveled hair and tortured faces. They cut cake and poured coffee for each other and they looked like the most beautiful, polite women in the world, and I burst into tears.

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 19

T

THE READING ROOM

Chapter Twelve An Ill Wind

he children were in bed and Annie felt as jumpy as a single woman who’d just found out she was pregnant… again. Despite evidence to the contrary, she was not a loose woman, or whatever the euphemism was for a woman who had three children by three different men. The truth was she’d loved, or thought she had loved, Caleb’s father and Marie’s father. Alex’s conception she chose not to think about.

The trouble came from her inability to sustain a relationship. A friend, who was a psychology major at USC, once told her she was looking for a father figure. What did Madrid know? Cripes he was a student, not a real doctor. Her mother had been to enough psychologists and social workers over the years to prove without a doubt they’d never had a clue about the reality she lived with: a drunk who didn’t understand anything that wasn’t about making him happy. The only one who’d ever made sense was the one who’d advised her mother to get out of the marriage and the sooner the better. Annie shuddered. She would not think about that.

Marie mumbled in her sleep and turned over. She was a restless sleeper, always had been. Having the child in bed with you was like sleeping with a five-piece rock band, just not as loud. Annie brushed the caramel-streaked brown hair off her daughter’s face and kissed her lightly.

Each of her children was different, precious in their individuality, and beautiful. She loved them so much it hurt. She had to create a stable life for them. Being a basket case was no excuse for being a poor mother. Half the time she felt as though they were taking care of her instead of the other way around. On some days she could barely keep it together, a breath away from bursting into tears at the slightest provocation, or as often as not, for no reason at all.

Was it any wonder no man wanted to stay with her?

Most of the time she could rationalize away her short-lived relationships but it all boiled down to somehow not being good enough. And really, was that surprising? Look at her role models, a stubborn, unhappy mother and an old man who was a lazy drunk. Not a good combination.

It didn’t matter. She was responsible for three people who were relying on her to get it right for once. Opportunity was a phone call away.

Annie turned off the light and slid under the covers wondering if it was always so cold. She hadn’t warmed up since the night they’d blown in her aunt’s front door. The wind howled around the eaves with a mournful cry. She blinked back a spurt of tears, a combination of lingering depression

and out-and-out terror. She couldn’t screw up again. Despite Aunt Lilly’s advice she would call Patricia Mercer first thing tomorrow. How bad could it be?

After all, the woman was a relative. She finally fell into a restless sleep and awoke feeling as tired as when she went to bed.

As soon as she got Caleb and Marie on the school bus she called Primetime expecting to get an answering machine.

“Patricia Mercer.”

“Oh, I thought, I mean I was calling the restaurant.”

“You’ve reached Primetime, can I help you?”

Annie gave her name and asked for a time she could come by to fill out an application.

“This morning at ten would be convenient. I’ll see you then.”

Annie had no opportunity to express her appreciation.

The line was dead.

When she told Lilly about her decision to take Patricia Mercer up on her offer, her aunt’s response was surprisingly harsh. For a woman who looked as soft as cotton candy, Lilly Irish had a backbone of steel.

“I cannot presume to tell you what to do,” she said, “but taking a job at Primetime will lead to no good.”

Annie swallowed. She didn’t want to go against her aunt, but she needed a job.

“If you’re worried about the kids, they’re used to staying on their own. I don’t expect, don’t want you to take care of them.”

“That isn’t the issue,” Lilly said, with a twitch of her nose. “The issue is that Patricia Mercer is a difficult woman, and I’ve heard she is very hard to work for.”

Annie was in no position to defend Mercer but it seemed to her that anyone in a wheelchair had a right to be a bit difficult. The woman was probably in need of competent help she could depend on. Annie’s references were excellent. She liked waiting tables. It was hard work but it was also the only thing she was suited for.

“I appreciate your concern, Aunt Lilly, I do, but I’m running out of money. I have to get a job and soon.”

“We can get by until you find a position to your liking.

You need to look around more.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth Lilly looked like she’d swallowed a peach pit, apparently as surprised by her generous offer as Annie.

“I can’t let you support us. That’s not why I came.”

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Lilly raised an eyebrow.

Annie felt a blush travel up her neck and into her face.

“I’m not trying to be difficult,” she said, “but I’m going to at least meet with Ms. Mercer and see what she has to offer.”

Lilly sighed and shook her head.

“I hate to ask this, but could you watch Alex while I’m out?” Again Annie’s face flushed. “I’ll make arrangements for the future.”

“Of course, you go on to your interview. I’m off today, but you will need to make arrangements after this. My church, that is Harve’s church, has a daycare center. Perhaps you can set something up with them until you’re more settled.”

“Thank you, Aunt Lilly, I appreciate everything you’ve done,” she said in a rush. “I’ll check into daycare but if I can manage it I’m planning on asking for the evening shift. That way Caleb can watch his brother and sister after school and all day on weekends and holidays.”

Lilly paled. “You plan to leave them alone, all day, in the house? By themselves?”

“They’re very good; they know what to do. Besides, with any luck I’ll soon be able to find us a place to live so we’ll be out of your hair.”

Lilly should have been overjoyed at the possibility peace might soon be restored to her home. Instead the idea of having the house to herself made her chin wobble and her breath catch.

A

Chapter Thirteen Who’s on First

lex was content with putting on his jacket and going outside with Krank. Lilly retrieved her journal and sat where she could keep an eye on the boy while she wrote.

On the one hand Annie hardly seems capable of holding herself together yet on the other she makes up her mind and sticks with it.

In that she is very like Milly. Yes, and see where that got her.

Alex just upended a pot of dirt on the patio. Everything back there is such a mess I’m not much worried about what more damage he and the dog can do. From the look of it I’ll have to start from scratch anyway. The first thing will be to replace that darned sliding screen door. It didn’t bother me not having it there when it was just me, but with everybody going in and out a hundred times a day the bugs will take over the house. Oh, well, it was one of those things Harve was going to do and I never got around to after he was gone. I remember the day it came off. Thanksgiving three years ago. One of Michael’s buddies ran into it when they were playing football.

Lilly swallowed back the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. They used to have such big Thanksgiving celebrations when Harve was alive. She twitched her nose and returned to her journal.

Alex was none too happy to be left with me, if I’m any judge.

I thought sure he would start in bawling the second Annie left, but after about five minutes of pouting he asked to go outside and he’s been there ever since. I must say, a boy and a dog can find more to do with a stick than you ever can imagine! I don’t remember Elizabeth and Michael being able to entertain themselves in such a mundane way. They were always going sixty miles to the minute, what with one thing and another, or plunked down in front of the TV. I hated the TV. Still do.

The patio door slid opened and Krank bounded in, followed by Alex.

“Krank’s thirsty.”

“Really? And how exactly do you know that?”

An expressive shrug was his answer.

“Caleb put water out for him this morning. Are you sure it’s gone?”

“Krank’s thirsty.”

“What about Alex, is he thirsty?”

The shrug again, followed by, “Maybe.”

“How about a glass of milk?”

“Krank likes sodas.”

“Krank doesn’t get soda and neither does Alex.”

He started to bull up.

“Crying for what you want doesn’t cut it with me. Fact is it may mean missing supper. You want to miss supper?”

“Mom will let me have supper.” He leaned his chin on the barstool and gazed at her with clear brown eyes.

“Well, we’ll see about that.”

Alex continued to keep his eyes on her, never removing his chin from the barstool. She went back to writing.

Michael was a master at a variety of tactics to get what he wanted. It never worked with me, but nearly always worked with Harve. Now there was a man who truly had a heart of puredee gold.

Alex’s eyes bored into her but she kept writing.

Sometimes Elizabeth and Michael would gang up on me to get their way, wheedling, whining, the silent treatment. This little guy doesn’t know it, but my skills as a tough cookie were honed by masters.

Krank is getting restless. I hope Alex caves pretty soon or the dadblamed dog will start howling and if there’s one thing I can do without it’s a call from Phyllis Arrington.

“Milk and cookies?”

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Lilly finished her sentence and set the pen aside. “Let me see what I can find.”

Alex returned to the backyard with a peanut butter sandwich and a glass of skim milk. Krank sat watching the child.

What kept him from taking his share of the sandwich was a mystery to Lilly. All the animals she’d ever encountered were quick to take whatever was available. Mrs. Candy’s Pekinese was a nasty dog with a bad attitude and a tongue like a toad.

Sit down with a cup of tea and a plate of cake and he’d have it snapped up before you could blink.

Mrs. Candy would titter and coo, “Silly dog!”

Lilly wasn’t much given to having tea and cake at Mrs. Candy’s. As it happened, that was no longer of any consequence since she never went there anymore. And why would she? She would just get the latest lecture on getting out and making a new life for herself. That’s the kind of thing Mrs. Candy insisted on saying, even coming up with suggestions on just whom she thought would be a good replacement for Harve. Lilly shuddered to think anyone would believe she wanted another man in her life. If you were lucky once, don’t think you could be lucky again.

That dog is amazing. I have the feeling if anyone tried to hurt Annie or her children, they’d soon find out exactly what that animal is made of.

I wonder how the interview is going. I know I should keep my nose out of it but I just plain don’t trust Patricia. I guess, under the circumstances, it’s understandable she would be a little tetchy, being wheelchair bound and all. Even when she was walking around on two legs she was mean as a sack full of hornets. I know Annie could have done better. I did tell that child if she wanted nights to ask for days. Patricia will give her just the opposite out of spite, if I know my Mrs. Mercer!

Sorry, Harve. I know you would be quite upset with me if you knew the resentment I hold in my heart. I can’t help it. That woman was the death of you! Okay, so eating too much fat and having a fondness for chocolate ice cream and Death by Chocolate cake probably didn’t help. Dr. Wells was on you all the time to watch your diet and exercise more. But Patricia Mercer contributed, her and her uppity ways.

Harve, my dearest, I miss you so. And now here I am with strangers in the house and not a clue what to do with them. I know what you would do and I’ll try to follow your lead: kindness, forgiveness, trust, and understanding. Those were your watchwords.

I try, my dearest, I try, but you and God know I fail more often than I succeed.

The patio door rasped open, distracting Lilly.

“When’s Momma gonna be back?”

Lilly glanced at the clock and noted nearly two hours had passed. What was taking so long?

“Soon. If you’re not going back out, shut the door.”

Krank wriggled in as soon as he saw the door was clos-

ing and headed for Lilly. Alex shrugged off his jacket and left it in a heap on the floor.

“I’m bored.”

Lilly’s nose twitched; her least favorite words. Not much changed with children.

“Pick up your jacket and put it away. Then find something to do.”

“Can I write?” he asked, ignoring the discarded garment.

“Pick up that jacket and put it away. Then we’ll see.”

He looked for a moment as though he was going to refuse before snatching it up and dragging it down the hall toward his room. Lilly wasn’t looking forward to his return.

How did you keep a four-year-old happy?

Y

Chapter Fourteen On the Clock

ou’re early, I like that. I can’t abide people who don’t show up on time. How do you do? I’m Patricia Mercer, Patricia Hadley Mercer, as I’m sure your aunt has already told you. Please, come in, have a seat.”

Annie hesitated. Aunt Lilly’s obvious dislike of this woman couldn’t be ignored. Mercer seemed harmless enough sitting behind her cluttered desk. Everything else about her was sleek and tidy, from her thick golden hair pulled back from her brow with a silver and turquoise clip, to the cream-toned silk blouse she wore. The only thing that marred the appearance of togetherness was a pencil stuck securely above the clasp in her hair.

“Thank you for taking time to interview me for a position.” Annie sat across from a woman whom she now knew to be the niece of Trey Hadley. Her cousin. This was a complication she didn’t need. On the other hand, if it meant a paycheck who was she to complain?

Patricia removed the pencil from her hair, made a note on the paper she was looking at, and placed the document in a file folder. She returned the pencil to its place in her hair and smiled.

“I always have room for family. Although not many members of my family are willing to work as hard as you need to work to keep a quality restaurant running in a small town. Are you a hard worker?”

“Very.”

The two women studied each other for a moment.

“How did you know…?”

“You are a Hadley, or how did I know where to find you?”

“Both, I guess.”

Patricia slid open the middle drawer in the desk and took out two photos. She handed one to Annie and waited.

The image was of a young woman from another era but — CONTINUED ON PAGE 23 —

Happenstance • www.happenstancelifehappens.com • May 2, 2011 • Page 22

it could have easily been Annie in a fashion time warp and a hairstyle from the fifties.

Patricia handed her the other photo. It could have been Annie with shorter hair and more body fat.

“Your great-aunt,” Patricia pointed at the first photo.

“Your aunt and my mother is the woman in the second photo. I don’t know why I didn’t know it immediately, but seeing you was so unexpected.”

She hesitated for a moment. “To be honest I—we, the family—thought you were dead.”

Annie’s mother had rarely spoken of her hometown or the Hadley family except to express her dislike for them.

Now it seemed she had a raft of family members who presented a whole new set of problems. For starters she would have to fill the children in on her family history or they were apt to find it out from someone else. Why had she thought coming back to her mother’s hometown was an option?

Patricia smiled. It warmed her eyes and took away the barrier that closed off her emotions.

“For my part, I’m glad you’re very much alive. Please don’t let Mrs. Irish give you the wrong impression about me.

We’ve had our differences over the years. I’ve put them behind me; for some reason she is unable to. As for me, I look forward to introducing you to the rest of your family.”

Annie blinked. Oh, yeah, this was going to get very complicated.

“Look, uh, Mrs. Mercer…”

“Patricia, please, we’re family after all.”

“Oh, of course. I, umm, I never told my children about the deaths of my parents.”

Patricia regarded her in silence, a silence Annie felt compelled to fill.

“I’ve never told them about Trey Hadley.”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, from what I hear he was no prize. You wanted to protect them I imagine, but is that wise? They’ll find out some day and when they do they’ll think you lied to them.”

“I haven’t lied. He was gone and it didn’t seem necessary to talk about him.” It sounded weak even to her ears. “Maybe this was a mistake, coming here I mean.”

“Do you need a job?”

“Well, yes, but I really don’t want my children to be hurt.”

“The truth is painful but not knowing and finding out from strangers is much worse.”

Annie knew she was right but at the moment gathering up her children and running like hell seemed like a really good idea.

“I’ll pay you minimum and tips. A good waitperson at Primetime can make $75 in tips on slow nights and $250 on busy nights.” She paused and smiled slightly. “I can tell you our staff has many $250 nights, which is when you will be working.”

Annie brightened. Nights. That’s what she wanted and she didn’t even have to ask for it.

“How often would I be working?”

“I’ll start you at three shifts and we’ll see how it goes.

Evening shifts are from 4:30 to closing, about 11 o’clock by the time everyone is out of here.”

Annie did a quick calculation in her head. It would be tight, but she had made do on less. Maybe Aunt Lilly would let them stay with her a little longer, until Annie could put money aside to get a place.

“If you want to think about it and get back to me…”

“No, that won’t be necessary. When do you want me to start?”

“Let’s get the paperwork out of the way. You’ll need to fill out an application so I have your contact information, a W-4 and what not. If you have references, I’ll need copies of those, just for the file. It’s my business and I can run it pretty much the way I want, even pay you off the books, but I find life is much less complicated when I play by the rules.”

Patricia handed her a file folder. “Get everything filled out. When you’re done I’ll put you on the clock and take you around the operation so you can get an idea of how things run. We’ll put you to work beginning tomorrow. We have a simple but strictly adhered to dress code. If you don’t have appropriate clothing, let me know and I’ll give you an advance to buy what you need.”

“I’ll be fine,” Annie said, and hoped that was true. She really didn’t want to start a new job in debt to the boss, especially this boss.

Tiger Lilly , by Sharon Vander Meer will continue in Happenstance each month. It is also now available in its entirety at

www.happenstancelifehappens.com in PDF format or on Compact Disc

Also available in PDF format or on Compact Disc Someone’s in the Kitchen, by Kathy Allen Books by Sharon Vander Meer Not Just Another Day The Ballad of Bawdy McClure Future Imperfect

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To Moms Everywhere

Happy Mother’s Day