Surprise! I Forgive…

“Shhhh! Here they are!”

She walks through the door and sees us. I can almost see the wheels spinning  as she tries to wrap her head around why the faces of her friends and family are here…grinning at her.

“Surprise!” The camera flashes. She blinks as though returning from a journey to the past.

“Oh, it’s a party…for me!” Yep, I think it has sunk in now. She hugs me tightly whispering in my ear, “Oh, honey. Thank you so much.” I take such delight watching her face as she makes her way around the room hugging and laughing with those healthy enough to make the trip. She is truly joyful and her heart is as full as mine today. My sister and I finally pulled it off. A fitting tribute to our mother who just turned 80 years old but looks, acts, and appears so much younger.

A shadow of disappointment begins to block the joy but I quickly brush it away before it can permeate the party. But before it recedes, I see in my mind’s eye the ecstatic look and tears of pure happiness on my mother’s face at seeing him here with us. Well, he’s not here and it was his choice and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Being the middle child, the peacemaker, the healer, the emotional caretaker, the one who pulls everyone together takes a tremendous toll… when I’m unsuccessful. I feel like I’ve failed. I feel the disappointment. I feel the blame and the let down. I stomp my foot to banish those thoughts and turn to hug my step-father. “Good job! We did it! Thank you so much for the thieving, support, and keeping the secret!” I catch my daughter’s eye as she watches her grandmother, Mommo. She winks at me and smiles restoring my heart to its previous fullness and my humor.

I see people I haven’t since since I was a child. People tell me that they immediately recognize my sister. She is an older version of that beautiful child with the big violet blue eyes they knew. But I’m a different story. They don’t recognize me. For the first time I don’t hear it. I don’t hear, “Your sister is so beautiful and you’re not.”

This time I know I have beauty. If not on my face then in my heart. I have beauty in my soul. I have beauty in my words, in my intentions, in my love and appreciation for others, nature, and in the way I see the world. The greatest beauty I have is in my ability to forgive others for the pain I have suffered due to their actions.

At this moment I realize that mom didn’t mean to hurt me by not coming to my wedding. She was suffering a pain of her own. I forgive my brother for not coming to this surprise party and robbing mom of (most likely) this last chance to have all three of her children together for her birthday. I forgive my maternal grandmother for treating me different than my siblings and not gifting me with something precious. And I forgive myself for allowing myself to be hurt deeply by the actions of others and carrying that pain for so many years.

Oh, and I forgive my mother’s cousin for not relinquishing the portrait of her father…With the help of another cousin, a copy was delivered in time for the party. My mother now has a large portrait of her father and I get to see what my maternal grandfather looks like. I see where my brother gets his dimples…I’m not sure where he gets his anger.

Laugh Your Ass Off

Drambuie and I continued our way down the Serpentine Road; a road of great beauty made of greenish-brown stone. It was the kind of stone that one would find in the entry way of a great estate. I suddenly noticed the lack of sounds made by Drambuie’s hooves. Feeling the need to share my unrestricted heart, I leaned forward wrapping my arms around his neck in a hug and squeezed. My eyes drifted downward to see socks covering his hooves; the kind of socks I’ve been known to purchase at “The World’s Softest Socks.” All four of Drambuie’s socks were embroidered with people butts and stitched across the top were the words “Civilized My Ass!”

“Oh, Drambuie…I adore the socks! I didn’t even know when you put those on, you dear sneaky donkey.”

“Why would you? You were floating out there in lala land. I could have played the role of a serpentine prankster and you would never have noticed, you were so far out there. Have a good time?”

“No. It was a journey through the heart to a past that was painful.”

“You humans are too stupid to live sometimes! Why would you deliberately cause yourself pain and suffering?”

“It is how we learn our lessons and helps us to let go of what pains us so that we can move forward in our growth.”

“So let me see if I have this right. You have an experience that hurts you deeply. You carry it in your heart until later; decide to check out  on the first flashback to lala land missing some of the most beautiful scenery you will ever see while on the trip of a lifetime just so you can remember how painful the past is so you can let it go and grow and move forward another painful inch in your idotic life? And it was your decision to hold on to this crap in the first place? Well, here’s what I think about that!” Drambuie let loose with the longest stinkiest donkey fart. “I ate something that made my stomach hurt, processed it, and let it go! Get it, crap for brains?”

“You are such an ass. Just shut up! Shut both ends and don’t make a sound until we arrive at the House of Serpents!” I scream at Drambuie not sure why I was so angry. “Being human is much more complicated than being an ass, road apples for brains!” And with that I let go with my own gaseous seranade.

The most infectious laughter came from the tree we were passing. I looked into the boughs above us and saw this woman of undeterminable age with rosy cheeks, a broad smile, dimple in her chin, and bare feet mere inches from the top of my head. I don’t know how I could have missed her.

“My, what a darling pair you are! Have you been married for long?” she giggles.

“Very funny,” I retort. “It’s a little difficult returning from an incredibly deep journey through the heart to an ass such as this.”

“Yes, I hear that a lot on this road.”

“Hey, woman!” Drambuie hollars. “What’s with the bare feet? I’d be glad to give up my socks.” He stands on his hind quarters, propping his front legs on the bough next to her.

“Aaaaah! Ouch!” I slide right off on to my tailbone. I actually keep sliding on the slick serpintine stone while spinning on my butt! Drambuie is laughing so hard he is unable to breathe. “Hee snort haw!  Hee snort haw!” The woman in the tree joins him in his melodious, tinkling giggle. She laughs so hard, she falls over on Drambuie’s head and slides down his back sliding on the serpentine stone spinning on her butt.

“YOU SUCK, YOU ASS!” I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry as I am still spinning faster than a rap star on a well-worn piece of cardboard. Now I have a partner in our unrehearsed, unchoreographed spins.

When Drambuie catches his breath, he chokes out, “You fell off your ass onto your ass!” I don’t know, there was something that pulled a ripchord of tension that I had been holding onto and I melted into a puddle of jovialty that could no longer be denied. I, too, was laughing and snorting which set Drambuie off again causing him to lose his balance and slide on his hind quarters down the road in the opposite direction.

The woman from the tree screeched “Your ass fell on his ass!” and I had tears rolling down mycheeks from this latest development. “Hee snort haw! Fart! Hee snort haw!” There was just no denying…we all were completely out of control. We simply couldn’t gain control of ourselves. When one of us caught a breath and seemed to be able to stand, the other would continue in gales of contagious laughter that would spread to the others.

“Sally met Drambuie in the alley. She hopped upon that ass. They made the journey through her heart til she fell of her ass, alas, the lass, was spinning on the stone away from home on her own…asssssssssss.” Drambuie sang in his best imitation of an Irish tenor snake.

“Ple- ple- please make him stop,” I begged through my hilarity. “I’m hurrrting. I’m gonna pee. I can’t breathe. Please.”

After awhile, the three of us were splayed on the Serpentine Road looking like roadkill. No one dared look at another. We simply focused on breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

The woman from the tree was the first to revive herself. She stood up, ran her hand through her hair and surveyed the damage. I was face down on the serpentine stone. My chin laid in a puddle of drool as I was too weak to swallow my own saliva. A short distance from us, Drambuie was laid out like a stuffed toy dropped and forgotten then stepped on.

The woman helped me to my feet. She told me the seat of my pants were as shiney as the stone of the road. Together we walked over to Drambuie and tried to help him to his feet. He was too heavy for one to take each end so we both pulled this head and front up, then the back. As we pulled up the back of his body, his front feet slid apart and the front slid back down to the road.  The opposite occurred when we returned to the front of his body. I’m sure we would look like a cartoon to anyone watching.

“I’ll take care of this,” the woman from the tree said. She took a large safety pin from her pocket and stabbed Drambuie right in the butt. “What the…” he bellowed as he jumped to all fours.

“Time to get on your way, my four legged friend. I am so very glad that we were able to have such a riotous time together. Thank you. Thank you so much!” She tucked her pin back into her pocket and climbed back up the tree.

Drambuie headed back up the road to get me. I climed on and shook my head. “What the hell happened?” Drambuie demanded to know as we traveled back towards the tree and the woman.

I smiled knowingly. “That, my friend, was known as laughter therapy. It is one of the most healthy activities known to woman and beast.”

“Yeah, right. Laughter therapy. Do you have to go to school for that?”

“No. I was trained in a single afternoon.” I quipped.

As we passed under the woman in the tree, I noticed with great interest that her feet were no longer bare. She had Drambuie’s socks on her feet…well, two of the socks anyway. I leaned to the left until I could see Drambuie’s feet. He still had socks on.

Each sock was similar yet different. The words stictched on the socks were simple and stitched only around the top.

“LAUGH YOUR ASS OFF!”

“LAUGHTER HEALS”

“LAUGH TIL YOU SPIN ON YOUR ASS” 

“Get off your ass and LAUGH!!”

Unraveling the Heart

“You feel it, too?” Drambuie asks. “Yeah, I do,” I reply with some sadness. It is more than a tug of the heartstrings. I felt hollow like an eagle bone whistle. And I had this horribly bitter taste in my mouth.

Drambuie and I both fall into silence as we follow the path to the Serpentine Road. Drambuie’s hooves clip clopping on the well traveled surface and the motion of riding upon his back lulls me into an alternate state. I feel the need to “unravel my heart” to help ease the ache.

While Drambuie and I physically travel away from the Valley of the Bones, my soul returns to a pile of bones that spell out my name in the heart of the valley.  I kneel nearby and hear the whispers of women who call me by name; women of my blood who came before me. There are two in particular that are louder than the others and I am startled when I realize I recognize my maternal and paternal grandmothers.

Sarah Julie Elizabeth Gregg was born in West Virginia in 1884. Sometime between the ages of 18 and 24, my paternal grandmother saw a newspaper ad “young women 18 to 30 years of age, of good character, attractive and intelligent, as waitresses in Harvey Eating Houses on the Santa Fe Railroad in the West.” My grandmother became a Harvey Girl. Harvey Girls were wholesome, moral girls hired by Fred Harvey to provide food to railway passengers from the many resteraunts built along the Santa Fe railway line. These women braved the uncivilized west and its perils in exchange for adventure, $17.50 per month, room and board, and generous tips. The only catch was they had to sign contracts for six, nine, or twelve months promising they would not marry. If they did, half of the salary they received to day would be returned.

It is said that over 100,000 women became Harvey Girls over the years. These women changed the history of the west as over 20,000 of them eventually married their regular customers who were cowboys, bankers, ranchers, railmen, etc.

 

 

 

 

 

In a time when women stayed home until married, my grandmother left the proper life of an eastern woman and became a Harvey Girl. I don’t know the details, but she apparently chose New Mexico as her station; possibly because of her Native American cousins, the Rainwaters. Regardless, she fulfilled her contract and married my grandfather in 1909.

Grandma Sally had three daughters before my grandfather left. She was 41 when my father was born after my grandfather paid her a visit. At the time of my birth, Grandma Sally was 72. I remember her as a strict, religious woman who ate vegetarian chicken from a can and hand made beautiful quilts. She claimed to have hearing problems, but seemed to have no problems hearing all the naughty things her grandchildren whispered. I guess her hearing was selective or would come and go…

I liked to hang out with Grandma Sally even though summers meant going to bible school. She had a piano (which I now have and found out she traded for my father’s trumpet) and I got to help her quilt. She taught me to crochet and knit. I became very interested in reading the bible and religion. She would answer some of my religious questions while ignoring others.

Grandma Sally swore man would not walk on the moon in her lifetime as it was just so ungodly. She passed away three days before Neil Armstrong took his giant step for mankind. In the weeks prior to her passing, my aunt said Grandma Sally was completely deaf. However, she could hear angels singing and told my aunt of the sweet songs being sung to her. I’m glad that heaven opened those pearly gates and those deaf ears to her before her passing so she wasn’t afraid.

Thelma Louise Keith [?] Hill [?] Webster was my maternal grandmother, but we called her Dima. Dima was a beautiful, elegant woman who worked almost all of her life on construction sites. Dima had two daughters and was widowed twice by the time she was 25. Her father, brother, sister, and both husbands lived and worked in a logging/lumber community called Somoa  in Northern California near the Oregon border.

When Dima was married to Ellwood Hill, my grandfather, she had uterine cancer. My mother was born two months early weighing just over two pounds. By the day after my mother was born, Dima’s blood had seeped through the mattress and pooled under the bed. Mom was put in a dresser drawer with a warm brick and Dima was put on a train to San Francisco to the hospital.

My mother is a survivor and that will to live started at birth. She and my grandmother were reunited and life went smoothly until my mother was three and her father died of tuberculosis. At this point in my family’s history, it gets a little fuzzy. For some reason, my grandfather’s family, the Hills, tried to take my mother away from my grandmother. That wasn’t going to happen. They left Eureka.

Again, the history fades and the only facts that are clear are that Dima marries a man from a town near Sacramento. He is a man with secrets and schemes. They move, possibly to hide from the law, into a chicken coop. With the help of his sister, Dima, my mother and her older sister get away from this man, Mick, and begin anew.

Dima goes to work for a construction company. Through the years, her oldest daughter gets married young and leaves. She leaves my mother with other people depending on the where the job takes her. World War II comes and they end up in San Francisco.  It was a frightening time for women who are unprotected. One night on a dark street, a man steps in front of the car and they run over him. They are too afraid to stop.

I have happy memories of my grandmother and the grandfather I remember, Pops who eventually adopted my mother when she was in her forties. We would visit them at various construction jobs. My sister and I would play in Dima’s jewelry box.

Things changed somehow when my parents divorced. The change was subtle and I didn’t always notice. I do recall, though, my older sister and younger brother receiving birthday cards while I did not. I got married and my father didn’t come to my wedding. I got divorced.

I met and fell in love with Scott. We moved in together and my mother told me, “why buy the cow when you get the milk free.”  Several months later I called Mom and said, “Mom, he’s buying the cow!” At a visit with my mom and grandmother, I knew something was up. I could feel something coming. My grandmother asked me who was going to give me away at the wedding. I said my dad was. My grandmother turned real cold towards me after that. Shortly after that, I heard through my sister that Mom wouldn’t be coming to my wedding.

My sister, grandmother and I went out for drinks a few months later. Dima bragged to other people about how beautiful her granddaughter was and introduced my sister. She spoke to me very little despite my attempts to engage her.

When I returned from my honeymoon in Bora Bora, I went to visit Dima. I wasn’t quite in a place or frame of mind where I could see Mom yet. I told Dima about Bora Bora and brought her a present. I then asked her if I could have a tea cup or handkerchief; something that I could have and say, “My grandmother gave me this.” She told me no. It was devastating. I knew that she had given my brother and sister several things already. I had no idea what I ever did to her to make her so hurtful towards me. Maybe it was the simple fact that I was my daddy’s girl and she hated my father.

My grandmother had a stroke during a time that my mother and I hadn’t quite worked things out after I got married. Mom called and told me Dima had a stroke but not to come down. She wouldn’t know me. I went out into the back yard and had a serious talk with Dima. Of course, I did all the talking just like I would have if I had gone to see her. I told her how hurt I was by her the things she said, her absence at my wedding, her refusal to give me a tidbit of hers. I let it all out. She died soon afterward.

It was her death that began the healing between my mother and I. Mom wanted me to be with her the next day when she drove to the place my grandmother would be remembered and buried. Although Mom was heartbroken, it was a day unlike any other I had ever had with her. We talked about many spiritual things, feelings, and life though stayed far away from the wedding. 

I guess Dima thought she got the best of things by refusing to give me anything of hers. But I came out ahead. It was because of her that I began to get my mother back.

The love I was feeling for my mother snapped me back into my body. I realized how difficult her life was as a child spending periods of time without her mother. Her life was difficult later on when she and my father developed their feud and mutual desire to make each others’ lives miserable in every way possible. But now I had the relationship with Mom I had always dreamed of having and my heart was so full of love.

I had unraveled my heart and it no longer ached. I had picked through the last of the bones that needed my attention. The bitter taste in my mouth was gone and I thought about all I had learned about healing…that bitter tasting foods were very good for one’s digestion…

“Ya ready now, my gal Sal?” I heard as donkey lips nuzzled  my lower leg. “I am, my ham Dram.” I replied wrapping my arms around Drambuie’s neck. “Then let’s make like a bananna and split!”

“Let’s make like a tree and leave!”

“Let’s blow this popcicle stand!”

With a little buck, a donkey fart, and a “yahoo!” we got stepped on the Serpentine Road. I gagged…got back on the saddle, rode down the road with a fist in the air, an unraveled heart, and a bitter free being.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

I’ve had about as many thoughts as there are bones here in the Valley. It seems I have so many bones to pick with those of my past and present that I am overwhelmed. I feel like they’ve already picked my bones clean and there is nothing left of me that is soft. Make no bones about it, I am struggling with staying in this Valley of Bones until I, too, turn into a skeleton and leaving with the others.

But then I think of how selfish a thought that is when so many others don’t have a choice. I begin to think of my father when he was given his prognosis…lung cancer, terminal, less than six months to live. I was devastated and yet it was a gift to us all. There was no question that any regrets had to be resolved, any unspoken words had to be spoken, any gratitude had to be expressed.

And Dad…he was excited to be moving on. He would be free of the body that no longer served him. He promised to send me a baby for Scott and I had been going through infertility treatments for over four years. He promised to come see us and let us know it was him. He promised he wouldn’t be subtle and he wasn’t. It was a time to talk about everything under the sun and we did.

When his time came, the family and close friends surrounded him. His last breath came at the punchline of his favorite joke and we sang to him. That moment was so beautiful. I was honored to be a part of it.

It was time to leave the Valley of Bones. I watched people pack up and either ride or lead their donkeys towards the Serpentine Road. I remember a card I once saw.

“We are all creatures of this great earth interconnected in ways beyond understanding.

Take elephants. So big. So strong.

And yet, when a member of the herd passes, even elephants mourn.

They gather around, extend their trunks, and gently touch the tusks of their fallen friend.

 It’s their ritual. It’s how they heal.

And it’s sad. And it’s beautiful.

So maybe what I’m trying to say is that the world doesn’t expect you to be fine with this.

Be how you need to be. Mourn how you need to mourn. And know that you’re thought of with love.”

As Drambuie and I ride away from the Valley of Bones, we stop and turn. I gaze upon the valley and give thanks. I am thankful for my time there and for all those bones that lie in bright white mounds. Each bone represents a person, a time, a lifetime. There are a million stories in that valley. I could stay there forever listening to them all.

Drambuie, Ms. Gigi and I turn away from the Valley of Bones and follow the others. We walk on towards our own stories.

Watch Your Ass!

I didn’t go to bed as my head was full of my grandfathers. My mother’s maternal grandfather, who I know only as Grandpa Honey, was somewhat of a mystery. I know that his father came from Scotland’s Keith Clan from County Keith. But Grandpa Honey would never tell my mother about his immediate family.

All those secrets guarded by family members. We decendants have only bits and pieces that have caused those secrets to become even more mysterious. There was an old key help by my father and his sisters. It supposedly fit a lock to a storage unit in Chicago that was paid automatically out of an estate. My father and his sisters are gone. We don’t know where the key is. We can only speculate that “Uncle Charles,” a philanthropist in Chicago, was the person who paid for the storage unit. It is so incredibly frustrating how little I know; how little the family elders told us about our relatives. I do know, though, that Grandpa Frank was an inventor. Those genes were evident in my father and my brother. Grandpa Frank invented the windshield wiper but never got his idea patented.

Perhaps wandering around the mounds of bones would help to empty my mind that was full of meandering thoughts that took me absolutely nowhere. I could see that tents had appeared while I was boning up on my family history. Apparently everyone was now asleep…except for the donkeys. They were down by the stream and from the looks of it, had been fed. They had their own campfire that was now down to glowing embers.

The night was being greeted by the dawn as I watched the darkness being chased away by the light. The early sunrise cast its own shadows across the valley as it was rising behind the mountains.  

I don’t recall the last meal I had eaten. I think Ms. Gigi and I had some nuts at the Tavern. I was so hungry that it felt like my stomach was eating my back! The delicious smells wafting from the carnival outside the boneyard was going to be my downfall. A huge cinnamon roll smothered in frosting with an ice cold glass of milk were calling me. Not the healthiest, I know, but it was tradition when at the fair or down at the carnival.

On my way back, I passed the donkeys.

 

Drambuie and the others were hee hawing so hard they were farting and falling over with their feet up, hee hawing some more. “What’s up with you guys?” I couldn’t help but laugh while holding what was left of my cinnamon roll container closer to my nose to cover the smell.

“Oh, just making plans for later on in the journey,” one of them replied starting off another round of hee hawing and farting. “And don’t bother asking anything else cuz it’s nothing to be know by you dumb humans.”

“Whatever! You are just a bunch of asses anyway.” So, my fellow travelers…take heed. The donkeys are definitely up to something. I plan on trying to use a little psychology on Drambuie to see if I can get an idea of what may be afoot.

Scotch and Drambuie

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ms. Gigi inquires. “I mean, are you really, really, REALLY sure?”

“No, Ms. G, I’m not sure. But there’s something deep within me that leads me to this tavern to meet with the others.” I reply.

“You realize, don’t you, that you are going to have to ride all over kingdom come on the back of a jack ass? You know how they are…stubborn, hard headed, willfull, with minds of their own,” Ms. Gigi warned.

“Just like you, Ms. G. Which shouldn’t be a problem for me. Now quit being an ass and let’s get going.” I teased. “I don’t know about you, but I need a shot of courage. I’m going into the tavern. If you’re going to join me, well, I don’t know what their policy is about serving geckos.” Ms. Gigi disappears but doesn’t reappear in another form. “Whatever,” I mumble to myself as Ienter the tavern.

I look around the inside of the tavern. I spy a table in the corner. There sits a woman who is staring at me. My eyes pass over her and return. She waves me over and I take a seat. Her full-length suede coat is so unusual with swirls of apricot and creme. I look to her face and smile as she winks. It’s Ms. Gigi. “Hey doll! How ’bout these lips!” she smiles then puckers and smacks her lips making a kissing sound. We laugh at our private joke.

“You’re gorgeous, Ms. G! And that coat is beautimous! It’s sooo soft! It’s like butter!” I say in my best Barbara Streistand voice.

“So, here’s the scoop. Looks like we have a pretty arduous trip ahead of us. There’s some pretty rugged mountains to cross. We go through this place with a bunch of bones. I hope none of them are ours!”

We place an order a round of drinks, look at one another and double our order. Whoa, boy! I am scarecited and a little bit reluctant again. I know I must go on this journey. Ms. G and I chat a little between our glasses of scotch, which total three by the time we slip out the back door of the tavern.

Ms. G shapshifts back to a gecko. She jumps onto my head, slides down the front of my face, and falls onto my shoulder. I catch her as she falls again. “I mush no be bull to hull ma lekur wen dis schmall,” she slurs. “You think? Don’t worry my suede skinned friend. I’ll take care of you. Why don’t you sleep it off in my pocket?” I slip her into my shirt pocket just as I reach the others in the alley.

Some have chosen their donkeys, some are hesitant. I walk the line of what’s left. My eyes are pulled to the last donkey in line. He is the honey colored like a fine aged scotch and tall enough that my feet won’t be dragging on the trail. I close my eyes and ask the universe if this is the donkey that is meant to guide me through this journey.

“Name’s Drambuie and there are a number of reasons we are meant to be together,” he says. My eye pop upen and widen in surprise. “I had no idea you could talk!”

“I know you well,” Drambuie continue as though I hadn’t spoken. “I know all of your favorite songs. I have traveled this path before and know well the challenges. I am here to guide you to yourself…to help you find the voice you always kept silent and be you backup singer when you find your voice…carry you when you cannot walk on your own two feet…and to kick your butt when you make excuses. Any questions? Hey, why are you crying? Stop that, I hate crybabies! There is Kleenex in the pack on the left.”

“Your left or my left?” I sniff. ” Ew! That’s gross! Someone, give her a tissue! Hurry! OK, now Missy, settle down,” Drambuie orders. “Put your forehead against mine. As you woo woo people say, look into my third eye and don’t say anything. This is a test of the emergency broadcast system!” Ever obedient, I do as I am told. I’ve done this third eye thing, but never with a furry third eye. I metaphorically (metaphysically?) stare into this donkey’s third eye and am overcome with a knowledge that causes me to swoon.

“Too much to drink?” Drambuie hee haws with laughter. “Don’t be an ass, Drambuie. You know exactly why my legs gave away. Holy crap! It’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Yep! Now climb on as midnight approaches. If we’re not ready we might turn into mice or something dreadful.” A long slow burp comes from my shirt pocket. “Ms. Gigi been drinking?”

“Yes,” I admit. “How did you guess?”

“I could smell her breath from here. Here comes Enchanteur on her donkey. We’re off to the Valley of the Bones.”

I’m midway in the pack of travelers. Riding next to me is Anita Marie. She has a sly smile and a glassy eyed look to her face. One can only imagine what is going on in that fertile mind of hers…with visions of skulls and cross bones dancing in her head??