Saturday, September 15, 2007

Silver Fox

This will be a difficult blog for me to write. In it, I must admit to my failures and again face the most challenging 13 years of my life. But it must be written and I feel that now is the time.
I first heard his voice the day I started with the feather company. Deep and sensual is the only way to describe it. He told me that he had just opened a shop in Kingman, so it would be necessary to do a name-change for his business. He also told me that he needed a large supply of feathers. Since this was my first day, I asked that he work with me because I didn't know the names of the feathers yet. He chuckled and said yes, he would be kind.
Over the next three years, our friendship grew (and I sold him a lot of feathers!). I saw him through many problems in his life, including a divorce from his then wife. He wondered if I would give him my telephone number at home, so that we could have more personal conversations. During one of these conversations, he asked me to marry him. I explained that we had never met, but he told me that wasn't important. So we settled on photos. He seemed nice enough, and I was lonely, so I agreed to marry him. I gave my boss one month's notice, and off we were to Kingman, Arizona.
Our first six months together were good, but things started changing and I didn't like what was happening. I noticed how, with me sitting there, he would tell customers that this marriage wasn't based on the beauty of the woman, but on brains. While I never considered myself 'beautiful' by any means, hearing him say something like that hurt. Then, although he knew that I was quite capable of shipping feathers, he would call his ex-girlfriend to find out how to do things. I found out shortly afterwards that she didn't know she was an ex-girlfriend. While sitting across from him at our work table, I heard him telling someone about my abilities at doing 'wifely duties'. To me, what happens in the bedroom stays there. I truly couldn't believe all the things I was hearing him say, and couldn't help wonder why he was saying them.
In short order, I learned that I was not permitted to: 1) drink coffee (it had killed his first wife); 2) go out alone or with my children; 3) purchase anything without his permission; 4) talk with friends on the telephone; 5) take a shower more than once a week (it would cause septic tank problems); 6) eat more than 600 calories per day (bye-bye thyroid gland); 7) talk with customers; 8) laugh; 9) discuss any of this with our doctor; 10) see our doctor unless I felt I was a death's door. The list goes on and on, but you get the point. He was controlling me, and I finally rebelled. It took me years, but meeting the people from Chloride was my first stepping stone.
I also learned, over the years, that 99.9% of the things he told me about himself were lies. He lived in an imaginary world, and wanted me to believe him. He considered himself a half-breed, but 1/32nd was more like it; he told me that he toured for the Encyclopedia Britannica in the 'great chieftains' tour; he told me that he grew up in California (on the Apache reservation in Sells, AZ was more like it. Stupid lies, but lies nonetheless. Stories about me were fast spreading through the town, and each could be traced back to him. I often placed the blame for his actions on the various ailments he was enduring, wanting to give some reason to his thoughts and actions. Sadly, I could only determine that he truly hated me, and his life with me.
In January, 2006, he was briefly hospitalized for a panic attack. A week or so later, I received a call from the Kingman office of the Adult Protection Service. Apparently, he had contacted them and told them that I was abusing, neglecting, and exploiting him. When I went to their office, the case worker told me that she knew that he was lying. and that they would be closing his case and opening one for me. However, the damage had already been done. I was making plans to finally leave him. He, on the other hand, was making plans to leave me. I found this out through a friend, not from him. When I finally confronted him with my knowledge, he just walked away.
On his final day in Kingman, we were awaiting the arrival of his daughters. He told me to go open the shop, I told him I would be waiting for the women to arrive. I wanted them to meet the woman he would be telling them lies about. He told me that if they saw my truck at the house, they wouldn't come in. He was still lying to me, but I knew that he was, and he knew that I knew. The daughters arrived while I was sitting in my truck. I didn't want to be in the house with him. There were hugs all around, and his younger daughter asked why I was sitting outside. I told her that he had said that the daughters didn't want me in the house when they arrived. Eyes rolled, and they knew what they would be up against. We finally all went inside, and just before I left, I told him that I hoped he would find peace in his new life. He answered that he knew he would. He still didn't understand.
I write these things to show how inner peace can protect you from the evils in your life. I found that inner peace several years ago, and it is my most precious possession. I could not have retained my sanity without knowing that peace. And I thank Ron, Terry, Betty and Bear for heading me in the right direction. Saludos, my friends.

Sgt. Burnbottom

He is a member of the Chloride gunfighters. His name, I am told, comes from a slight accident he had a few years ago. While attempting to put his pistol into his waistband at the back of his trousers, the pistol went off, burning his butt. What could have been a rather damaging event, led only to his new name.
He said that he had been told that my shop carried the largest variety of tanned leather in Kingman. In truth, my shop was the only place in town where leather could be purchased. He told me that he needed enough cow leather to build a new belt and holster for the errant pistol. He didn't want to risk another accident. Bear had introduced us the previous Saturday evening and, after selecting the pieces he needed, we went into conversation. I learned that he was in his early fifties, had never been married, had a keen interest in the American Civil War, and was an artist in several different mediums. While I never considered him a friend in the truest sense of the word, he was more than an acquaintance. He came into the shop regularly, buying this or that, and our conversations were lengthy.
Soon after Bear's death, he came in and presented me with a gift. Made by his mother, it is a 10 inch figure of a seated bear, with its front legs swatting the air. The mouth is partially opened. It is a clay piece, and I know that it must have taken hours to complete. The bear is the dark brown of a grizzly, and the work that went into this piece is nothing short of incredible. You can almost see each of the hairs on its body. I have been given, or collected, many figures of bears over the years, but this one is, and will remain, my most treasured.
During one of his visits, I told him that I had a vision. Bear had agreed to do the painting for me but, of course, he was never able to start. I asked him if he would agree to do the work for me, and told him that I would supply the materials of his choice, and pay him for the finished piece. He would be honored, he told me, and asked if I had paper and pen so that he could make a rough draft of what I wanted. I provided him with both, and told him about my vision. In the center, there is a Sioux woman (me), with long black hair streaked with gray. My arms are stretched upward, with the palms of my hands facing the heavens. On my left sits a bear, and on my right a wolf. An eagle is in position to light on my right arm, and the clouds in the sky form a small herd of white buffalo. These are my animal guides and protectors. He sketched as I spoke, and all of a sudden dropped the pen from his hand, as though his hand had been burned. I asked what was wrong, and he told me that he felt another hand over his, guiding his lines. I looked at the completed sketch and said that yes, another hand had been guiding his and that it was Bear. He asked how I could know this, and I told him that in my explanation of the scene, I never told him that the bear and the wolf seated on either side of me were looking up at me. I also never told him about the gentle breeze that was blowing my hair, and the feathers in it. Besides me, the only person who knew that was Bear.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Joe - The Magical One

His was my second call of the day. He told me that he was looking for feathers to make the floral arrangements that magicians use. Did I know what he was talking about? Since I had just gotten off the telephone with another magician, I told him that 'yes, I knew exactly what he wanted'.
I had taken this job with a feather importer/exporter/jobber just a few weeks earlier, and I was quick to learn the hundreds of uses for thousands of different types of feathers. One would immediately think of comforters and pillows when you say the word feather. The feathers we sold weren't even used for those purposes. Marching bands, fly tying fishermen, Native Americans, showgirls, milliners, Hawaiians, crafters, magicians and more used the feathers we sold.
He told me that he had been calling all over the country looking for someone to help him, and that the call to us was to be his last. Finally, someone who knew what they were talking about!!! We discussed his various options, and he placed his first order. A few weeks later, he was back on the phone, needing more of our beautiful feathers. We talked at length, and he told me that his 'day job' was as an assistant attorney general for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. He spent his weekends performing magic at parties, hotels, and on stage. This was, he said, his way of easing the stress of his job.
We quickly became friends, and I sold him a lot of feathers. When he told me that he would be coming to New York to meet me, we made arrangements for him to come into the warehouse, and we would then have lunch. He and his wife arrived, and they presented me with a magician's bouquet. My boss, the jealous type, quickly determined that the bouquet should grace the office. Joe told him that it was mine, to take home and adorn my dining room table. Lunch was a two-hour affair, and we talked about my upcoming move to Arizona. He was disappointed that I would be leaving, but promised to stay in touch.
About two years later, he called me to let me know that he was attending a magician's convention in Las Vegas, and would like to drive down from there to see me. We talked about his schedule, and determined that it would be best if he came down late in the afternoon. This would bring him into Kingman at about 6:30, and I would stay at the shop until he arrived. During his visit, and our subsequent dinner, he told me that he was considering going out on his own, and opening a practice in his hometown. This would be a major decision for him, but was one that he had to make. He would, he told me, limit his practice to real estate law. It would mean that he would leave the security of working for the state, but give him his dream of having his own law office. I had given him a tape from the shop, R. Carlos Nakai's 'Canyon Trilogy'. I told him that when he had driven 20 miles past the turnoff for Dolan Springs, he should stop his car, put in the tape, lay on the hood of the car to look at the night sky, and listen for the coyotes call. Then, and only then, would he be able to make his decision.
He called again about four months later, wondering if I still had a painting he had seen on his visit. I told him it was still available, and he asked that I ship it to him. It would hang prominently behind his desk in his new office. I told him how proud, and excited, I was for him.
We have spoken many, many times during the following years. He worried about me through my broken marriage, and many illnesses. I would call him to get legal advice, and to let him know how things were going for me. Our friendship has grown over the years, and he continues to make me proud. His law office is one of the largest in the state of Pennsylvania. And the painting that hangs so prominently in his office? It is a winter scene in Yellowstone. There is a small herd of buffalo and, laying just off center, is a newborn calf -- a white one.