About Taos Crow

Thinking About Taos Crow;
and Other Matters ; Jan 10, 2009

Terry Turner, Copyright 2010


Terry and Gene Discuss Drilling for oil

Many of you know from my remarks or your own experiences that life is, at best uncertain and can be quickly consigned away.

I am, as many of my readers know, facing death daily due to small cell carcinoma in my lungs… it has been a heavy weight to deal with on a daily basis and it is always changing one’s priorities, goals, and objectives. For instance I was thinking of the fall of 2001. That fall Suzi and I had been out of town for some reason.

Upon our return, the barman from the White Horse Saloon, suddenly appeared with two dark beers and instructions to be prepared to go to dinner…this could only mean Brother Gene was on the scene, probably with a friend, and ready to kick around every subject on the planet ranging from politics to the Yellowstone cauldron and don’t duck,
Gene allowed no off topics of any sort.

My half brother had faced, trench by trench, the Nazis and brooked no sort of politically correct speech in his family or his oil field supply stuff…plain straight talk was what he demanded and expected throughout his adult life.

On this particular occasion we had no idea that Gene was literally at death’s door, laid low by a common bacteria (the helicobacter pylori – I’ll append some remark about it as a note at the conclusion of my reflections).

That glorious fall the ancient soaring trees of Taos gathered bright gold round trying to warm themselves with color against the chill night air. The old trees, many soaring over a hundred feet into the sky, are mostly cottonwoods and willows who drop a copious abundance of beautifully colored leaves whose golden coloration is so dramatic that they could have been individually selected by a Hollywood set designer. Suzi and I often drove down Kit Carson, the location of our Gallery; just to see the infinity of colors presented by Mother Nature… it was one of the first visions of Taos color that encouraged us to make the move from the flying-carpet colors that paint the valleys around of Ridgway to the magic-carpet colors of Taos.

In the near mountains, cold winds rush too and fro, while the ancient voices of old God begin rising steadily, as they prepare the blasts of wind, sleet, ice, and snow. The bright blue sky, draws back, back, and yet further back where, with each recession, the sky grows bluer yet. The sky draws back further from mother earth and nearer the fiery furnaces of father sun. Fall colors rise up from earth and pour down from sky. Warm, wonderful colors which speak of harvest, and the steaming festive board, but even these brilliant colors cannot stay the approaching cold.

The Taos crows huddle together and in the chill morning air have only one
word, "Cold. Cold,” they say and say again, “cold, cold, cold.” In the late afternoon sun, their speech recovers a bit, but none can doubt the sure arrival of early winter. If winter be as perfect as fall has been, the snows will be surely deep and we will all take deep comfort from our dry, well stacked wood.

Taos crow mostly meditate in the winter and we are denied the usual proceeds of their speeches until spring when they come out in force to announce the certain end of winter, the promise of new crops and new harvests to feed the land; and, of course, to celebrate the end of death along with the promise of new life which is always connected to spring..

When a fine person, an excellent spiritual being, passes over, the crows huddle and mutter in the chill, crisp morning air to prepare an announcement of the passing. That bulletin is always the same: They have one word, "Gone." Gone they say! And say again. Gone. “Gone, gone, an Angel gone. Where do such as she go? There are few enough folk hereabout; and fewer Angels.” The crow, in this case, are thinking of the passage of a significant crow, in this case, are thinking of the passage of a great hearted lady, known in some circles as the Red Hatted Angel --- so long great hearted Gael, and so long and Clink and Clank residents of Comfort and remembered of Taos.

Gael Montana was a unique life force and left her imprint on everything that she was near. She had a remarkable store of vibrant force that left you no doubt that you had encountered a truly powerful being; other people, as we know touch us lightly and like a shadow are gone like a soft breeze.

Today is beautiful; the clouds are lurking well below the horizon, off in the direction of Canada, and leave only a pure, deep blue sky as backdrop for the two hundred year old cottonwoods and the towering willows that are very yellow this time of year.

We were having snow skiffs just days ago as it is still, barely, winter here even though we are half through December. Only a few trees are beginning to leaf out but the hundred foot green spruce are a welcome spot of green against the brilliant blue.

Black, black, huge crows bark from the tree tops, arguing away. One rough old crow asserts "... it's tomorrow!"

A senior crow rebuffs "... it's yesterday!"

And so they quarrel all day.

Of course all crows know it is today, not yesterday, nor tomorrow. The crow’s muttering of tomorrow and of yesterday are mere reminders to be here now.

Their loud arguments are only meant to distract humans from the more serious crow discussions that are conducted further up the mountain around the Sacred Blue Lake.

Cheery robins and great black and white penguin-like magpies take no truck in such discussions because they are relentlessly stalking the perfect twig for their spring nests --- and their discerning mates will accept nothing less than the perfect twig.

Old crow, reminds me, “Governments, nations, and people of importance come and go. The Sacred Blue Lake is eternally tranquil and invisibly reflecting the blue sky invisibly reflecting the lake’s own blue waters.

Governments, nations, and people of importance come and go. The Sacred Blue Lake is forever.

Out the window I see a fresh crop of dandelions shaking their fistful of bright yellow swords at the Sky God, but already the first dandelion crop that had advanced to the attack, lived brightly, lived briefly, and then suddenly died. Victims not of winter, not of summer, but victims only of time.

Only A few yesterdays past they sprang forth with all the power of youth but, in ain a few small moments, they grew mature, suddenly aged, and stepped over the edge to again become the raw stuff of the universe. How important they seemed; how important the games seemed; but as they and we draw near to the edge of eternity, how unimportant it all seems.

Let’s take time to agree that we should all have more hot chocolates, give and take more hugs, have more well steeped teas, take longer and more pleasant breakfasts, read more good books, and spend more time in the afternoon sun ---- and pay less and less attention the fury of social clamor raining, storming out of our radios and televisions.. As old Kahlil Gibran said, "… the moving finger, having writ, moves on.... “and you will have missed writing that thank you note or that sentiment that should have been written weeks ago.
And face it, according to my experience; God does hate cold coffee, cold chocolate, and cold tea.

Personally, I shall listen more to the barking crows and less to the recurring and meaningless chatter, cajoling, and threats of presidents, kings, brokers, bankers’ congressmen, and terrorists. God and karma, in good time, will attend to the just needs of those folks... Those time stealing people are always with us; but the crow is only here today and has only a few words to spare for us ere they are away to speak with angels and other vapor’d creatures.

While walking the canons and trails of the area and speaking with old crow when he permitted, it seems only yesterday that the dry winds of depression and starvation calmed themselves, only yesterday the reverberation of the Nazi boot receded and with them the smell of burning Jewish flesh, only yesterday we rose from our caves and shelters as the threatened glowing atomic flash diminished, only yesterday the bright golden brass ring was within humanity's grasp, only yesterday unsuspected terror leapt from the skies; and only yesterday black hooded death sowing powdery decay stalked all human life, and only yesterday I felt a wispy thread of hate and fury lightly poison my cheerful heart ... only yesterday tomorrow seemed so much better than does tomorrow today.....but enough, how gloomy can one get... I think this is what is called muck racking ---- oh well, I have read too much Thomas Paine of late.

I love the brilliant whiteness of snow. Its unmarred purity suggests better times, better days, and better places. Snow reminds me an old piece, Hemingway’s A Clean Well Lighted Place. A clean place with pristine white tablecloths and bright lights. A place that can delay that which one might prefer not to encounter.

Decades and decades have rolled away since I read it. I can't quite bring it to the foreground of my memory, but white coffee cups on white tablecloths with some good plate or silver and real cream in a heavy creamer will invariably open the doors for a new line of thought. Such images and aromas give one a sense of new potentials for a new virgin day.

The whiteness, the ceremonial whiteness reminds one of a first baptismal, or perhaps the waiter's white shirt, white apron and black tie suggest the feeling of a confessional. But he, or she, who would take the confession, must have a whiter and wider cloth than most, for such as they often hear too much for their own good. So a great blanketing Taos snow is needed to soften, to clean away, to dissolve and wash away dark thoughts, dark words, and dark places.

The snow gathers light and hurls back all manner of darkness. Don’t they say there is no darkness, only the absence of light?

Reflecting on the death of my brother, Gene: He fought for our freedom. Gene survived the Nazis but was killed by Helicobacter Pylori Bacteria. H Pylori infects about one in every two mature adults in the United States and, as it is easily cured, there is NO reason for any to die of such a simple bacteria so easily controlled.

God Smites My Father

God Smites My Father

by Terry Turner

Dear reader, I wish this was not a true story, but it is, at least almost, and there is nothing I can do about that, my family being big kidders and all. I am a now a grey beard, reflecting on my long and rather life and this story is seen through the bright and amazed eyes of a seven year old child.

It was, so to speak, the syrup in Dad's shoes that lead to the eventual disbanding of the Church of Fundamental Deviations and the subsequent opening up of the Second Street Mexico City Food Cafe. We lived on Second Street and every one in my family is a big kidder. Especially my Dad and his brothers like Uncle Kelley.

See, Dad decided he was gonna play a trick on Kelley cause the last time Kelley stayed all night with us, Kelley sneaked around during the night and poured Dad's new shoes full, plumb full, of Log Cabin syrup. The syrup wouldn't clean out neither and Dad got real ex-cited about it. So Dad had to play a joke on Kelley, you can see that. He didn't have no choice.

Not long after the syrup joke, Dad and me was driving out to take some mail to Kelley's, they lived in the country, and when we got there they was gone somewhere. Visiting or gone to town or something. Anyways it was a great opportunity for Dad to play a joke on Kelley.

Dad went and got into Kelley's house through a window and he let me in by the front door. Anyways he started going around and taking all the wicks out of their kerosene lamps so they wouldn't have lights if they got home after dark. But that didn't suit him, not nearly, 'cause they might come home in the daytime
instead. Next we stuffed a good white towel up the cook stove flue so the smoke couldn't draw and would just naturally smoke the place up like a house a fire.

Course there wasn't no fire in the cook stove at the time we done it. That is when we poked the towel in the flue.

Finally he thought up the joke that led, in a way, to the eventual disbanding and breakup of the Living God Fundamental Deviations Church which went---on next to us every Sunday---if it wasn't too cold, which is rare in Texas, being too cold I mean.

See, it was the cows. Dad went out and rounded up a big ole Jersey milk cow and we herded her up onto the porch and then into the kitchen. Well we just shut her up in the kitchen, shut the doors to the other rooms, put the screen back on the window and put back on the screen door the cow had knocked down and all such as that.

Dad got to laughing about what Kelley was gonna do and say and we were just going out the fence that run all the way around their house , to keep out cows, see, when Dad, he thought of something else to do to Kelley. We went out to the barn and got us some barbed wire and we went back and wired up the yard gate real good and tight. Dad, he done it just on the chance it would be dark and they'd have to climb over the fence besides everything else that would go on and so forth.

On the way home Dad and me laughed about what Kelley was gonna think when he found the cow in his kitchen and all that. The old car was slow and we took a long time gettin' home. Dad told me stories and all like that. It was a nice time. It kind'a reminded me of the time we put hogs, about a dozen of 'em in Ireley Reddin's cellar and tore the cellar steps out, course thats another story.

We didn't hear nothin' from Kelley about the cow and all that for a long time. Hardly nobody had telephones in those good old days. Finally we did hear the story from Donna, Kelley's wife. She come by the house and told Mom all about it. The bad part was that the neighbor who was supposed to milk the cows for Kelley while him and Donna was gone for a few days didn't know about the cow in
the kitchen. Natcherly the neighbors they thought that cow had run off or been stole. Natcherly the neighbor hadn't no way to know about the cow being locked up and hid in Kelley's kitchen and Dad and me, natcherly, had no way to know that Donna and Kelley was gonna be gone three days; so it wasn't our fault so to
speak, they was just gone and the cow was in the kitchen and there you have it. Who could be blamed for that?

See we were out there at Kelley's on a Sunday but they didn't get home 'til Tuesday night. They'd been plumb to south Texas. Well, by the time they got home and found out that fella, the neighbor, hadn't taken care of that cow, which he didn't know about, the one in the kitchen, well there was a mess. So to speak. Donna said it was dark and all when they got home and Kelley, he was plumb ready to go to Fist City by the time he got past that front gate that we had wired up. We had wired it up real good. He kind of tore up his fingers on the barbed wire. He was fightin' mad, she said. Saying how he was gonna get even with my Dad and all like that. And what made him think my Dad done it? 'Course he knowed it was my Dad right off.

Once past the gate, he went right in the kitchen door. You can sort of imagine it, I imagine.

It would be hard to describe.

Dark and all. First off he started slidin in that cow poop; a couple of days worth. That scared the cow right off. Then the cow let out a awful beller and, being thirsty and all tried to charge right out the door. Over Kelley of course. Being dark and all it spooked Kelley and he took a swing at the old Jersey cow in self defense. He hit alright, but it broke his fist and the cow, she just run right over him. Left him face down in three days of cow doo. Well you can imagine. Still that wasn't all.

See, the cow run over Donna out on the porch leading to the kitchen. Well, by the time Donna recovered and started on into the kitchen, Kelley, he was just gettin' up from being run over by the cow on which he had busted his fist. Donna, she was rushin' in to try help Kelley. Well Kelley, in the dark and all, seen somebody rushin' at him and he had no way of knowin' it was Donna and all so he just natcherly took a swing. 'Course he didn't know it was Donna. Knocked her cold, he did.

Well, you could go on for hours about that part of the story but there's not much to it, really.

After she come to and after Kelley got the butcher knife away from her and all, why that's about all of that part of the story and all.

Anyhow, the cow got tangled up in the fence from running too fast and Kelley was a while finding his wire cutters and all to cut her loose. And Donna, he had hit her so hard she couldn't remember where the spare lamp wicks were and was pretty confused in general. And the house was dark and all, without the lamps, and it seemed so bad and all, so they slept on pallets in the barn; on straw by the corn crib. Sometime in the night a rat or a mouse bit Kelley on the toe. That made Kelley madder than ever, and Donna said he sat up most of the night cussin' Dad; blamed the bite on him too.

By dinner time the next day they had the kitchen cleaned out pretty good, and then Donna tried to get ready so she could cook supper that evening. 'Course when she lit the fire in the cook stove, the smoke boiled out all over the house on account of that towel stuffed in the flue. Well, she got smoked out and just
gave up. She gave old Kelley some clabbered milk and cold cornbread to eat and that mad Kelley madder than ever. Myself, I like clabber and cornbread but it ain't for just everyone --- some folks don't like it.

Natcherly when the flue had cooled off and Kelley finally got the towel out, he was really fit to be tied again.

Since they were mad and all, they didn't come by our house for a long time, maybe two or three months. Well, Dad, he just kind of gritted his teeth and hunkered down, waiting and watchful like, you, cause he knew "it" was coming. We all knew it, we just didn't know when. He knew that Kelley would get him, one way or another. Too, I reckon the joke was a might stronger than he had figgered on it bein' and all. Anyway, we all knew "it" was coming.
Finally, one moonless night, Kelley and friend of his drove into town after dark. Without getting into all the details, this is what they done. They snuck up behind our house and into our back yard, picked up our outhouse toilet and carried it back some that the hole was right in front of the toilet door. It was quite a hole too, because ours was a two-seater (some say two holer) and the hole was twice as big as usual. Well, later, Kelley, he showed up at our front door, casual like, like he hadn't but just got there.

Well Kelley had brought Dad three quarts of home brew which Dad dearly loved to drink. Thing is my Aunt Murella was visiting us and she knew how to drink that home brew too. Well, they all got to settin'around on our front porch. Just settin' an' talkin' an sippin' and slapping misquitos and drinking beer and all.

Kelley, he was urging the beer on Dad and doing his best to slow Murella down. He told her drinkin' too fast would give her hiccups and all like that. Aunt Murella was real fat and she kept after that beer just like a hog after fresh slop. She nor nobody else never paid no attention to Kelley anyway. Looks like Dad would've caught on with all the fuss Kelley made trying to slow Murella down, but he didn't. Didn't catch on, that is.

After about five jelly glasses of that home brew, Aunt Murella excused her self to go to "Sears", which was the name of our toilet because of the catalog and all.

When she got out of the rockin' chair, Kelley quick jumped up and said that he had to get on, on home that is, and why didn't Aunt Murella just ride on home with him? Murella, she said she guessed her legs would still get acrost the street, caddy-corner, even if she did weigh almost three hundred odd pounds; and besides, she said, she'd want to stay a minute or two to show my Mom how do some new embroidery stitch right after she got back from "Sears."
She started off towards the back of the house and Kelley said it was gettin' late and all he just took off quick like to feed his cows and all that. Well, he hadn't no more than left than all to oncet this terrible screeching started up in the back yard. Like to have scared me to death.

We all took off to see what the matter was. Dad was 'bout ten feet in front of Mom, really pickin' 'em up an' puttin' 'em down. I was runnin' close behind. All the time this awful hollerin' went on and on. Not seein' nothin' in the yard, Dad, he made a beeline for the outhouse, figurin' that a spider or a snake had
cornered Aunt Murella.
I can still, to this day, see how funny it looked. Dad was just reachin' for the toilet door when he disappeared, smooth disappeared from view right in front of our very eyes. Well, it shook us up some and then bellerin' and hollerin' really started to come on, loud and clear. You know what happened, of course. Dad, he fell right in that nasty hole, smack on top of Murella and dunked her clean under. When she came up, she come up bellerin' like a stuck pig.

By the time we could really tell what was happenin', my Mom was sick and was pukin' all over the place, the squealing and hollerin' got louder and louder what with Dad trying to calm Aunt Murella and himself. The neighbors started comin' to see what was happening. And the cussing? You ain't heard the like
before or since! I had heard my Dad cuss before, but it wasn't nothing like that; Aunt Murella wasn't no piker at cussing neither.

The bad thing was we lived next door to that church. The Living God Fundamental Deviations Church, you know. Well, that night they were having one of those where everybody talks without tongues or whatever you call it, building up to snake handling, and then going on up to going barefoot without lipstick and all
that. They was a real strick bunch and all that.
The first thing you know the whole congregation is there with the preacher, most of them barefooted without lipstick and some not knowing whether to keep talkin' without tongues or not, an' others trying to get their shoes on and all such, an' my Dad just cussin' to beat the band, an' Murella squealin' like a stuck pig
and all that, an' Mom was a 'pukin', some of them was running around trying to find a match or a ladder, the babies- they all cried, the dogs-they all barked, and all such going on as that.

The preacher, he leaned down on the edge of the hole and asked if they was alright, kind of smart alecky like I thought. Dad says to him hell yes they was alright. The preacher said that Dad shouldn't cuss and that Aunt Murella had "gotten it" for wearing rouge." Dad, he told the preacher to mind his own damn business; the preacher told Dad the Lord would smite him. And Dad, he said,
"Smite hell! The Lord has pooped all over me already." That really upset the preacher and he commenced to ask my Dad and Aunt Murellla to repent, confess, be baptized, tithe, and all such. Dad got really mad and said some uglies to the preacher. That wild eyed kind of talk went on for a while with a few "Amens" thrown in by some congregationalists. I figured some of the amens was for the preacher but, it seemed to me, that some of them was for my Dad too.
Finally Mom convinced some of the men to get the water bucket rope out of the well. They passed it down the hole and Dad tied it around Aunt Murella. They all heaved while Dad pushed and after awhile they got Aunt Murella out of the hole.

Boy, if you don't think she looked rough, you should have smelled her. Those folks made room for her as if she was a mad dog loose. The ladies took Murella over to the rain barrel and held up some quilts and threw water on her and all such. Cleaning her up, you know.
Meantime the preacher, he passed the rope down to Dad and told him to have faith. Well, the preacher was standing there, all leaned over the hole, holdin' the rope, tellin' Dad, kind of smart-alecky like, how to tie the rope and all. Dad, he just looked up at the preacher, then he gave the rope a real good yank.

The Preacher, he went right in, head first.

It was terrible.

The air turned blue for miles around that damn hole. The cussin', it was a marvel to hear. What with them fightin' and cussin' in the hole, we thought we'd never get them out. When we did get them out, the preacher was still tryin' to punch it out with Dad and they were really going to Fist City, real hard like, plumb dead serious.
First it was just the preacher and my old man. But in an instant the congregation split up between those who liked the preacher and those who didn't. Then the neighbor men joined in, just kind of punchin' everybody, steady like, determined like, you know, determined to get a solid lick. For about ten minutes you couldn' blink without gettin' hit by a fist or a flying object which you preferred not to identify.

Well, Mom, she finally put a stop to it. She got herself one of those big, long
ugly sticks out of the wood pile and she laid it on 'em. Well, all to oncet, seemed like everybody's supper time had come. They cleared out fast like. One thing about Annie Turner, my mom, she knew how to lay the wood on so it would getcher attention.

Nobody had much to say the next day. The preacher, he lost a couple of teeth; Dad had one black eye and a broken nose; one neighbor's false teeth was lost down the hole. Lost unless he wanted to dig out the hole. One of the church deacons was unconscious in Rippey's icehouse at the grocery store. Dad said it didn't make a damn bit of difference cause they was all unconscious anyway.

The deacon come to on the second day, pretty cold from being in the ice house --- his fellow deacons each thought someone else was in charge of getting him out of the ice house; the Fundamental Deivations Church closed up and reopened as the Second Street Mexico City Food Cafe; course, we lived on Second Street.

Uncle Kelley, he heard what happened and come by the house to ask Dad to just fight it out, man to man, instead of having to worry about another joke. Dad, he made Kelley wait it out anyways.

It was about four months afterwards that Dad got a good one on Kelley, but the goat ran off with the dynamite and things got all out of hand, but that' another story. Like I said, everybody in my family is a big kidder an' always playing jokes and all that.

Death by CIPRO (or Thanks to Susan Turner and Bob Deering for Saving my Life on Jan 03, 2010

As far as I am able to report, somewhat limited due to being alternately unconscious or absent, I died several times last night.

It was neither pretty, nor heroic. I took a prescribed antibiotic med and followed it with a cookie that I had not previously eaten. These two joined forces in an attempt to steal my conscous mind and leave me afloat in a sea of elctronic flashes which bounced unknown signals across the cosmos findling me worth little except as a transmission device or something of the sort.

Suzi had gone to Wal-Mart, now the thrice weekly drill to pick up my pain and other meds. This is not a happy chore for Suzi, nor for me. Neither us like, enjoy, or do well on drugs and we prefer to avoid.

When Suzi returned from Wal-Mart I was still "OK."

But shortly afterwards, I began to get confused. I began to thrash around in my recliner and lost track of elementary things like date, time, my name, etc. And, of course, to scare Suzi half to death. Hmmmm.

Suzi called Dr. Bob Deering and they, together, quickly decided I was having a toxic reaction to CIPRO. But then what? You can call the poison control center... God Bless those folks, they do what they can but perhaps they just do not know how to research or perhaps their middle management and operations staff are not sufficiently trianed. Anyone who know poison control knows PC will refer you to emergency and who knows what will happen or how long it will take?

Suzi launched out on side effect research for Dr. Bob and time flew by.... I don't recall much of this entire episode which moved on and on into the night... my main recall having to do with thirst and greater thirst accompanied by what I thought might be huge bolts of lightening.

I due course it became evident that some of our favorite products - - - magnesium, basic minerals, and water are top drawer for detoxing CIPRO... so on through the night Cindy and Dr. Br. Bob encourage Suzi to keep me awash in water and magnesium and basic minerals.

All through the night Suzi is reassuring me that I will make it whilst I, in some uncomprehending dream state see the distant lightening; hear the gathering thunder, and try to grasp an interpertation of the ill formed shapes that try to gather round me.

Hours go by. My body goes stiff and sore in my recliner. I want up but things conspire to prevent me from rising.

Between times there are voices... the professionals whose only stance seems to be that death is the logical outcome versus the opposition or life supporting crowd. The life supporters uniformy feel that if you give the body some good food things will work out.

Suzi and I have always felt if you let your body have real food instead of a shopping cart full of high fructose corn syrup, MSG,and such, that you can indeed win.

Dawn came slowly. The thunder drawing into the distance with reluctance; the lightening tamping back with hesitation; my mind questioning my own location

Monday, was a long, long day during which I slept fitfully. Glad to find my self alive.

Dr Bob, Cindy. Suzi. Please accept my thanks for jerking me back from the dark edge.

Bob and Cindy, life supporting people are there for you at:

Home Bio-Emotional Neutralization Betar Intensives Phone Sessions Testimonials About us Contact LinksSPIRIT EMERGENCE OF TAOS • Phone: (575) 751-7050 • info@spiritemergenceoftaos.com

Terry Turner
A Living Curmudgeon !!!

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Cancer relief with WLA 132 and, the black salve, Aloe Mystery

Dear friends and family,

Just a brief update to let you know that on Monday I had a mega dose of radiation, a week's worth, very excessive mega blast to try to control the pain in my left femur/pelvic area. This continuous pain is the pain that makes it nearly impossible for me to sit, stand, walk, or move or at. I can lie still and flat with some success, but not much.

I requires all the physical and mental strength that Suzi and I can muster to do the most elementary things, such as to get out of bed and try to make it to the bathroom before diarrhea overpowers me... very unpleasant, at best and from a physical standpoint I can only say thanks, for some of us, to my genetic poll which allows me the extra physical strength to leverage myself along on crutches and walker.

Suzi, a very petite gal and the light of my life as you know, from some deep resources, gets the strength to help me propel myself upward and makes the difference as to whether I am be somewhat functional or a bed cabbage.

Suzi, now attends all aspects of the business, housekeeping, cooking, bed issues, toilet issues and all billing and shipping and, I assure you is deserving of the greatest empathy and respect for the enormous challenges she faces in dealing with my issues.

I know that some of you think of coming to see, and I would really enjoy seeing any and all of you, but you have to realize that I am absent a good deal. Lack of energy and the extensive morphia of pain medications keeps me sort of in an extended sleep stage and I am not much of a visitor being unable to maintain a coherent connection with the visitors.

I want to also mention to you, if you know anyone suffering with cancer issues, that to the extent that I can contribute information or contacts, I would like to as it is now the only thing left me... our financial situation is, as you can imagine, rather severe due to the totally unreasonable costs of all forms of conventional, allopathic, alternative, or integrated medicine.. we are, to the extent possible, affordable, and accessible, doing all of these things. There are many new alternative things to be attempted but they tend to be rather costly. And there are old things that should be tried... radiography treatment which was used successfully in WWI and WWII among other periods... but, even a hundred or two hundred a week for a service, pill, or shot adds up and the first thing you know you are confronted with thousands of dollars in expenses. Nevertheless, If I can share I would like to.

In terms of great good, I want to again mention something that every person getting radiation needs to know.I started radiation last July and I did get relief from those California sessions under the supervision of Dr Chen who was brought in by Dr. Walter Kim and Dr. Issels of the Issels Medical Center. Later, here in Texas I am taking additional radiation under the direction of Dr. Kerley. It is notable, while no comments on it, that during the treatments, early in the morning, well before the afternoon radiation, I liberally applied Aloe Mystery to the target radiation area. Then after the treatment, I again liberally applied Aloe Mystery to the target radiation area. If you do not know it, please be aware that radiation kills cells by burning them. As much of this treatment hit on my low back, pelvic kidney area I can tell you that it can give the the sense of producing heated urine --- though I did not have that experience, thank God, and your skin is burned sometimes like the effect of an extensive chemical, fire, or solar burn.

However, apparently due to my regular topical application of Aloe Mystery, I have not had the difficultly of dealing with any sense of burn pain, nor do I have anything but a very, very shadowy suggestion of a burn area on my body...only by very careful observation can you determine a visible burn demarcation on my skin. All of my medical doctors asked me to remove my clothes so that they could see the target radiation area when I told them about my results with Aloe Mystery and, of course, said nothing, other than it could not hurt ---- hurt? Good grief! It seems to eliminated the burn. None of the integrated or alternative doctors were surprised at the fact that I was free of the misery and discomfort of radiation burn.

The other thing that every cancer person needs to know about chemotherapy and radiation is that it can ordinarily really distress the digestive system and often in a very significant way. There are, obviously, many forms of chemotherapy and there are many different ways to radiate. Mostly one discovers unpleasant side effects which often will include stomach upset, nausea, indigestion, loss of appetite, inability to tolerate some or all foods and so forth. As I was well aware of this, prior to beginning all treat I began taking an internal liquid food supplement which is called WLA 132. WLA 132 is a very highly concentrated whole leaf aloe vera produced under very special and highly controlled circumstances. I have been supplementing my food with WLA 132 since June or July of this year, 2009. Apart from changes that I elected to make (I quit eating cheese for example as I consider all diary products to be bad for lung cancer) I have been able to enjoy every meal served, eat anything that I wanted, and have had no bad side effects from either radiation, chemotherapy, or other treatments. I think you can see, therefore, why I am such an advocate of these two products.

These products are the result of decades and work by Edna Hennessee of Dream Valley/CSL. Edna early in her career realized the devastating effect that agricultural sprays, farm-ranch-livestock run off would have on her beloved aloe plants. To produce the finest, purest, most logically organic aloe on the planet, Edna built enormous greenhouses to protect her aloe from everything possible, even drifting sprays ( and it is the ocean of bad sprays across the fields of much South Texas and northern old Mexico fields that makes hesitate to suggest any aloe except Edna's to any one. Let me stress that I did at one time work for Edna, many long years ago, but I have no interest in her company and these products are not a profit center of any sort for me or Suzi... we are just very enthused about these great cancer aids. To order, to ask for important information, to get a great book on aloe vera written by Edna's son, Odus Hennessee, please call and talk to Edna or to Areta at 800-364-2182. Both these great ladies are an inspiration to all and I sincerely ask you to reflect on those doctors, of any sort, and those people who may cancer challenges that would benefit from the use of Aloe Mystery and WLA 132; take a moment to do it right now, please.

I think it will be clear to most of my correspondents that the importance of organic, fresh, foods are vital to all health issues. I also know that some of my vegan friends and family do eat or approve of eggs. But I do. And I want to thank my brother, Brod, and his lovely life, Susan, for sending me straight from the farm a few dozen free range eggs ... the yolks stand tall, bright, firm, and the eggs are simply delicious. What a great addition to any meal. Today, I had the eggs with steel cut oats with olive oil and turmeric.. a great anti-cancer dish, in my opinion, especially if you are very generous with the turmeric.

I thank all of you for your kindness in reading my posts, in sending me encouraging words and prayers, and other often more material support. In these days, there is little so wonderful as a kind and encouraging word from an old friend or a family member. Thanks for all that you do for me and others in this stressful world and lest we forget it, we are not alone. Many people face and worse challenges than we do. May God richly bless them and you in all things.

Terry Turner, less curmudgeonly by the day.

This post was delivered in part, previously, by email.

Photograph credit. The photo was taken by the Dream Valley Green House Manager. It is Suzi inspecting an aloe vera leaf just ready for harvest --- rich in minerals, unique saccharides, and totally protected in these giant green houses from a polluted environment --- these rich leaves are the source of Aloe Mystery, the black salve, and the extraordinarily rich WLA-132.

November 17,2009

Dear Family and Friends,

Many of you know from our personal conversations that November 17 has, for decades, been a memorable date in my life marked by many events and people associated with that date. I have, for example, been attacked by a buffalo on November 17, I had businesses fail on November 17, my mother was born on November 17, and so forth.

In a nutshell, next week will be eventful for me. On Tuesday, November 17, 2009, I will have another PET Scan during the last week of my current round of radiation. It will provide the first overall good opportunity to assess the road ahead and the current situation.

I think most of you know that I had another pain event, more than I can to recall and I had to begin radiation on my pelvic area last Monday, November 9 and the treatment will end this Friday, November 20. At present I am nearly out of pain.

It will take the radiation oncologists a few days to get the interpretation of the scan reduced to writing so, effectively, I won't have any facts to report until the week of November 23.

I am very optimistic about the likely results of the test but, though I think I need not say it, I certainly solicit and welcome your prayers.

It is difficult to discover the "good" in all this but, perhaps, I shall be permitted the opportunity to share my concept of an inexpensive cancer treatment with the world. As I have previously mentioned the treatment I have thinking of is based on a product that we designed and marketed many years ago, Dual Source Selenium. We no longer private label or sell Dual Source Selenium and it is, these days, commonly available in most OTC situations. The final treatment concept will have a small selection of a few other unique but affordable ingredients and is something that one could actually make at home without much effort. Considering that fifty thousand dollars hardly makes a dent in modern cancer treatment, I am doing research as fast as I can on my "home made" solution.

I know some of you are concerned that I am not my usual self and tend to be very delinquent in emails. I must plead a lack of energy. I do answer as many things as I can get to but energy levels are quite low and my daily treatment schedule is rather demanding. Also, I plead the same for Suzi who has to help with my care, cover my duties as well as her own and, I can assure you, it is no easy task.

Also, for the record, we are in Texas and I am being treated in Mt. Pleasant, Texas about 20 miles east of Mt. Vernon.

Terry
903-285-6661
408 Yates St.
Mount Vernon, Texas 75457

Water, the distant water

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009

Following are a few remarks that pertained to my experiences of one sort or another in Old Mexico. A few of these were addressed to family, friends, and, a few to my long-suffering brother-in-law. The events apply, roughly from 1968 to 1975 when I was in permanent residence in Jalisco, near Guadalajara, and later circa 1991 when living briefly in Mexico City.
Of course, we should all note that most of my impressions are now a quarter of century old and much has changed.

I mainly wrote these with a view to trying to explain the “flavor” of Mexico because it was often difficult for my business associates and for tourists to understand the reality of day-to-day life and business for those of us in permanent residence.

I should hasten to add this comment. I lived in Mexico about seven years altogether, and I regard Jalisco as my second home. I have Godchildren and friends as dear to me as my own family there. I surely do not want you to conclude that I dislike Mexico or Mexicans, even though I have a variety of “crow” to pick with the Government of Mexico. To be clear, I love Mexico, Mexican culture, Mexican customs, Mexicans, and Mexican food.... and the Mexican attitudes about family and friends which make Gringos seem primitive indeed... and speaking of food, I would gladly pay twenty-five dollars for a fistful of carnitas from a road side stand in Jalisco.

That having been said, here are a few brief lines from what I often think of as the “stone age.” The Stone Age, of course, is not a time, for I am not that old, but it is rather a state of mind.

In 1991, while living near the Zona Rosa, in a small penthouse that afforded a grand view of assorted laundry, large polka dot underwear in particular that belonged, I suppose, to a man who must have weighed near about four hundred pounds. I never saw him, but I saw a good deal of his underwear over a period of a year or so.

One evening, about nine pm, my wife and I were feeling ill, we were out of bottled water in our little penthouse, and beginning to feel a bit dehydrated due to a slight fever. I called the hotel manager, Senor Carmona, for help. What follows is the dialogue that I jotted down that very evening.

When he answered the phone, I said, “Senor Carmona, I’m sorry to bother you so late but my wife an I are ill and we need water before we become dehydrated.”

Senor Carmona, clearing his throat, said, “ Mr. Turner, did you have a nice day?” To which I replied, “Yes, thank you, very nice, but we do not have any water in the suite.”

“Water?” Carmona said thoughtfully. To which I replied, a bit edgy now, “Water, yes we need water!”

Carmona was silent a moment, seeking a comfort zone with the English tongue, then said, “What kind of water?” To which I replied I with a little exasperation, “Any kind of clean water.”

“Do you want the water in the little green bottles?” Carmona inquired. “Yes! Yes!” I said, “The green bottle kind will be fine. The maids are supposed to leave some green bottles of water, but they did not.”

“Yes. You want the green bottles?” Carmona patiently replied.

“Yes! I want the green bottles!” I was near to shouting.

“Yes, yes, the green bottles. But we do not have any green bottles.” Carmona stated matter-of-factly.

This reminded me that I had asked him to see that the hotel kept a large five-gallon bottle water in the room. I had asked for it when we took the accommodations and some two months later, having twice paid the deposit for the glass jug, we finally received it but it was rarely filled with water. I said with a bit of anger, “Senor Carmona, you are supposed to keep a big bottle of water in our room, but you never do.”

Very firmly, but politely, he replied, “The bell boy brought a big jug of water to your room only two weeks ago. Why don’t you drink it? It is good water.”

“Senor Carmona, we drank all of that water. You know I make coffee with that water. We don’t have any water of any kind right now and we need some water, right now!” I was getting rather red around the edge of my ears and the volume of my voice was beginning to float down to street level from my lodgings.

“Perhaps,” he said, “you would like to send the bell boy to buy some water for your wife?”

“Yes! Yes!” I cried out, “let’s send the bell boy for some water.”

Soothingly Senor Carmona replied, “What kind of water?” To which I replied, “The green bottle kind will be fine.”

“Senor Turner, it is very hard,” he said, “ to get that kind of water this late at night.”

“Fine!” I said, even though nothing was fine, “Just get some other kind.”

“They say the kind form Tehucan, the water with gas in it, is very good for a bad heart.” Senor Carmona carefully explained.

“Great!” I shouted, “Great! It will be good for my stroke!”

“Please?” replied Carmona, a bit confused, “Please?”

“Never mind, never mind!” I said, “The kind with the gas will be fine. Just tell the bell boy to bring six bottles of the kind with the gas.”

“Senor Turner, “ came the calm reply of the ever patient Senor Carmona, “Senor Turner, the bell boy cannot do it right now.” To which I replied, “OK, OK, later will be OK! Just get it as soon as possible.”

“Very well.” He sighed, glad to have the exchange near an end, “Tomorrow Fausto will bring the water.”

“No!” I shouted, “NO! Not tomorrow! I need the water tonight!”

Firmly Carmona replied to me as if to a wanton child, “Fausto can’t bring your water tonight.”

“Senor Carmona,” said I, “Senor Carmona, why can’t he bring it tonight?”

“Senor Turner, please, Fausto is not here tonight.” To which I demanded, “Why isn’t Fausto here?
“Senor Turner,” came the patient reply, “It is his day off.”

“Mr. Carmona," I shouted, “yesterday you said couldn’t find my shirts because yesterday was Fausto’s day off!”

“Yes, Senor Turner, we will find your shirts, probably tomorrow. But today Fausto’s friend died and left a widow and six children. So, naturally, Fausto has to help them. Perhaps a person like yourself would like to contribute to the funeral to help this poor widow and her children?”

Desperately trying to control my anger and frustration, I mustered a bit of calmness and said, “Mr. Carmona, I must have water tonight. Will you tell me where to get it?”

‘Yes! Yes, of course. I am always pleased to be of service to you and your lovely wife. We want all of our guests to happy.” Carmona cheerfully replied.

“We are very happy here, “ I replied, “but where can I get some water at this late hour?” To which Senor Carmona quickly replied, “The Holiday Inn won’t give you any water unless you are a guest.”

“Yes, but I am not going to the Holiday Inn,” I said, wondering why he even mentioned the Holiday Inn that was just a couple of blocks down the street. “I just want to go to a store, to a tienda.”

“Do you know where the farmacia is?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, “there is a farmacia, a drug store, next to this hotel.”

“Oh no, Senor, “ he replied, “not the farmacia next door. I mean the farmacia down the street next to the taco stand that sells hog’s head tacos. Those tacos are delicious.”

“Thank you, “ I said, nearly exhausted from the conversation, “Thank you. I will go down there and get some water.”

“Senor Turner,” I braced myself as he said, “you cannot bring water from the farmacia by the hog’s head taco stand right now.”

“Why not?” I was near to screaming.

“Senor Turner,” he said calmly, “they have closed since eight o’clock this evening. They have been closed almost two hours.”

Feeling very frustrated I said, “Senor Carmona, I really must have some water.”

“Senor Turner,” he said with a good deal of cheer, “I will personally take care of it! And tomorrow you will have your water! Some green bottles and the big bottle too! Please rest well; it is best thing for a happy heart. Good night, Senor Turner.”

The click of the terminated phone call was loud in my ear and the water, like many desired things in this life, was very distant.

Old Crow and the Invisible Crow

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009



Old Crow flew down to inspect my newly displayed
flag.

"War!" he cawed, "War!"

Young Crow landed by him and loudly barked "War! War!
War!"

Limping Crow barked from a nearby tree, then flew down
joining the other crows on the sign post which
supported my flag.

Mostly they stared at the flag and occasionally glared
at me --- they still are not sure that I fully
acknowledge their ownership of the territory
hereabouts.

Finally Young Crow, weary of the unfamiliar war word,
asked, "What is war anyway?

"War!" cried the old crow, "War!" then he shuffled out,
tenuously, from the sturdy sign post to the more
fragile flag pole and, seeing that the thin pole
did not fail him or the flag, he settled down over the
field of blue to have a good luck at the stars. Old Crow
had lived long enough to know that many things are
edible which may not seem so on first inspection.

"War," he finally replied, "war is a bloody human game.
When they play war there is plenty for crows to eat.
Here in these very mountains my great, great,
grandfather once feasted on an Indian chief for a whole
winter. The humans often have given us such sacrifices
and they like killing it seems."

"War! War," the crows cried in unison, "War!"

Young Crow said, "I have never seen a war. Why war
they?"

Crippled Crow barked. "The human fools do not believe
in one God. They believe in many Gods. Fools, they!
Fools who do not yet know of the Great Crow, the
only God. Being ignorant of the Great Crow, humans
fight and die."

"Die?, Die," the word seemed to shock Young Crow, "die.

What is it to die like they do?"

"You can never know that, " said Old Crow, "they die,
but we crow live forever! When we crow grow old, we
become thin and flat, but we never die, we just slowly
disappear. But war, ah war, war will keep all crow nice
and fat!"

"War! War! War!, Bloody war!" they cried, "Bloody war!"

Old Crow, found the bright white stars inedible.

He flew away, looking for something to keep him nice
and fat, After all, being an old crow, he knew that
neither he nor any crow within his long memory had
ever spoken with an invisible crow. For that reason he
wanted to remain nice and fat.

Note: I wrote the original of this in Taos, NM September ’01

The sainthood of the cow, Andora, and how it happened

Copyright, Terry Turner, 2009

Preface and Apology to Readers
If it is your intent to read the following, I can only be amazed at your lack of discrimination and, further, apologize to those of you who are possessed of any literacy and those of you who possess any command of the English language. The following is an affront to all gentile folks, to all the classics ever written and to all of the great authors who every lived. I advise you to skip this and get yourself a good Mark Twain book or perhaps you could find an old Don Marquis regarding Archy and Mehitabel. Any one can read the following, but why would they?

Why We cannot Attend the Funeral
The funeral for Anchell's cow is to be Thursday. Cows, of course, strictly speaking are not church members but Andora, the cow, was partial to the Wednesday night bingo supper at the Catholic Church and always showed up there to help clean up the salad scraps and such. Of course, it was not the Catholic Church. We just call it the Catholic Church because it was for nearly a hundred years and then they up and built a new Catholic church with lots of them religious towers and windows and free parking and such.

The old Catholic Church was abandoned for a while until a self declared Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem, rented it and took to preaching. He was quite a talker and folks begin to go to church there just hear him talk. He could really string works together just like some ladies are natural at making gravy. Priest Javier Obitem said he would at least come by and say a few words over Andora on behalf of Old Lady Anchell when it come time to bury her; that is to bury her cow which is the dead one. Mrs. Anchell is just real old, not dead.It was a dreadful outcome to the events which took place at Buford's Barbecue and Barbershop the previous Saturday. None of us suspected it, of course, and certainly not me, for I was standing by innocent like to this whole and entire affair. It would not have happened I guess if Troy had not been there showing off his long black powder rifle. He has one called a buffalo gun. It is really long and shoots a bullet about the size of small golf ball. I would say it was more likely an elephant gun but then we don't have elephants down this way no ways. Troy says if he hit a phone pole dead center with that rifle that pole would be cut clean in two. I believe it, now. Troy Baumgardner is sort of a show off anyway and if he was not an honored World War I Vet, I would give him a good knock on the head, but he does have some medals and you can't just ignore that. After all, he helped protect my freedom and that has allowed me to continue to vote for some of the lyingest and most corrupt politicians that ever lived, and presidents too.Dragon Breath Seasoning, the Gift Sets the Tone
Of course that would not have mattered. About Troy being a show off. If I had not taken my surprise package that I got in the mail with me. Of course if I had just gone home and left the mail for my wife to open it would not have happened but, even though I cannot stand the smell of burning hair, every once in a while I want a good barbecue sandwich. Burford's barbecue sandwiches are not good but he has the only barbecue for sale in the county; otherwise why would any one buy it? I surely would not unless I needed a haircut or some barbecue.

Any way you can see how it happened. While I was in Buford's waiting on my barbecue sandwich and trying to avoid the hair storm made when Buford is cutting hair, I noticed I had not opened my surprise package. Herman Handers, the local county blacksmith, was setting next to me so I sez to myself I will open it and show it to Herman. But while I was opening it Herman got up to go to the privy and I was just settin’there looking at my surprise, a bottle of Dragon's Breath Smoke Seasoning sent by my brother, Mark. It surely looked good, but you can not tell what these things taste like by looking at them. Then, too, my brother is somewhat of a joker; so you can’t exactly take things just at their own face value—they might not be. It is like Cousin Whitsitt says, in our family a little caution don’t hurt none and always get your non-disclosures first and all like that. So, with that in mind, I just opened up the Dragon’s Breath and dumped a fair amount of it into Herman's barbecued beans. If Herman liked it, I knew I would too.

Well, right out of the blue Herman came back and commenced back to eating his beans and suddenly all to oncet to leapt up and commenced to choking and turned violet red like. Well I flung a glass of water at him to help calm him down and Buford shouts at me what did you do Herman's beans? Why, I wonder did he ast me that? I was just setting there.


The Greater Misfortune; Andora Shot and Killed
That shout was what is knowed in literature as the greater misfortune. Old Troy, who had been dozing and dreaming of his days in the army in Europe in the Great War, heard the shout and thought the Nazis were attacking. He grabbed that big long buffalo rifle and let off a blast that clean removed a square foot of the back wall of the barber shop including a Life magazine cut out picture of John Fitzgerald Kennedy; then come the lesser misfortune, or maybe it was another of them greater misfortunes.

As Andora, the cow, was walking past the back of Buford’s Barbecue and Barbershop at the exact moment Troy fired off his rifle, that golf ball sized shot went through the wall and smooth hit her smack between the eyes and she fell over on the spot, I seen her through the hole that was oncet smiling JFK. She, Andora, gave a few quivers and then stuck her tongue out like she wanted to say goodbye or something nice like that and it was over. The quivers gave it up and she just laid there. I hate to see a cow dead especially if it is one that I knowed like I did, of course, know Andora when she was alive.

In the meantime Troy was trying to reload his thunder boomer, my dog, Diogee, out on the curb was howling to beat the band, but with us all sort of in shock like, and with Troy not having his reloading tools, he took a look at us and said the center couldn’t hold with the likes of us. He, dashed off, as fast as an old codger like him could, to get his reloading tools. I remember as he went out the door, he sez to me, glaring right in my face, “You hold this position, no matter what.” And off he went, dodging Nazi bullets in his mind as he went. Well, when Old Troy got himself and that buffalo canon out the door and down the street, I can tell you we all took a deep breath. But, that was when Herman saw my bottle of Dragon Breath and he sez whose is this? And like a durn fool I sez it is mine. This turned out to be the tragedy and the beginning of the end in more ways than one. Anyway, it was not my fault. Who could have knowed that Dragon’s Breath was hot enough to melt concrete.

Why I Cannot Attend the Funeral
So that is the reason I may not attend Andora's funeral on Thursday. But I do expect to be out of the hospital in a day or two.

It is always a mistake to offend a blacksmith like Herman. Especially as he can lift his anvil and put it in the back of a truck if he needs to. If you have not moved an anvil, I guess that remark won’t carry much weight except that I can tell you it is doubtful if that Swartzandknecker California fellow can lift Herman’s anvil.

When my fingers heal up to where they will write, I intend to send my brother a get ready note. After what he done to me with that Dragon’s Breath, I will have to be revenged on him. I would call him but my jaws will are still wired for a time. I imagine he knows it is coming any how and he will try to be ready. Anybody can see I will have to revenge on that Dragon Breath which a fool can tell ought to be treated like a military weapon and not passed around like some seasoning. What if a child had a holt of that stuff? I had a first cousin, Linda Jo, I still do, that gave her own self a rubdown with Tabasco Sauce when she was just two or three years old. Her hair is still red and anyone can tell she ain’t over that Tabasco after more’n fifty years have passed away.But, probably, you can tell that we all enjoy a good joke in my family.

Jerry Don, Mrs. Anchell, and the Pink Pearl
Well you know how hospitals are. My insurance was not very good so they doctor came in and told me it was cash on the barrel head and that I could be discharged and that I did not feel as bad as I looked like I did. You could not tell by me but I guess that is what the doctor gets paid to know. I thought I was banged up pretty good but he sent me on home.

Buford come up to the house the next day to see how I was doing and to feed, Diogee, my old dog. Being a customer of Buford’s Barbershop and Barbecue put me high on his list of well wishing duties as Buford does not now have and never did have very many customers. I mean, you know, how many people can stand the smell of burning hair with their coffee or hamburger? You have to be pretty determined and fairly hungry to get through a dining experience there.

Anyways Buford was telling me that Jerry Don Rivers was going to bulldoze out the grave for Andora, it was because Mrs. Anchell had been his third grade teacher before he dropped out and later become a GED. And because Mrs. Anchell helped him get his bulldozer operator’s license with the help of help of her Pink Pearl eraser and, of course, as she could spell good too. She as gooder than anybody at filling out forms, and applications, and such. Of course she had lots of practice at reading and writing, not to say spelling too. (Note: Before the advent of computers tablets, pencils, and the famous Pink Pearl Eraser were common tools for students and teachers).

Searching for Andora’s Casket
He said that Old Mrs. Anchell was hoping for a casket and had called to find out if the hardware store had any large caskets or piano crates. But Mr. Bo Edwards, at the Hardware, Fresh Produce, and Used Mattress Emporium told her that, due to Andora’s notable girth, all the boxes seemed too small.

He also noted that as far as he knew no piano had ever been unloaded in the county but he had heard that one had been delivered in Clay County to a funeral home that was in business to make money. Anyways that piano had been delivered nearly ten years previous. It was pretty clear that there weren’t no free boxes lying around the size of Andora.

So Mrs. Anchell decided on an alfresco service after which the bulldozer would just nudge Andora into the grave and then tenderly doze the dirt over her. Then Don says to me how nice it was that Javier, the priest, was going to say a few words over Andora. And he was telling me that though Andora had always been a Catholic, so to speak, he did not think she would mind being buried by a self appointed priest like Javier. Jerry Don said he thought Andora liked the old Catholic church because cows sort of knowed that Catholics are supposed to eat fish. You can see right there that he is no rocket science by any means. Anyways, as I said to him, Andora had been accustomed to going to Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church meetings and I knew for a fact that up until about two years ago Andora had been a firm Baptist cow.

Andora Quits the Fundamentalists
The way she become a Catholic was that the priest, Javier got into an argument at the Three Deuce Bingo and Domino Emporium about membership with Donald Elliott, the Baptist Choir Master and Part Time Assisting Preacher. Old Don told Javier that they attracted more cattle to the Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church than people showed up at the Catholic Church. The outcome of that discussion was not pretty but a few stitches covered every thing up pretty quick. Preacher fights have to be quick and not too protracted like. If they are fast enough nobody takes no notice.

But it was not long after that when we begun to notice that some Russian Orthopedics down at the old Catholic church were wagging some of their home grown vegetables to their church and, there being an excess of vegetables, they were sort stacked around out back of the Church. Well you can just imagine what happened and it did.

And that is how Andora became a Catholic and quit the Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church.

“What happened?” Buford sez to me. “What did happen?” Well I sez what happened is every loose goat, mule, horse, cow, duck, chicken, and guinea fowl began to show up at the Russian Orthopedic Church. And one day, Andora who had been napping under the pecan tree at Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church, got up and walked down to the old Catholic Church. Seeing as there was plenty of fresh vegetables there, she lay down by a big pile of turnips and quit the Baptists on the spot. That is how she become a so-called Catholic cow, due to the old name of the church; nobody could say that she avowed her self to be a Russian Orthopedic or that she even knowed Javier personal like. And, anyway, whoever heard of a cow that did not like fresh turnips. I like them myself.

Javier Obitem Smoozes the Crowds
Then with folks hangin’ all around the Catholic Church, hunting their pigs and such, Javier just naturally smoozed them into being Russian Orthopedics and joining up at the old Catholic church. Some said he was teaching Cataclysms for any donation. Anybody knows that them Cataclysms are a sure short cut to heaven cause you could just sort of jump over the Purgative and go straight in the front door of Heaven, so to speak. Any one could see by the animals that it was the most popular church in town and some say they serve beer in the basement on bingo nights, though I never knew Andora to take a drank, never.

I would say a lot of folks liked Javier Obitem whether they got a free beer or not. But that is how Andora became a Catholic. I can say I have personal never seen an empty beer bottle anywheres around that church.

Miracles in Quick Succession
You wonder what happened and how this all goes on. Well, n Tuesday morning, just two days, before Andora’s funeral, Old Mrs. Anchell noticed that the large corn that had been on her smallest toe on her left foot had fallen off. She had spent a small fortune at the County Seat, where they have a drug store, to buy corn remover. Bottle after bottle patiently applied had never affected the wart but the remover did seem to eat out holes in her shoes where the corn plaster met with her shoe; and of course the hole provided some relief. Looking at the newly missing corn, she thought to herself, “A miracle!” Then she drifted off to sleep and dreamed that Andora spoke to her and told her that she would find her will stuck in the back of the family Bible.

When Mrs. Anchell awoke, she remembered her dream, clearly. She struggled to her feet and dashed, slowly, across the room to find her own will, sure enough, stuck in the back of the Bible just where she had put it some years previously and where, in fact, it had been every time she thought to check on it.

She thought to herself, if Andora had been a person she would have been a saint. Of course a cow is not a person, not even a Catholic cow, and everyone knows it.

Andora Becomes Anchell’s Guardian Angel
Well, that was just the beginning. Mrs. Anchell got her breakfast made without burning herself or anything. Then her bowels moved, in what you would say was a sort of spontaneous fashion, and we all knew that her bowels sometimes did not move for days.

Then in, short order her old radio began to work, and she found her eye glasses; she got a letter from her sister printed so big that she could read it without her eye glasses. It was a miraculous day in the life of Old Mrs. Anchell. That night she went to bed thinking that the spirit of her beloved cow, Andora, was working to help her; she drifted off to sleep comforted that while she had lost a good milk cow, she had gained an angelic guardian.

In her dreams, Anchell found that Andora could sing, preach, dance, and play the harp, and her dreams took on a much satisfying character.

Miracle Behind Buford’s Barbershop and Barbecue
On Wednesday, in preparation for Thursday funeral, Jerry Don Rivers, licensed bulldozer operator and GED graduate, went over to Schumacher’s Seed, Feed, and Used Mattress Store and borrowed their forklift. We all knowed it would take some kind of powerful lifting one way or another to get Andora up to the grave site as a dead cow ain’t no feather and Andora darn sure was not a wheelbarrow candidate. And anyway, as Buford had noted, the tourism dropping by to see Andora had dropped off, especially since, construction had begun on the new Sno Cone shed at the other end of town. You can’t beat a good construction site to attract lookers. So he was ready for Andora’s removal.

Anyways here comes old Jerry Don proud as you please on the fork lift and getting all positioned to slide the blades, easy like, under Andora. But you can hardly imagine our feelings when, just as he give her the barest nudge with the dozer, Andora lets out a bellow, jumps up to her feet, gives her head a good shake and the golf ball sized bullet smooth come flying out of a dent between her eyes. She bellowed a time or two whilst looking right at me and Buford, then Andora took off in a little trot towards the Catholic Church. It was a blessing that old Mrs. Anchell was not there for it was a heart stopping event to see a dead cow that you have knowed just jump up from being dead and take off like they was alive and all.

Old Jerry Don just set on his fork lift, slack jawed-like and I could tell Buford was in shock. I know. For I have never known him not to be the instant authority on everything, but for once he was silent and there, on the ground, between us lay the golf ball sized lead buffalo ball that we had supposed had killed Andora outright.

Dang, if that ain’t a miracle
The aroma of barbecue and the faint smell of burnt hair filled the air. Buford, leaned down and gingerly picked up the black powder bullet, holding it aloft as though to be sure God could see it, he said, “Dang, if that ain’t a miracle, I never saw none.”

The Lack of Informed Opinions and Miracles
The following day, which would have been Andora’s funeral except that she wasn’t dead, found Buford’s full of folks needing a hair cut but probably only one or two that would be willing to pay for the insult to their persons. Buford was not exactly the best barber in the world neither but he was the only barber in the county, why else would anyone let him cut their hair. But, that is not the point; the point is that we were all talking about Andora’s miraculous recovery from having been killed by World War I vet Troy Baumgardner and his black powder buffalo rifle which had blown the John Kennedy picture clean through the back wall of the barbershop.

First there was the issue that Andora had recovered but now she was bellerin’ all night and keeping all the dogs upset and making the cats nervous. Some said the chickens would stop laying eggs if Andora did not quiet down. Then there was the issue brung up by Lew Jorgen, former ROTC Army Captain and high school graduate. He said he figured Andora’s brain had been damaged and that was why she was bellowing so, though it did not interfere with her enjoyment of the free produce round about the Catholic Church. I could not stand by and have Andora called brain damaged but Lew claimed the shot between the eyes which had failed to kill her had probable jarred her brain around.

The opinions, none of which were actual informed opinions, flew betwixt and among us like so many birds in a storm and the only actual not made up fact was that the committee formed by Catholic ladies to inform Mrs. Anchell had done so. That is they told her of Andora’s recovery and how she was bellerin. Then Mrs. Anchell and several of the ladies had exclaimed, “It’s a miracle!”

The Lady Vet
Due to the complaints about the bellerin, Mrs. Anchell had sent for the County Vet, Lisbeth Thurgood, and she was expected none too soon, allowing for travel time from the county seat. Miss Lisbeth was a caution as she was a vet and unmarried, and childless and, naturally, no one would call on her for doctoring cattle unless they had too; why would they? Her being an unmarried single woman acting just like a regular Vet. Even though she was a Vet and apparently had never lost a patient, she was popular enough to be invited to socials, parties, teas, and fund raising events which were the whole and entire cultural frame work of our county as there was absolutely nothing else to do except eat barbecue and get your hair cut which nobody wanted to do no way. I have been to some of them fund raising events to eat but I was never too impressed with the food unless it was made by the ladies at the Geneology Social Club. They were established cooks and several amongst them could swing a mean frying pan, and all of those gals made their own pie crust… none of that Dough Boy rubber dough for those gals.

Andora and the Vet
As the sun rose higher, folks began to drift off for their lunch, no one wanting to eat at Buford’s as they had other choices. And it was late afternoon before the Vet, Lisbeth Thurgood, arrived. I went down to the Catholic Church so’s I could help her round up and coral Andora for her psychic exam to find out what was making her, Andora, beller all the time.

Well, in a flash, Vet Lisbeth Thurgood, glaring at me kind of keen eyed, says to me, “How long since this cow was milked?”

“Well” sez I, “how would I know? She ain't my cow or concern. I do not know when she was last milked but I can tell you she was not milked whilst she lay unconscious behind Buford’s Barbershop and Barbecue for the last three or four days” I knowed that because the only one that can milk her, due to her temperament is old Mrs. Anchell and she did not even come down to visit the Andora’s body while she was dead. Mrs. Anchell is too tender hearted to be looking at dead cows, especially her own.

Well, we must get her home to Mrs. Anchell. This cow wants milking and is in pain for lack of it. While we took Andora in tow and pulled her along towards Anchell’s place, Lisbeth Thurgood allowed to me that the golf ball-sized lead shot from the buffalo rifle had knocked Andora’s brain hard enough to knock the idea of going home out of the cow’s head and that, no doubt, was why Andora was hanging around the Catholic Church instead of going home like a cow ought to do. Course I have seen lots of cows, and pigs for that matter, not do what they ought to have done; lots of animals don’t do a durn thing that they ought to. If you doubt, that you just try to get a pig to share trough space.

Morgan David and Milking
Now, as a rule, I would not mention such personal things as this as I am never critical of others unless it is somebody else, but when we got to Mrs. Anchell’s her front door was locked. I went around to her kitchen door and it was locked and the blind was nearly all the way down. But, by peering carefully through the slit at the bottom of the shade, I could see accidentally, that old Mrs. Anchell had dozed off, apparently whilst meditating on a fairly large bottle of Morgan David. Which, as you can see, is how and why Lisbeth Thurgood, Veterinarian, and I put Andora in the barn and milked her. Well, when we commenced to milk Andora, she began to quit bellerin’ and a sort of tranquility began to creep back through the town.

We got three pails of milk and had to waste the rest, there being no pails about. We set the three pails on a bench and covered them with newspaper and went back to town. The Vet fee was eight dollars that I paid to Lisbeth Thurgood on the spot. I paid in cash money, on the belief that I would be reimbursed by old Mrs. Anchell. Though in the fullness of time I never got that eight dollars as it eventual became an unwilling donations, but that is another story.

The Miracle of the Butter
Well, you can see how things was going. About miracles and all. Old Mrs. Anchell slowly came to around about sunset and stirred herself up. She put the Morgan David for medicinal purposes away and made a cup of tea. As the sun was going down, she thought how she had usually gone to the barn to milk Andora and give her some feed around that time of day. With that on her mind she went out the back door and found, to her surprise, three pails of milk. Then she dashed to the barn and there, sure enough was the source of the milk, Andora, the saintly Catholic cow.

Even though Mrs. Anchell knew that Andora had come back from beyond the grave, she was still very excited to see her actually alive and standing in her accustomed stall. And Andora had obviously been milked by unseen hands. Mrs. Anchell put her old hands around Andora’s neck and said, lovingly, “It’s a miracle.”

Later that evening found Mrs. Anchell churning butter for she could not use that much milk. The creamy rich milk produced more butter than Mrs. Anchell had ever made. Looking at her new abundant supply, she thought to herself, “It’s a miracle.” If I had been there I could have mentioned that she had never before had three pails of milk for making butter, but I guess it is just as well that I was not there. Most people think I am too particular in my details no way; and I guess I am. I have heard people say I act just like a Virgo though I have never been sure of what that means unless it means I am very particular, which I am. I do like my laces to be squared up.

Capitalize the "S" in Saint
That night, when Mrs. Anchell went to bed she was reflecting on Andora and her miraculous recovery from being dead; on Andora’s dream messages that revealed the whereabouts of the will hidden in the bible; on the age old corn that had suddenly fallen from her little toe; and on the miracle of the butter, and so many other things that had happened since Andora had crossed over and returned from death. “It’s a miracle,” she thought, “and Andora is just a Saint.” The s was capitalized in saint when Mrs. Anchell thought about Andora.

That night she dreamed about Andora floating around heaven with a sparkling halo and playing a large harp. A troop of angels floated along with Andora and it all seemed very normal to Mrs. Anchell.

Anchell, Andora, and Bob Hope
The next day being Sunday and all, Mrs. Anchell was in deep reflection and reading her Bible and thinking about her saintly Andora. Then, all to oncet, it hit her that she getting to be a regularized church saint was not much different from nominating a high school queen; as she thought to herself it mainly a sponsor and donations. She had been that process once, many years ago, and knew that it just required getting world of the nomination around and getting some votes and maybe a sponsor or two.

Inspired by the simplicity of the matter, she resolved to have Andora elevated to a deserved sainthood and realized that all she really needed was the strong support of
Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem down at the old Catholic church. She knew she could get some public support for Andora and she would easily get Javier to write the Pope and sponsor Andora for a saint, more or less just like Bob Hope and other such saints.

She could hardly wait for the clock hands to tick on through Javier’s sermon time. His sermon was always followed by news comers coffee and donuts --- the truth was there wasn’t hardly any news comers, but the coffee and highly sugared donuts attracted regulars; the news comers coffee was always followed in the early afternoon by Sunday school. So she would wait for all these to play out before going down to the church; she did not want Priest Obitem distracted by anything when she approached him about nominating Andora for saint.

Andora Nominated for Saint
After Sunday School at the Russian Orthopedic Church, that most members of the community still referred to, by long and undisturbed habit, as the Catholic Church which, of course referred to the structure, not what went on therein, old Mrs. Anchell caught Javier totally unprepared.

She approached him, gently, with a twenty dollar bill for the tithe, and they chatted a few minutes, he remarking on the weather, her well being, and so forth. She then launching into Andora’s remarkable and Lazarus-like recovery from death; the miracle of the milk, the miracle of the butter, the miracle of the will, and so forth until Javier was quite overcome with her lengthy presentation.

Then, realizing the church needed several things which included repairing several of the beautiful stained glass windows in the old building, she mentioned to Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem, that if he persuaded the Pope to grant sainthood to Andora, she could be disposed to tax her meager assets to underwrite the repair of the windows…. a cherished objective of our hapless priest.

And, without refusing the matter out of hand, Javier said to her that he would consider it.

Mrs. Anchell gave Javier a jubilant hug, promised to send a detailed letter of the miracles now attributed to Andora, and went on her way as it was nearly Morgan David time.

Javier Reflects on His Credentials
Russian Orthopedic priest, Javier Obitem stood alone now in his sanctuary. Javier was reflecting on his chequered career. He was, as he knew, an undocumented wetback from Mexico with a penchant for religion and one who had been able to learn English easily as youth, now presenting himself, approximately as a Russia priest in charge of an orthodox church. He had just agreed to consider sainthood for a local cow and, as he clearly knew, it was not only impossible, especially with him as the agent, as neither he nor his church had any connection to the Pope, Rome, or Catholics. It depressed him greatly to be a party to the matter. But, then, of course, it was his duty to consider how best to protect the infrastructure of the old Catholic church building; it could not be allowed to become too shabby.

Anchell’s Letter Nominating Andora Wins Support
Our gentle readers will recall that Mrs. Anchell had been an honored third grade teacher and, with the help of her writing, and spelling, and a good Pink Pearl eraser she had helped rescue many of her adult students by filling our forms, writing letters, filling credit applications, and coaching not a few of them in the achievement of the precious GED. It was often said that she was “gooder than anybody at filling out forms, and applications, and such. Of course she had lots of practice at reading.

Bring her consideration skills to bear on what had now become an obsession, Andora’s sainthood, she quickly produced a nice three page letter which documented the entire death, recovery, and miracles attached to Andora.

Then she had the idea of having people attest to the facts and to urge Javier and the Pope to allow sainthood for Andora.

She immediately began to approach those who were involved and quickly attracted several winning signatories including Troy Baumgardner, honored WWI Vet who attested that he had shot Andora between the eyes with a slug that would cut down a telephone pole; eyewitness Herman Handers, local blacksmith, testified to examining dead Andora shortly after the shot that was fired had barely missed him; Buford, the owner of Buford's Barbecue and Barbershop, affirmed that Andora was shot and observed to be shot by a bevy of his customers and that Andora had lain dead for three days behind the barber shop. The personal evidence continued to pile up and was all supported in her neat handwriting by a good collection of the signatures of the solid citizens of the town.

Javier Obitem Accepts the Dreaded Letter
Mrs. Anchell drove over to the county seat and purchased one them nice clear view presentation binders with a professional black binding post because she wanted to include Andora’s photo as the cover and she did want a nice presentation for the Pope whom, of late, she had began to regard as a friend and neighbor.

The following day Mrs. Anchell called on the Priest Obitem at his little rectory, not forgetting to along a nice plate of iced sugar cookies --- a treasure highly regarded by one and all.

She had Javier down, as she would any student requiring a little coaching, and went through the whole binder, reaffirming each detail and all of the testimonial material so as to indelibly fix it in Javier’s mind. She felt if he would just feel as she did, that would make the presentation to the Pope so much easier.

Then, Javier offered her some tea, which she accepted. They had tea and a cookie. And then she drilled him again just to be sure that he understood his material.

After a painful two hours, Javier was relieved to see her out the door. After which he took the remaining cookies, about a dozen, and went to bed and slowly ate each cook while wondering what he was to do.

He began to wish he was once again among the guava trees of his youth in the uncomplicated village of La Primavera in old Mexico.

Time Creeps Past as Andora’s Sainthood Stalls
For the next month or so, Javier was seen less and less about town, having taken to his bed in an attempt to solve the Andora challenge. Mrs. Anchell, on the other hand, was out and about everywhere and totally eagle eyed for any chance encounter with Javier.

Javier was a simple man and had the unfortunate knack of not knowing how to say no. This inability drove him, regarding Andora, to finally compose a letter to an Archbishop that, by chance he knew, in a distant large city. He enclosed the bound report on Andora and continued to prefer his bed to being seen around town.

Lying in bed as a way of not encountering Mrs. Anchell was effective in the main for Javier but the idle time led him into reflection and, as we all know self examination is often an unpleasant experience that leads us to reflect on the many uncorrected sins and errors of our past.

Thus Priest Javier Obitem found himself engaged and realizing that he could have and really should have chosen to be a much better man than he had become.

These thoughts put him to thinking of his family, now mostly deceased, and all very far away. And thus, we now find him drawing an old suitcase from beneath his bed and there, in total disarray, are photos and memorabilia of his own equally disordered life.

An Old, Old Award Prompts a Solution
In the old tan with brown stripes suitcase, Javier finds a few photos of his childhood, pictures of a fiesta or two commemorating his name day, a few shots of his parents, some pictures of relatives he no longer remembered. Why, he asked himself, as we all do, did people take time to put date, place, and names, and occasions on these little treasures.

And there two, still in a stiff cardboard binding was a beautifully embossed gold and red letter with many fancy seals from the local Bishop of his youth, it was an award, a special award, for having attended a long series of summer Sunday training sessions and, as Javier recalled, only three people had attended all sessions and received these beautiful letters which, of course were executed in Spanish from the Bishop of La Venta. All that was long, long ago before Javier had devised to become a self appointed priest and launch his own not quite Catholic Church. And even that decision, in which he was resolved to only do good, had brought him to the cross road with the cow, Andora.

He had removed the very official award, the very colorful and gold embossed award from its card board cover and noting how beautifully it was executed, when he suddenly realized it was an official Catholic Church letter, addressed to him, and that being written in Spanish, there were few in the town who could have read the letter in any case.

He began to see that the letter might get him past his Andora problems and yet keep him in good stead with Mrs. Anchell.

And, he noted, Halloween was fast approaching. He began to see his way out.

The Greatest Halloween Ever
Javier began to see that the usual Halloween festivities might be pumped up a bit in order to help with his Andora problem. He was thinking that they could possibly use Halloween to help get his windows repaired, attain the desired status for Andora the cow, and keep Mrs. Anchell happy as well.

He therefore arranged a tea for the Halloween committee and urged them to ask the local merchants to help keep kids in and around downtown and their families by having the merchants give away free candy.

He also suggested that the old Church parking areas could be used as free vendor stalls for anyone who had something to sell like arts, crafts, or foods, or even garage sale type items.

And, he asked the committee to try to figure out how to snare a band or two from any of the little nearby communities. He also urged them to try to find ways to increase the usual number of contests like apple-dunking, potato-sack races, best costume, and so forth and even suggested that the church, with the advent of digital photography, might offer a free photo service for any who wanted their child’s Halloween costume photographed. He had not thought of the cost of color ink, photography grade paper, and similar things for he was, consumed with the flame of potential success.

Members of the lack luster Halloween committee who had never had an original thought began to glow with the prospect of having a really great Halloween and began to really join into the effort. Suddenly Halloween began to blossom and committee members were out raising candy, candy donations, and not a few went so far as to invite children from nearby towns to join the festivities.

A grand Halloween was about flower; and it would serve Javier very well.

The Pope Turns Mrs. Anchell and Andora down
Four days before Halloween, the excitement about the grand event was catching all over town. Here and there events were being planned for Halloween which ordinarily would have gone un-noticed. For instance, he Nursing Home and Office Secretarial Service decided to stage a small play for the nursing home; the Secretarial Service. The Pay Advance Loan Office was doing a window tableau and offering a drawing for a free five dollar bill. The Mayor’s office was making arrangements to offer hot spiced tea to selected citizens who might wander by… indeed; the festive air was filled with possibilities.

Prior to lunch, Mrs. Anchell received a hand delivered note from Javier Obitem asking her to tea at the rectory. As invitations to anything were rarer than Haley’s comet, she sent word that she would attend… and who would not?

At the appointed hour she arrived and was greeted by a solemn Javier Obitem. He served tea and the got straight to the issue. Drawing the old beautifully embossed gold and red letter with many fancy seals from the local Catholic Bishop of his youth, his attendance award, written in Spanish, from a leather case, Javier told Mrs. Anchell that he had word from the Pope about Andora. Then he read the text of the beautiful letter to her in which the Pope thanked her for bringing Andora to his attention and while she might be worthy of sainthood, the Pope begged to point out that it was well know that she was not Catholic but was well know to have been a long time member of the Baptist Fundamental Deviations Church prior to her recent conversion to the Javier’s Church. The Pope went on to suggest that Mrs. Anchell place her hopes for Andora before one of those two churches inasmuch as he, the Pope, could do nothing for a non-Catholic cow.

Obitem to Andora’s Rescue
Mrs. Anchell was clearly both thrilled and dismayed… having had the high honor of being written to by the Pope on one hand and then having her hopes dashed on the other.

She was quite befuddled and readily suggested Javier’s suggest that she retire to her large living room and have a little-pick-me-up in view of all the excitement.

Javier assured her he would take Andora’s case under consideration, personally, and see what could be done. What a shame, they agreed, that Andora had abandoned her original Catholic faith.

Mrs. Anchell retired in direction of her large bottle of Morgan David and its metallic cap; Javier opted for a rather strong single-malt. Javier was not a drinking man, but thought he had won the first stage of maneuvers and a little Scotch reward not undue.

Two Days Before Halloween
The town was fairly bubbling with Halloween activities. Children from distant parts were already showing up among the merchants demanding free candy even though the appointed day had not arrived (long afterwards it would be widely debated how it came that over a thousand children from nearby towns descended on Buford’s Crossing on Halloween to march up and down with local children seeking their annual sugary bribes; a question that only some of Javier Obitem’s committee members could have answered).

The Tuxedo and Tool Rental Shoppe, which also offered party and Halloween costume supplies was virtually sold out --- the owner noted they still had plenty of Frankenstein and Wolf Man and Nixon masks which he said children did not have an interest in as they preferred more modern characters about which he knew nothing at all, things like Wookies he could grasp but these white faced operatic characters exceeded his desire to know… still he sold lots of the usual knights, queens, princesses, mummies, and such.

Most of the stores had put some sort of display for the season and hay bales abounded along with Halloween motifs of a wide variety. The Mayor had ordered that the sixteen United States flags usually flown on Veteran’s Day be flown around the town the square and he had declared that citizens could either give away candy around the square or even offer home made goods, such as sweet dill pickles, for sale on Halloween night.

On that day, Javier dropped by Mrs. Anchell’s and asked to arrange for Andora to be present in the Church parking lot on Halloween and that Jerry Don Rivers, licensed bulldozer operator and GED graduate would, along with Lew Jorgen, former ROTC Army Captain and high school graduate, would safely escort Andora to the church. Mrs. Anchell was invited to attend a late Halloween tea with Javier and a few committee members in the rectory far from the swirling crowd.

Javier assured Mrs. Anchell that it would be a memorable occasion.

The Surging Crowd
Children do not wait for Halloween any more than they wait for Christmas. Early in the afternoon young children could be seen in every sort of costume, pulling on their parents fully stretched arms, as they towed the unwilling adults out in an early search for free candy and, of course, to be seen, which is second only to amassing a horde of corn syrup.

As sundown approached, the streets were fairly overflowing with hobgoblins, and not a few of them were young adults in search of sweet loot, and, as many merchants noted while watching their supplies of candy shrinking, many of the goblins were not locals. An enormous crowd of children and adults flowed back and forth between the square the various booths and activities offered at the churches. At Javier’s church there was a stand selling barbecued turkey legs; another offering an assortment of flavored ices which are a sort of sno-cone; one stand optimistically offered hand turned wooden pens; and various booths offered costume jewelry, homemade fudge and apple bobbing and a few such participant events and such. A fortune teller and a card reader finished out the group at Javier’s church.

In the midst of the booths at Javier’s church, Andora was in a stall of sorts, constructed of a few hay bales, and some posts which were connected by ropes and festooned with an abundance of ribbons. Andora, having found a bucket of turnips in her stall, was much occupied with eating turnips and ignored the passing crowds of witches and hobgoblins. Jerry Don Rivers, GED graduate and Lew Jorgen, former ROTC Army Captain, remained in attendance as a sort of honor escort.

The crowds grew and the little town found itself quite bursting with local and distant citizens while a spirit of abandon and merriment swept through the night air. Everyone, except Andora, was anticipating the fireworks which were to shot off at seven-thirty on the dot. In the rectory, Javier readied everyone to view the impending fireworks and privately told Mrs. Anchell to expect a surprise.

The Ascension of Andora and how she became Theodora
Around seven-fifteen PM, Priest Javier Obitem escorted his little group out to the parking area and assembled them around Andora’s stall to watch the fireworks.

The committee was present and several well known members of the local citizenry, including Buford, Troy of gun black powder rifle fame, and other notables, including me, and my rascally dog, Diogee, who took little note of any such affairs.

As the fireworks shot upward, tracing wonderfully bright colors on the dark sky, accompanied by a suitable number of booms and whistling sounds which subsided almost immediately due to the town’s budgetary restrictions. As some quietness fell, Javier told the assembled that he had an announcement regarding Andora,

He unrolled a scroll of some length, which he read at length and which, in part stated that “… whereas Javier, as the sole actionable principal of the Russian Church was duly empowered and did so act to declare Andora, the first and only animal saint associated with said Church, and further that Andora would officially known as Theodora, in memory of the great Empress Theophano whose devout life had been commemorated by her Byzantine Emperor husband, Leo VI, “the Wise”, who had not been allowed to dedicate a Church, built at his own expense, to his wife. Therefore, and hereafter Andora, shall be officially known as Theodora for merits already demonstrated…”

Javier handed the beautiful scroll to Mrs. Anchell, and the assembled dignitaries, much distracted by the swirling crowd of princes, princesses, and hobgoblins, began the business of escorting Theodora and Mrs. Anchell back to their barn and home.

And that is how Andora became a saint; and of course that is how, eventually, circumstances would lead to the question of whether the Church was obligated to support the efforts, of my dog, Diogee to run for Congress but, of course, that is another tale of another tail which, of course, must be continued. As a tale goes it is not much less strange than events which, years later, led to Andora being accused of the drwoning murder of an old goat with big curled horns... but that was long afterwards and, except for the wheelbarrow, would never have happened.

Dragon’s Breath Smoked Seasoning
For those hardy souls, who have no fear of spicy food, please be advised that there really is a Dragon’s Breath Smoked Seasoning and you really can buy and season food with it.
I especially love it on sausage, eggs, barbecue, steak, hamburgers, beans, and chili and, no doubt, many other foods which I have not yet tried. Dragon’s Breath is a hand processed, and individually smoked and prepared to order. If you are interested in trying a bottle, just drop me an email at media1@turnerteamagency.com and we’ll put you on the waiting list for the next batch. Dragon’s Breath is not a commercial item and is made only in small batches at ten dollars per ounce. Allow $3.95 for shipping.

Apologies
I do apologize to all persons, history, and any and all churches that may take offence, as I do, at my cow story.