Karen's Worst Christmas Ever, Part I

Wednesday December 9th

Jewel ran back and forth in the expansive yard charged with happiness that bordered on insane. She charged all the way from the hedgerow to the long driveway, then around the back of the house and back to the hedge row as if chasing an invisible rabbit. The yard was an expanse of dead brown grass littered with a few rotting leaves, shiny from an earlier rain, but the big black lab didn’t care, she was overjoyed to be back in her yard. She repeated her routine several times before sitting to rest for a moment, panting a big sloppy smile and looking back her best friend standing in the window. Soon she was off again, hedgerow, driveway, house, hedgerow, driveway, house.

“This isn’t Christmas,” Karen said looking out at her old yard and the gray sky. There had been a promising snowfall the day after Thanksgiving, but it soon melted leaving everything dirty, and brown. “There should be snow, like there used to be.”

“Christmas isn't for two weeks. Would you pay attention,” Bob said. “You see, this is what I'm talking about, this is why things turned out the way they did, I was hiring the best lawyers, while you were daydreaming out the damn window. Now for the last time I’m giving you a choice, do you want the kids on Christmas, or Christmas eve.”

“Both,” She said flatly.

“C’mon Karen, you know you can’t have them for both.”

“You asked what I wanted.”

Bob crossed his arms impatiently. It was true Karen hadn’t thought much about getting the right lawyer, and didn't do everything he asked her to do, especially when it seemed wrong, but she did fight. She fought so hard inside, her entire body felt like a bloody knuckle. She had been worn down till it felt like there was nothing left of her. If there was a reason she had lost the house and the kids, it was because of Bob’s cold hearted ambition, his mother’s money and his lack of scruples.

“Karen, why are you continuing make things difficult. You know it’s by my good graces that you can see the kids at all. Now get your ass over here and sign these papers before they get home.”

Karen tried to conceal her hand wiping a tear as she turned and sat at the dining room table.

Jewel whined when Karen had to push on her rump to get her into the back seat.

“Sorry girl. This isn’t home anymore, you know that.”

Karen sat in the driveway with her hands on the steering wheel. Maybe she if she waited long enough and went drove slowly enough down the driveway she’d see Paul, her son, get off the school bus. Paul was still her buddy, but now that he was in high school would he soon become like his sister? Once she had her license Emma had pretty much become a ghost; rarely around, and scary when she was. She had pretty much stopped talking to her mom even before the separation.

“How’d it go?” Jean said over the television when Karen walked in, though she could already tell.

Karen released Jewel from her leash and sat on the couch next to her sister.

“I brought the papers back with me. I have to sign them and have them notarized.”

“I’m sorry.” Jean took her hand. “Good riddance though, the bastard.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it. Let’s drink some wine on and watch movies all night.”

“Deal.”

Thursday December 10th

It was still early when Jewel’s nose nudged Karen’s bare arm. She pulled it back under the covers, rubbing away the cold wet spot like an itch. Soon, a small whine, a pause, then a long exasperated whine.

“Go away.”

Jewel barked.

“Oh geez. alright, alright, I’m up.”

Karen pulled her jacket on over her PJs and grabbed the leash draped over her bedroom door knob.. It was bitter cold out, but there was still no hint of snow, only dirty puddles frozen over.

Jewel finished her business on the brownish grass. Karen stooped to pick up the steaming prize with a plastic bag. Her foot went out from underneath her on a slick part of the sidewalk. In a last ditch effort to regain her balance she pushed off with her other foot which only served to launch her into cement base of the lamp post. She dropped the leash when her hands went out instinctively to break her fall. An alarming amount of pain shot from her shoulder. Karen’s cry of pain echoed off the walls of the four apartment buildings that formed a square.

Jewel bolted at the sound. She trotted away, sure she was being scolded, dragging her leash behind her.

“Jewel, come back, it’s all right, here girl.” Karen’s voice was labored with pain. Jewel stopped and turned. “Here girl, c’mon.” Karen gave a weak whistle. Jewel carefully walked back, but her foot pulled on the loose leash and she jumped causing the collar to pull tighter. She gave a little yelp and trotted away again. Karen tried to get up. Her arm shifted with caused her to cry out again at the same moment Jewel stepped on her collar. The dog broke into a run across the parking lot and between two buildings, yelping and accelerating each time her collar jerked under foot.

“Poor girl.” Karen grunted. “And poor me.”

Changing position made her want to scream, but she managed to stand without crying out again. The pain was making her dizzy. She used the lamp post as a support. She noticed a lesser pain in her knee, but it was enough to make her limp. She hobbled across the quad to where she had seen Jewel disappear.

“Jewel?... C’mon girl.” Karen said as loud as she dared at 7:00AM on a Saturday, then gave a whistle. She walked towards the row of trees that bordered the property.

“Jewwwel!” she yelled. No longer caring about the hour. “JEWWWWELLL!”

“Hey, keep it down, I’m still trying to sleep.” Said voice woman’s voice from a cracked open window in the building.

“Sorry, I’m looking for my dog, did you see a black lab?”

“No, nobody cares. Now shut the hell up!” yelled a lower voice from the same window.

Karen flipped a bird behind her without turning her eyes from the tangle of shrubs and small trees beyond the apartments. In a hurried limp she went back to the apartment to grab her keys.

She inched along the streets looking left and right.  She endured rude honks from drivers passing by. She was impervious. She pulled in behind shopping centers and the parking lots of other apartment complexes, her eyes scanning like lasers for a black dog.

“Where have you been?” Jean said when Karen dragged herself in two hours later.

“Jewel took off on me.”

“And what happened to your arm.” Jean noticed her sister cradling it gingerly.

“I fell. If only there was snow. I could’ve followed her tracks.”

Jean rose from the couch and helped Karen sit down.

“We gotta get you to a doctor.”

“Later, when we find Jewel.”

“Maybe she headed back home…” Jean looked up sheepishly, “I mean, ya know, the old home.”

“I thought of that. I went there and back, twice.”

Karen’s phone rang. It was Bob.

“Thank God, maybe he found her. Hi Bob?”

“Karen… It’s Jewel.”

“Oh God, she ran off on me this morning. What is it?”

“The Sheriff called. Jewel ran in front of a car. I guess it was on Beals Road, right before the canal bridge. Seems like she was heading back home.”

“Is she, is she okay?”

“I’m afraid not Karen. She was killed.”

Karen felt a fist grab her inside. She couldn’t talk, she couldn’t breath. She leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the floor.

“Karen? Did you let her get out? How could you be so irresponsible. I don’t know what I’m going to tell the kids…”

“What? What happened?” Jean said kneeling by Karen’s side. “What’s going on?”

A sob finally choked some air into Karen’s windpipe. She could still barely make a sound.

“Where. Is She?” Karen choked out in strained syllables.

Bob continued his scolding. It was just noise through the roar of the clenched sobs in her ears.

“Where is she?” She tried again. Bob continued.

“Where is she?” Karen screamed in a burst between her convulsions.

Bob was silent. “Jesus Karen… She’s... I don’t know, I suppose the Sheriff has her.”

Karen ended the call without saying another word. She struggled to her feet, fished for the keys in her jacket pocket and made her way slowly to the door.

“Karen, Karen, what’re you doing? C’mon, talk to me Karen.”

“I’m going to get my dog.” She said softly.

Jean held her sister. “I know, I know. Just do me one favor and let me drive you, kay sweetie?”

“May I help you?” said the clerk at the county animal control center.

“I want my dog.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be…”

“There was an accident this morning.” Jean intervened.

“Oh, ah... yes.” The clerk glanced behind him.

Karen spotted a large garbage bag on a table towards the back of the room. She pointed to it.

“Is that her?” She said flatly.

“Ma’am if you could fill out..”

“Is that her? Is that my dog, in that God, damned, garbage bag?”

“Please, if you could just…”

Karen walked around the end of the counter, lifted up the barrier and marched to the back of the room. The clerk followed her with a stream of entreaties that devolved into frantic passive threats. Karen couldn’t hear a word. She gently scooped up Jewel with both arms, ignoring the pain in her shoulder. She walked out of the office and got in the car. Jean emerged from the office a few minutes later.

“Everything’s okay, she said.”

“Everything is a long, long way off from ‘okay’.” Karen said.

“I know, I know. I meant with..” Jean touched her sister’s shoulder. “I know.”

“My poor good girl.” she said softly. “We're going to take you home now. We’re going to take you back to your old yard.”

Continued in Part II

How to Quit Your Dream Job

This is my work computer.


There are practically no desktop computers at YouTube Space LA, and there are barely any phones or divided offices. Our computers are our phones and video conference rooms. For engineers like me, my computer can control and configure just about anything needed to put on a show. I can even remotely drive a mechanical robot around the YouTube Spaces in London, New York, and Tokyo. Everyone works on a Google issued Mac Book Pro at their non-cubical desk or just sitting around where they happen to be. With all those computers lying about, it's a good idea to make yours distinctive.

I used to feel it was stupid and juvenile to put stickers on a computer.

Clearly I'm over it.


This evening however, I removed the all those stickers and gently cleared away the goo, leaving my trusty computer as naked as the day it was born. This is because I am returning my Mac Book to Google leaving my dream job at YouTube Space LA.

Why on God's green Earth why?

Why indeed.

The short answer is that, without looking, I was offered a job that pays considerably more.

What kind of person would I be if I left a job I love and people I love to work with for more money? This is the question I had to struggle with before I made my decision.

After looking back at my career path, I knew what I had to do. Here's why.

Click to enlarge

Yes, yes I actually made a graph with a "personal satisfaction curve", lets move on shall we?

Looking back on my 'careers' I have stayed at my jobs either two years, or seven to ten years. Each job has a growth period where I was out of my comfort zone, but learning new things and meeting new people. Eventually I ease into a comfort zone which is nice and comfy, but my growth plateaus off. After about 2 years doing one job, I gradually drift into stagnation which ultimately becomes frustration. The first two years of all my jobs have been positive and empowering times. The jobs I have stayed at long enough to establish comfort seize my growth and before I know it I'm stuck, which leads to negativity and self doubt. It is only anger and frustration that eventually free me from the mire. Anger is an effective motivator, but it's not healthy, and the time it takes for it to build to a tipping point is wasted I feel. The red areas of the chart above represent around ten years of stagnation and time spent in a more-or-less bad mood.

My wife can corroborate.

It seems that, for me personally, I need to move on soon after I begin feeling comfortable at a job, around two years in my experience.

This has started to happen at YouTube. I have felt it in the last few months and actually started interviewing for positions within the company, because who wants to leave YouTube? My growing within the company wasn't looking too good. Fortunately for me, I got a text from a good friend of mine with a job opportunity that pays a good chunk more and, are you ready for the icing is a mile from my front door. After getting to work at 5:30 AM every day just to avoid the 'heavier' traffic, a one mile commute is a bonafide golden ticket.

Win, win and win... almost.

You see, this could be dangerous territory. The job I am starting to is a TV/Movie Studio lot and the technology there is years behind what I was working with at YouTube. With a job that's easier, a dream commute and a handsome paycheck to boot, the dreaded comfort zone will set-in especially quickly this time around.

So let's be careful out there!

Closed Gates-My First Days in LA

When I first arrived in LA, seventeen years ago this month, I noticed everywhere I went that there were gates, locked gates. Gates on parking lots, gates on driveways, gates on everywhere. There wasn't one of them I had access to. I had moved to a city I was locked out of. Because of the height of the moving van I arrived in, I couldn't even get into the parking garage of the hotel we checked into.

We had descended from the Cajon pass from high desert in the late afternoon after days of driving a truck from Rochester, NY. In the back of the truck was a Tetris of mattresses, guitars, dressers, cardboard boxes and couches. Packed into the cab, was my wife at the time, Susan, myself and two cats.  We were greeted by a sprawling valley of un-ending urban development that never stopped for the last seventy miles of our journey. The traffic was also un-ending, We inched towards the goal we been driving days for and planning for over a year, Hollywood.

What we didn't have were jobs, a place to live, or any contacts except for the phone number of a friend of a friend. I had just turned up in Hollywood with a dream. Classic or cliche, you decide.

It was eight O'clock when when pulled up to a Motel 6 just off Hollywood Boulevard.
the desk clerk chatted about how hot it was. After the plains of the Midwest and the deserts of the West in summer, I hadn't really noticed. I was happy to hear a local regard the heat as unusual.

Because the van was too tall for the parking garage. I would have to find a place on the streets of Hollywood to leave everything I owned, all night long!

After a lot of a driving back and forth and some unfriendly horn honks, I found a spot to park on Las Palmas just south of Hollywood Boulevard. I locked the doors, double checked the padlock on the back, said a quick prayer and walked away.

When I got back to the hotel I was beginning to feel the weight of what we had just done. I was beginning to panic. I said to my wife Susan, "Maybe we could still go back. We have just enough money to make it back home."

Susan had always been less adventurous of the two of us. It was not her idea to uproot and move the way we did, but she went along and worked hard to help make it happen this far. I though she might jump at the chance to chuck it all and return home. Instead she said what may have been the most important thing she'd ever say to me.

I got the 'buddy boy' speech. Even though she didn't say those words she might as well have. As I recall it went like this:

"Listen, I came out here with you and we sold our house, quit our jobs and left our families. We're not going back now until we've given it a chance, okay?"

That's what I needed to hear, a loving but firm slap on the face. My panic subsided and I haven't looked back since.

The next morning I got up early to move the truck before I got a ticket. I was more worried whether I would see the truck at all, or maybe just an empty shell with all our stuff in the hands of unknown strangers and gone forever. Dramatic I know, but a country boy hears stories about LA. Even if I didn't believe them, I could help but think about it.

To my great relief it was all right where I'd left it. Later that day we put everything in storage, turned in the truck and rented a car. It hadn't occurred to me when our friends and family helped us load the truck in Rochester that it would just be the two of us in LA. Actually, Susan was feeling sick, so it was pretty much just me.

I made a phone call to the friend of a friend. He said he'd ask around. I wasn't expecting much.
A couple days later I got a call from a guy at Gameshow Network. At first I thought maybe he was looking for audience members or contestants. I was still living in a hotel room, maybe places like that cold-called tourists. I had no idea. Instead he wanted to offer me a job, a gig really. two weekends a month for a few months. It wasn't much, but it was something. It paid twenty dollars and hour, more than I'd even made by almost double. But I was in LA now, I'd need every penny.

I followed the directions to Gameshow Network. Down Fairfax Avenue,  right on Venice, left on Clarington. I pulled up to the gate of Gameshow Network, a modest modern building across from Sony Pictures Studios.

A voice on the intercom said "Can I help you?"

"I'm Joel Johnson, here to work on the show... 'Inquizition'," I said after looking at the little piece of paper I had jotted the information down on.

The intercom was silent, but after a moment then the gate shuttered and began to move aside on its tracks. I drove inside.

Well, that's one gate unlocked, I thought.

Many would follow. The garage to the apartment we rented a few weeks later, the gates of the University of Southern California, and the American Film Institute where I learned film production in the trenches of crewing large student films. Later the gates to movie studio lots, Universal, Sony, CBS Radford in Studio City, CBS Studio City in Hollywood, as well as hundreds of little back-alley studios and locations.

As a rough estimate I would say I have worked on 50 films, mostly shorts, but a few notable features like "The Bucket List" and "The Lords of Dogtown". I've worked on easily five hundred TV shows and thousands of live broadcasts. I have supported probably the same number of YouTube videos.

I'm not sure if I'll stay here forever. There's a gate I've been wanting to get through for many years, the gate of the Atlantic, the gate to Virgin Atlantic flight the formidable gate of United Kingdom immigration so I can live and work in that "green and pleasant land".

I'm not sure when or how, but it will happen, one little gate at a time.

Dear Grandma...

Dear Grandma,

This past week was your 117^th birthday. Of course you weren't here to blow out any candles, you died of Alzheimer’s when I was in junior high school.

My mom reminded us of your birthday and suggested that we pay a tribute to you in some form.

Wanda Godfrey circa 1930
-hand colorized by Wanda Godfrey
~Any of these pictures can be viewed full-size with a click~

This is my tribute, an open letter to you. I hope, I trust, that somehow, wherever, or however you are that you enjoy it.

I should begin with the bad news. Though I am very happily married we have no children, no great grand children to tell you about. Sorry. Matthew has two beautiful boys that you would just love though.

I live in Los Angeles as I have for the past 14 years and work in television as a technician. Hollywood to be exact. I like it here though, I miss my family and I'm looking for ways to spend more extended time back East.

Stylized sketch of Jane Fonda by Wanda Godfrey

I know you'd be proud of me. I am a part time musician and even spent some time on the road as a performer full time a few years ago. I play bass and sing and play some other instruments. I composed recorded my own album and I'm getting ready to do another. I played your old parlor guitar on one ballad about a couple living in the wilds of Alaska during the gold rush.

Sketches of dogs by Wanda Godfrey

I have your paints and brushes though I haven't done very much with them. A couple of my paintings hang in my parent's house and they're not too bad actually. I would like one day to do more.

My Grandma's oils, pallet and brushes -I love the way they smell

 I remember once, while meeting you and grandpa at the airport, you looked back at the jet that had just flown you from Tampa and exclaimed how astounded you were that something so large could “get off the ground”. I thought you might be interested in some of the other things that have gotten off the ground in the last 30 years.

It is currently the year 2012. Much is the same. People still drive cars, go to work, come home to there houses and raise families. There are parts of the world in peace and parts at war, but none as large and devastating as the two world wars you lived through.

A lot has changed too.

Watercolor landscape by Wanda Godfrey

Like telephones in the 1920s and televisions in the 1950s, computers are now in every home. You don't have to wear a lab coat to operate one. In fact, grade school children seem to have a better knack for them than adults.

Home computers are like a typewriter and a small television together. Just like telephones, computers are all connected all around the world. When I write a mail message to my mom from where I live in California, at the push of a button it will be delivered to her computer in New York in a few seconds. Pictures, like your paintings I have shown here, can be sent this way. This letter itself is posted on a sort-of virtual bulletin board where anyone in the world can read it. It is in this I have the crazy hope you'll somehow be able to see it too.

Watercolors of flowers by Wanda Godfrey

Computers have become our photo albums, HiFi's, encyclopedias, bookshelves, art canvases, an arcade, a movie theater, a travel agent. My wife and I do much of our shopping and banking using our computer without leaving our home.

People do a lot of socializing using computers too. My wife and I even met through our computers; this is not uncommon. Some people say that doing so much of our socialization “on-line” as we say is a bad thing, that we don't communicate face-to-face enough much anymore. They may be right, but in truth, I have more social this way than I ever was before.

Still life watercolor by Wanda Godfrey -I remember this vase

If that wasn't enough, telephones themselves have completely changed. Nearly everyone carries portable radio phones in their pockets and purses. Those tiny little devices can do many of the things our computers plus they are cameras and even video recorders.

Most cameras don't need film anymore by-the-way. Yes, good old Kodak, though they have their own 'digital' cameras, is in pretty big trouble.

Watercolor of the Genesee River (I think) by Wanda Godfrey

There are certainly things I want to talk to you about besides the changes in technology, things not as easy to talk about.

I miss you. I miss knowing you as an adult. Even growing up I thought my parents were wonderful, but I appreciate and enjoy their company even more as an adult. I know that would be the case with you too and I feel robbed of the opportunity to know you that way. 

Grandma, my Mom and my Great Grandma

I miss your enthusiasm for even the smallest things, I miss your sitting and doing your crosswords and telling me that I “make a better door than I do a window,” if I stood in front of the TV.

I am sorry about a thing or too as well.

I am sorry for being such a brat when you had some of my chocolate Easter bunny one year. I am sorry I squirmed when you kissed and hugged me. I am sorry that when you were in a coma, your last few days of life, that I couldn't talk to you. They told me that you would be able to hear me, that I should talk to you, but I just stood there. I didn't know what to say, or how to say it. I just wanted to go back to the waiting room where I didn't have to confront tubes and wires and a grandma that can't wake up. I am a person of little regret, but my silence when I should have simply told you that I loved you one last time, is one of them.

Acrylic with pallet knives of rocky seashore (unfinished) by Wanda Godfrey

While were on the subject, I love you!

I love that you always called me your “number one grandson” when we arrived for a visit. I loved that you showed your enthusiasm for things by saying “Oh boys!” To this day I make it a point to say that myself in your honor, and my wife and I pluralize many words in the same vain.

I love that I inherited your thick head of hair, less thick in some spots than others these days I'm afraid, but I am almost fifty years old.

Can you believe it? Your grandson is coming up on fifty!

"Joel at 2" by Wanda Godfrey

Even more, I appreciate the artistic creativity I got in great part from you. I make use of it every day but I want to do more with it, much more.

I love that your favorite color was unabashedly purple. It wasn't enough that your bedroom in Florida had lilac walls and bed clothes, the lampshades were purple too giving the whole place a lavender glow.

I love that you played violin and basketball, two things I hadn't known until this week.

I love your sense of humor and have learned to appreciate it more through my mom's stories. There are things I say to this day, if someone drops something large and noisy, I say what you would have: “drop your watch?” If their arms are full with an awkward load: “Got a match?”

I wish that you could meet my wife, you'd love each other, I just know it. 

Oil painting of beach at sunset by Wanda Godfrey

As I write this letter to you I realize there are many things about you that I've forgotten and many more things I don't know at all. I am going to talk with my mom and try to fill in some of those blanks.

I will not forget.

Love,

"Your Number One Grandson,"

Joel

The Jewels of Nebraska, 18 -The Baby's name

Ruby's throat felt as if some had poured a bucket of sand and dirt down it. She swallowed involuntarily which made her grimace. She held a seat cushion from the truck over her head for a scant amount of shade from the Utah sun. Her feet began to scuff on the ground, it was getting harder to raise them up over, and over, and over.

The stolen truck with the mis-wired sparkplugs had made it an hour or so from the burning “Heaven” compound, but, with some terrible banging from the engine, it quit and wouldn't even turn over again. By sunrise the truck was just a speck on the horizon.

Ruby tried to ignore the calculations that kept popping up in her head, the numbers of hours the truck had taken to get from the main road to the compound the day they arrived, multiplied by how many times slower  her stumbling along on foot was.

How long can one go without water? How long before a car will come along on the main road, even if she made it. She thought about the truck sitting in the road with it's gasoline tank nearly full. 

If only she'd thought to steal as much water as she did fuel.

She was reminded of a picture she seen where the hero and heroine were stranded in the desert. They walked miles over endless dunes and finally collapsed in the sand. A man on a camel came and gave them water and they went on to defeat the evil sheik.

Ruby didn't think anyone was going to turn up on a camel with water, but the idea that she might die like she was in a movie had a nice romantic sound to it.

I was silent for a long time as we made our way to my folks house in the dark streets of Omaha. Charlotte held the babe close. She was speaking softly to her child almost without cease. I couldn't hear the words, but, like the baby, the tone I could understand perfectly.

After a while Charlotte seemed to be slowing and hiking the baby up more often.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

“Yes I'm... No... No, I'm afraid not. I don't think I've ever walked so far in my life.”

I knew what I had to do, but I was nearly petrified with fear. “Um... Perhaps I should. Rather... well, um, take the baby, you know, just for a while. You could hang on my arm for support then.”

“Yes, perhaps that would be best.” She prepared to hand me the bundle. “You've held a baby before?”

“Ah, in truth, no ma’am, never once.”

I could see from the concern on her face was not from my words but the fear I had allowed to show on my face.

“It's not hard,” she said kindly. “You just have to support her fontanel.”

"What?"

"Her head darling."

“Why?”

“You just have to.”

I looked down at the baby in Charlotte's arms, her sleeping face peered out from the blankets framing it. So pure and delicate, and I was to hold her, a helpless life in my arms.What if it cried, what if it wet on me? What if I dropped it?!

I was never so want of a baby carriage in all my days. Perhaps my new life of crime had taken hold, for I looked around for one to steal.

“It's okay, really, you'll do fine.” She passed the baby to my reluctant arms.

It began to fuss and cry. I tried to adjust the thing somehow, maintaining a safe and presumably upright position that supported it's rubbery head. Eventually she was against my chest and left shoulder, her head resting on the curve of my neck. She stopped crying. I started breathing again.

“You see, she's fine, you're doing just fine.”

Charlotte hung on my arm as we made our way through the quiet streets. I felt the warmth of both of them. The baby would once in a while kick, or move it's arms. My fear had not gone away, not completely but it was accompanied by something new, something I'd never felt before. Surely it was love, but not like any I had felt before. We had only a few miles to go, but I could have walked fifty.

William looked at the wooden bowl before him. He was hungry, that was for sure, but the root mash was one of the worst things he had ever tasted. He looked around at the others in the circle. The Indians were digging from their bowls barely pausing to speak. Later in the day there were often dried strips of meat, of what animal William had no idea. They too were bland with no salt shaker, not to mention a table to put it on, but a whole lot tastier than the roots.

It had been weeks since he had even slept in a proper bed but he liked when he could see the stars. He felt  like a cowboy in the pictures.

Ben and Kohn and their guides had been gone for two days. William was mostly bored. He wanted to pull his weight, but it was plain only women did the day-to-day work. He was too young to hunt with the men and he couldn't communicate with anyone.

William spent most of his time taking walks and taking pictures with his camera. Of course there was no film, but he put his eye to the view finder and clicked the shutter all the same. He tried hard to ingrain the images he found interesting in his mind. A large rock formation, a hawk perched on a dead tree, a network of canyons that stretched to the horizon.

After the meal of root mash he was on one of his photo safaris. He saw a group of hunters on horseback across a canyon. He framed a picture to 'take'. 

The image in the view finder looked just like a movie. Instead of clicking the shutter he followed them like a picture show. He noticed that unlike a picture show, his view bounced and jiggled with his movement no matter how hard he tried to keep it steady.

He lied on the ground and found a rock that had a rounded point on top. He rested the camera on the rock and found the men and horses in his view finder again. The camera rocked a bit, but once he got the hang of it he could follow the distant movement with a smooth and steady flow. It really looked like a movie. He imagined the scene in sepia tones and the sound of the piano playing Indian sorts of music.

“Much better.” he said.

“You are a strange one, lovely boy.” said a voice directly over him.

William rolled over with a start. The figure was just a silhouette against the afternoon sun. A dress with hands on it's hips and legs astride.

“You scared me!” William yelled.

“It is not my fault that whites can barely hear or see.”

He laughed. “You must think I'm deaf, maybe blind too.”

William sat up and picked his camera up from where it had toppled off the rock. Little Wind sat beside him.

“Cam-er-a.” He said.

“Camera yes,” she said in English. “I have seen your picture boxes before, a white man came once. His picture box was much bigger than yours. He put it on a tree with three trunks.” she motioned with her hands.

“I think I understand. One day I will have a camera like that and I will take pictures of you.” He made a frame around her face and smiled.”

“I think that you are being sweet... husband.”

“I wish I could understand you. I could teach you English ya know. Do you want to learn English? English?”

Little wind made a motion William took to be a sort-of shrug.

“You... learn... talk... English.” He motioned to her, then his lips several times.

She looked coyly at him for a moment, then leaned over and quickly kissed his lips.

William's eyes went wide. “Why'd you go and do that?”

He was further confused by the scolding sounds she started making.

“You are a snake Will-ee-am. A snake, but I am your wife. I can only obey.”

William scratched his head.

“Well aren't you going to en-glush Little Wind now. I have seen whites. Woman en-glush man, then man en-glush woman.”

“What? I don't... You said 'English'... Oh, I get it! You thought...” William laughed out loud.

Little Wind frowned.

“Kiss! That was a kiss. Kiss... Kiss.” William motioned to his lips repeatedly.”

“Great Father, you are a snake. Must I do it again? Very well husband. I am obedient to you.” She leaned forward and kissed him again, not as quickly this time.

“No, no...” William said, “I..”

Her face was still close. Her lips slightly parted. Her eyes were so dark and large, he see could the desert landscape in them. He closed the distance and kissed her, his heart pounded and he wanted to pull away but her hand rested on his shoulder and she made a sound like penny candy on a Saturday night. Their lips warmed together, unmoving, unsure what to do. 

William's hand raised to her cheek. It was so soft. She cooed at his touch then suddenly pushed him away. She got up and walked away rapidly.

“A snake Will-ee-am you are a snake!” She turned and walked backward that she could address him. “I obey you like a wife, but you cannot have me as a wife, I not yet a woman, and the chief has not yet bound us.” She took a few more steps and spun around on the gravely ground. “A Snake!.”

William sat on the ground. He watched the Indian girl stomp away. He shook his head. “I hate girls,” he said.

He rolled back over and tried to make pretend movie shots with his camera again, but he found even on the rock he could no longer keep it steady. He rolled on his back and felt the pounding still in his chest.

“Hate 'em.”

William closed his eyes and smiled.

My father's small house was dark when we arrived, but Bill and my parents all emerged from their rooms The moment the baby cried. Charlotte nearly collapsed in a chair.

“You poor dear, William, fetch some water.” my mother said, My mother automatically outstretched her arms towards the baby I was carrying. I glanced at Charlotte who gave a weak smile of approval. My mother took the baby naturally and adjusted the blankets around it easily as if it hadn't been eighteen years since holding me. It stopped crying almost immediately. Bill came back a moment later with a a glass of water for Charlotte, who drank it daintily, but non-stop.

“Mother, Father, Bill, this is Charlotte.”

"This fella hasn't been able to shut his yap about you since you arrived at the station last year." Bill said elbowing me."

"Hush William! Mind your manners." my mother scolded.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Charlotte said in almost a gasp as she put the glass on a lace doily by the chair and tried to rise. Mother placed her free hand on her shoulder. “That's alright dear, you rest.

“And who do have here?” My mother said in baby tones.

I froze in embarrassment. “My goodness, I don't even know the child's name.”

All eyes turned to Charlotte.

“Henrietta is what's on her birth certificate, but I do detest that name.”Charlotte said.

“Then why?...” My mother rocked the baby.

“I knew they would take her from me. I was planning ahead. I knew if I ever got her back that I would have to hide her, that I would have to change her name. Why not save her real name for that time. A time like right now.”

Charlotte held out her arms, my mother handed back her baby.

“Little girl, beautiful little girl," Charlotte said, "your name is, as it always truly has been: Ruby.”

____________________________________

A personal side story that helped me understand the horrors of handling a baby for the first time (for a guy):

I spent several years working as an ICU technician at a Hospital in Rochester, NY in the early '90s.


Because it was a small hospital there weren't always enough patients in the unit to require my 'tech' help so I sometimes got floated to other areas of the hospital like the regular patient floors, or often the emergency room. On rare occasions I was even sent to the OB nursery which, as a childless dude, I found a bit scary.

They were merciful though, and had me spend my time doing non-baby sorts of things like stocking Infamile and diapers.

Merciful, except for one occasion.


To my horror, I was asked to change a newborn into those little tops they wear while in the hospital. Surely, an effortless, mindless occupation not to be at all feared.


Lo, nay I say!


Okay, no problem, I've handled any number of critical care emergencies, I'm an ICU/ER tech for cryin' out loud...


I got this!

• Problem 1: The top in question itself was an issue. These are not articles of clothing that have any logic to them. They wrap around the torso of an infant one-and-a-half times and have, count'em, three sleeves. Okay, not rocket science, I'll grant you but which two sides are the front? Which two sides are the rear? Does one lift the newborn to apply this mini pastel straightjacket or does one roll the critter back and forth, like rolling out terrycloth cookie dough?
  No instruction was available.
  
  
• Problem 2: The limbs of infants are like soggy noodles. Getting them to poke through a sleeve is much like the proverbial 'pushing a rope up a road'. This limpness of course applies double to the oh-so vulnerable head and neck, which seems to require a third hand to protect and support it while wrangling all the other rubbery bits.
  
  
• Problem 3: Just as I was getting started, Who else but the family showed up at the window just in front of me. A pinnacle moment in their lives, viewing this new precious life just a few inches away, a life that is the clutches of a complete amateur.
  -No pressure.
  

All was well though. I somehow faked some level of competence and the family was cleverly fooled into thinking their baby was in-fact not on the verge of being inadvertently tied into a sheepshank by a guy who had never so much as touched a hours-old human before, or, as I'm happy to report...

Since!